A Question Of Guilt
by Kristine Thorne
Summary: This is the sequel to The Gunpowder Plot. Bad girls and Judge John Deed cross over. Contains scenes of a lesbian sexual nature, and scenes that some readers may find disturbing. Complete.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: All characters within belong to either Shed Productions or the BBc. I am merely treating them better than they have.  
  
A/N: This story is co-written with Richard. If you want to know who's written what, go to my profile page which will tell you. I am re-uploading the story,  
because for some bizarre reason, this site chose to muddle all my chapters out of order.  
  
A Question Of guilt  
  
Part One  
  
On Monday the twelfth of January 2004, exactly three months since the discovery of James Fenner's body in the middle of Epping Forest, Lauren Atkins received two visitors. They wore plain clothes, and announced themselves as Detective Inspector Sullivan and Detective Sergeant Greer. Lauren was alone when they arrived, and but for the presence of a self-important Trigger, they would have bundled her in to their unmarked police car without a moment's notice. But not even DI Sullivan was prepared to sacrifice his shirtsleeve to the jaws of an Alsatian. Before opening the door, Lauren had taken a good look at the two of them, not recognising either individual, but knowing with the sixth sense of an Atkins that they were members of the law. She'd known this day would come, but as the last three months had melted in to one another and Christmas had been and gone, she'd begun to think that she'd just about got away with it. But that had been foolish. Not even Charlie Atkins had managed to wriggle out of his misdemeanours thoroughly unscathed, so why should she. Finally deciding that she couldn't put it off any longer, she opened the door.  
  
"Lauren Atkins?" Said the man, clearly looking down his nose at her. "Who's asking?" Said Lauren, slipping in to Atkins jargon without a thought. "Detective Inspector Sullivan, and this is Detective Sergeant Greer. Can we come in?" "Sure," Lauren said lightly. "But I can't guarantee your safety with my dog. He's been known to have policemen for dinner." "Are you threatening me, Miss?" Sullivan asked quietly. "Of course not, Inspector," Replied Lauren, giving him as much disdain as he was giving her. "I'm just giving you a warning. Try any sudden movements and he'll have no choice but to protect me." Once she'd led them in to the lounge, Trigger lived up to her description of him by sitting resolutely in front of her, not taking his eyes off the two strangers for a moment. "So, Inspector," Lauren began, "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" "Unexpected is it?" Queried Sullivan. "I'd have thought our visit was long overdue." "The law never get anywhere in this house by talking in riddles," Said Lauren mildly, but letting him know she wouldn't be taking any of his crap. "Oh, is that right," Drawled Sullivan, knowing he had the upper hand this time and willing to let her think she had, but only for so long. "You must have had, the law as you put it, through this house on a number of occasions." "You can say that again," Said Lauren, "And they never seem to learn how to tidy up after themselves." "What is it now," Mused Sullivan. "Three out of four of your family have been to prison. Isn't that right?" Lauren glared at him stonily. "And what if it is?" "Well, judging by the evidence I was looking at this morning," Replied Sullivan genially, "You'll soon have to revise that total to all four." Sensing Lauren's combined fear and loathing, Trigger let out a low growl, the hackles standing in a stripe along his back. "Explain," Said Lauren, cutting to the chase and laying a reassuring hand on Trigger's head. "Does the name James Fenner mean anything to you?" "Of course it does," Said Lauren, knowing that she wouldn't be able to keep all recognition of that name out of her face. "Wasn't he the bloke who was found dead last October. He used to work at Larkhall, on the wing where mum was for a time." "That isn't all you know about him, is it." "Why, what else should I know about him?" "Given that you killed him," Put in Greer, "I should say you know an awful lot about him." "She actually speaks," Said Lauren in fake astonishment. "And I thought she was just your spare part," She said, glancing in Greer's direction. "Now you listen dear," Sullivan cut in, all the nicety gone from his tone. "Don't get lippy with me, or I promise it'll only get harder for you. Now, I think it's about time you accompanied us back to the station, don't you?" Thinking that Trigger might just spring on this couple of mouthpieces of the justice system at any minute, Lauren laid a restraining hand on his collar. "Seeing as I don't know what the hell you're talking about, inspector, I see no reason for me to accompany you," Lauren replied, almost spitting out his title. "Oh, I think you know exactly what we're talking about," Said Sullivan silkily. "So, let go of that very well-trained member of the militia and let us drive you in true justice style to the police station." Realising that she had absolutely no choice but to go with them, Lauren said, "Fine, but you'll have to wait while I make a couple of phone calls." "You'll be allowed one call when you get to the station," Put in Greer. "If you want co-operation and to leave this house with all your limbs in tact," Replied Lauren with a little nod in Trigger's direction. "Then you'll kindly wait while I inform my mother as to where you're taking me. Is that too much to ask?" "Where is this famous mother of yours?" Asked Sullivan, remembering the time nearly three years ago when he'd interviewed the legendary Yvonne Atkins about the death of Renee Williams. "She's in Spain," Lauren said curtly, moving towards the phone. "Then you can definitely call her from here," Said Sullivan in disgust. "The commissioner would have my head on a platter if I allowed you to phone Spain from the police station."  
  
When Lauren got through to her mother, Yvonne was lying on a sun lounger and sipping from a glass of chilled white wine. Christmas hadn't been much fun for either her or Lauren, both in their own ways missing Ritchie, and both worrying about what must surely be on the horizon for Lauren. So in early January, Yvonne had said to hell with everything and pushed off to their villa in Spain. They'd all come together over Christmas, Yvonne, Lauren, Cassie, Roisin and the children, and even Karen once she'd finished covering for two officers on G wing who had mysteriously gone off sick at the last moment. But Karen had admitted to liking being part of G wing over Christmas. She'd said that for some of the time it felt like she was the head of an enormous family. Yvonne couldn't fault how Karen had been towards her over the last couple of months. She knew it'd been hard for Karen to get her head round what both Yvonne and Lauren had done on the day of Fenner's death, but then maybe that was because she didn't really know the half of it. But Yvonne wasn't going to be the one to tell her all the details. Hopefully she would never have to know them, but Yvonne knew that this was as false as any of her hopes concerning either of her children. So, when Lauren's call came through on the cordless on the table next to her lounger, Yvonne could only say afterwards that it had been a matter of time, nothing more, nothing less.  
  
"Mum, it's me," Said Lauren, and Yvonne could hear the tension thrumming down the wire. "Lauren, what's happened?" "I just thought you ought to know that the law has arrived, complete with sidekick," She said, with a sneer in Greer's direction. "And they want me to accompany them to the station. They seem to have this ridiculous idea in their heads that I killed Fenner. I can't think where they got that from." "Just get on with it, Atkins," Sullivan cut in with a low rumble. "All right, sweet heart," Said Yvonne, trying to give her daughter a feeling of safety and security, no matter how futile the gesture might be. "I'll get on the next plane and be back there tonight. Whatever you do, don't say a word. The less you say, the less they can hold over you later." "But mum, what about Trigger," Said Lauren, "I can't just leave him." Yvonne knew that this was her daughter's way of asking who she should tell about this who was far closer than she was. "Karen's got a key," Said Yvonne decisively. "Give her a call, ask her to come over and collect Trigger, and tell her I'll be back tonight. If they insist on questioning you, take whatever solicitor they offer you until I get back." Once she'd ended the call, Yvonne ran round the villa, pulling on clothes, putting things away and generally locking up. Then, for the moment saying goodbye to her little haven in the sun, she got in the car she'd hired a week ago, and drove hell for leather to the airport, praying that she could grab a last minute seat on the next flight to London.  
  
A few hours later, Lauren had just about had her fill of bastard police officers and totally incompetent solicitors. She'd taken her mother's advice to the letter and even when she'd been presented with an empty cartridge case, Charlie's gun and the spade, supposedly bearing her fingerprints which Sullivan said had been retrieved in a bin liner from the bottom of the Thames, she said absolutely nothing. Sullivan had become more and more frustrated with her as the time dragged on, but eventually, seeing that he wasn't going to get anything out of her, even with the presence of the duty solicitor, he decided that enough was enough. "You know we've got you over a barrel this time, Atkins," He finally said. "And you're not going to wriggle out of this one in a hurry. We've got your prints on the spade that was used to bury him. Don't you think it's about time you started talking." "It'll never be time for me to start talking to you, Inspector," Was Lauren's emphatic reply. "I've got absolutely nothing to say." "Fine," Said Sullivan decisively. "Lauren Atkins, I am charging you with the murder of Principal Officer James Fenner, on or about the fifth of October 2003. You do have the right to remain silent, but anything you do say may be taken down and used in evidence. Put her in a cell," He said to Greer, with all the satisfaction of a snake, which has finally cornered the prey it has been seeking for years.  
  
Yvonne made it in to Heathrow airport at around nine that evening. Every time her passport was looked at, she got the stare that always accompanied the suspicious immigration and customs officials on discovering someone had a criminal record. But this didn't bother Yvonne. She'd done the crime, she'd done her time, and if the bastards were curious, that was their problem. They always gave her the once over with the scanner and x-ray machine, looking for any concealable metallic objects, and her suit case never quite looked the same after their hands had been well and truly through her belongings. Having finally battled her way through customs, she dug the mobile out of her handbag and called Karen. "I wondered when I'd be hearing from you," Came Karen's greeting. "Did Lauren call you?" "Yes, she did," Came Karen's calm but slightly sombre reply. "She called me from home about lunchtime, just before they took her to the station, and she called me from there about half an hour ago. They're keeping her there over night. Trigger's here with me. Where are you?" "Walking through terminal one. Could you come and pick me up?" "Of course. Give me half an hour." Not wanting any more of the suffocatingly unnatural conditioned air of terminal one, Yvonne pushed the trolley containing her suit case and a couple of pieces of hand luggage outside to have a cigarette and wait for Karen.  
  
When the green MG sports car drew up not far away from her, Yvonne felt such a wave of relief on seeing Karen. She didn't know why, but she always seemed to feel that everything would be all right if Karen was there. Considering everything that had gone on over the last few months, she knew this was ridiculous, but nothing accounted for human feelings. Karen got out of the car and moved towards her. "How are you?" She said, kissing Yvonne on the cheek. "I spent most of the flight trying to work out how I'm going to get her out of this mess," Said Yvonne, as they put her things in the boot. "It's not going to be quite that simple, Yvonne," Said Karen, remembering for the hundredth time since she'd received Lauren's first phone call, just what she'd done in giving away Lauren's secret in the first place, and more importantly, if Yvonne would ever find out it was her who'd done it. "I know," Said Yvonne, as they got in the car and Karen switched on the engine, "And there was only one sensible conclusion I could come up with." "Which was?" Karen couldn't help asking in slight trepidation at the Atkins methods of solving a problem and just hoping Yvonne wasn't about to try anything stupid. "The only person who's got a cat in hell's chance of getting her off," Said Yvonne matter-of-factly, "Is Jo Mills." Karen allowed a few moments to pass whilst she marshaled her thoughts, using the pulling out of the airport carpark as an excuse to stay quiet. "You could do worse," She said eventually. "More like I couldn't do better," Said Yvonne decisively. "She don't leave any stone unturned, that one." Karen couldn't fault the little touch of irony that rose up in her at Yvonne's affirmation. But would Jo do it, knowing that she had known of Lauren's guilt since mid October. "So, what did Lauren say to you when you last spoke to her?" Yvonne asked, unaware of Karen's inner turmoil. Dragging herself away from her thoughts, Karen said, "They've formally charged her, and she'll be taken to a magistrate's court in the morning, where I'm assuming she'll plead not guilty. As it's murder they've charged her with, there's absolutely no doubt that she'll be remanded in custody until her trial." "That ain't just because it's murder," Said Yvonne with all the experience of such things. "It's mostly because she's an Atkins." "Yeah, well, you might have something there," Replied Karen. "Did Lauren tell you who it was who came to pick her up? The two who investigated Renee Williams' death." "Not that oily little wanker?" Said Yvonne in disgust. "The very same," Said Karen, briefly smiling at Yvonne's description of him. "But he's been itching to find something on me since he couldn't pin Renee Williams' death on me all that time ago. He must have some serious evidence if he's actually charged her." "Reading between the lines, I think he has," Said Karen. "Lauren sounded like all the stuffing had been knocked out of her. Oh, not literally," She said, seeing the look of fury on Yvonne's face. "She just sounded like it was much harder than she'd expected." "Do you think she'll get sent to Larkhall?" "Probably," Said Karen regretfully. "Apart from Holloway, it's the only other women's prison in the area, and Holloway's so overcrowded ever since they built their new drugs treatment and detox unit." "Is there any chance you can get her put on G wing?" Said Yvonne quietly, well aware that she was asking far more than she should of Karen. "I'll see what I can do," Said Karen gently. "But I can't make any promises." "It's just, I know you'll look after her," Yvonne said, sudden tears rising to her eyes. "Hey," Said Karen, taking one hand off the wheel and putting it over one of Yvonne's. "Whatever happens, you'll get through it, both of you." When they drew up in Yvonne's driveway, Karen let Trigger out of the car and watched as he virtually threw himself at Yvonne. "Hey, hey, down boy," Yvonne said with pleasure. "He's been fretting about you all afternoon," Said Karen with a smile. "God, I forgot," Said Yvonne suddenly. "How did you get away with not being at work?" "It's not the first time I've worked from home," Said Karen as she opened the boot to get Yvonne's things out. "Grayling just sees it as one of my eccentricities."  
  
At nine the next morning, Yvonne watched as her daughter was led bleary eyed in to court. "Lauren Atkins," Read the clerk. "You are charged that on or about the fifth of October 2003 you unlawfully killed James Fenner. How do you plead?" "Not guilty," Came Lauren's voice, no longer filled with the strident confidence Yvonne was used to. "I have no choice but to remand you in custody until your trial," Said the magistrate. "You will be transported to Her Majesty's Prison Larkhall. Take her down." 


	2. Part Two

Part Two  
  
Karen had driven to work with a curious feeling of dissociation, having woken up with the feeling that what had happened yesterday wasn't real. Yvonne was still out in Spain, soaking up the sun and Lauren was at home where she belonged, where she would always belong. Then it hit her like a stone to the back of the head in a way that chilled her soul all over. She had gone round to Yvonne's far too empty house to pick Trigger up. That way that the normally lively highly sociable dog had been suspiciously quiet and had kept to himself, shouted out the bad news far more eloquently than the monotone call of the newspaper seller.  
Images of Lauren floated through her mind of Yvonne's house that golden summer moving in stately slow motion. She could still feel the sharp bracing feel of the cool still waters in Yvonne's extensive yet private back garden which embraced her while out there in the sun soaked world on dry land, Lauren chatted away inconsequentially to Cassie as they reclined lazily on sun loungers in a hot bygone summer. Well, there have been consequences enough since then, she thought grimly to herself as she looked out of the window as raindrops marked their way down her bedroom window. But Lauren belongs to Yvonne's house, the sleepier part of her mind reasoned to herself, but darker storm cloud memories told her otherwise as they moved relentlessly across the sky, cutting out the sunshine and the warmth. The hurt and the pain of what she had to do that day when she had to finish her relationship with Yvonne could be brusquely pushed on one side but it couldn't be obliterated, she knew full well. Hadn't that blind feeling of panic predated the here and now of Lauren's arrest by three months and been proved right now that the news had broken, as surely as if it had been announced on the ten o'clock news? That tough survival instinct that had served her so well over the years was a demanding mistress but it had kept her from….from sliding off the rails apart from the unwitting knowledge of the circumstances of how Jim Fenner came to die. She knew that, well enough when she acted as a sort of parent to the half worldly wise, half childlike Lauren who had lain in her bed in that darkened bedroom that, most of all is or was her home. Lauren had given her strange feelings, of talking about another person who looked like her who had committed the murder, not Lauren who could talk so strangely rationally about the matter and how she had conceived the whole idea in the first place. It shocked her to read Ritchie's last will and testament urging her to apparently do the one decent thing in his life to make up for what Fenner had done to her. At that moment, she yanked the breaks on to the terrible slide in her thinking process, of the long string of consequences, of cause and effect that had signed Fenner's death warrant from the moment he raped her to his death at Lauren's hands. It spurred her to get out of bed and stop brooding over everything. That was going to do her no good and, besides, she had a prison wing to run.  
  
Over a necessary cup of strong coffee, first thing, she slipped on the ball and chain of her daily duties and started to plan for the day ahead. She would have to sort out the administrative details of Lauren Atkins's cell allocation and that her induction would be handled fairly, the words didn't taste good in her mouth but it was the best that she could come up with first thing in the morning. She was not exactly a morning person but she could make the best of a bad job.  
  
Once she was in her office first thing before her meeting, dressed in her habitual wing Governor suit and mode of thinking, she had one phone call to make to chase up when she would get the transfers she had been chasing up for weeks. A smile creased her face when she heard what was to her some good news. There were others who might have mixed feelings but that was, for once, their problem, not hers. She grabbed her folder and hurried off down the corridor. She was a little late but not bad considering.  
  
"I don't know," Moaned Bodybag like a stuck record, her head turning in all directions to freely distribute her diatribe like a water sprinkler on a drought parched lawn. "We're rushed off our feet, day in day out. If I've told Madam once, I've told her a hundred times about how short handed we are. She expects each one of us to rush round in this madhouse and do her precious reports on time. It's just like the bad old days of Stewart." Di intoned in sympathy as one of the 'old guard' and now Sylvia's 'best friend.' "Well, that's it, I've written to the General Secretary and he'll have a thing or two to tell Betts how scandalously understaffed Larkhall is and that will be a blot on her copybook," She finished in a triumphantly malignant manner.  
"Yeah, it's all from when Jim Fenner, well, you know. I'll miss him. The place isn't the same without him," Di's dreamy voice and vacant eyes conveyed the impression of happy days, alas in the past.  
Selena's blank face admirably masked her bottled up anger at that sleazy man who offered her his words of friendly advice as an older experienced Prison Officer while the smile curving his lips drew attention to the way his eyes mentally undressed her. Urrgh. That was one of the periodic penalties of her decision to 'dress like a normal woman' so that her private life remained untouched and unknown to prying eyes. She envied Kris's swaggering gait and hands in her trousers stance which led even the thickest of guys to draw the obvious conclusion and leave her alone but she could not imagine herself behaving the same way. That was not her style.  
Colin, too, was finding that the ominous black presence in the corner of his eye was fading with the months as were his fears. It was the sheer terror of being ground helplessly under Fenner's heel as 'Mr Fixit's mate' that was receding into the past now that the chair in the corner where he always used to sit was occupied by another human form. He could reduce him so easily to craven, undignified abject surrender to his schemes, in his actions and in his thoughts. He had a way of 'taking over' his mind with a few vicious threatening words and running rings round him. He had been scribbling furiously in his diary so as to avoid Di's eye. That woman gave him the creeps either as an unwanted sexual would be predator or as a spiteful prison officer but could not stop himself from snorting derisively at Di's remark. "Oh, I suppose you're glad that Jim's no longer with us," Di turned on the dramatics. "You ought to be grateful that he took an interest in you as a brand new prison officer fresh out of training college. "Leave it out, Di," Colin fended off the attack. "I don't want to talk about it." At moments like this, he was glad to chat to Selena in the Social Club. She had a soothing sympathetic manner even though he didn't know much about her home life, sort of kept herself to herself that way.  
"Here's Madam coming. Late as usual after skiving off yesterday. Work at home, my eye." Her practiced ear could pick out the measured tread of Karen's footsteps along the corridor and hoist her fake smile into position in a way that never fooled Karen for one instant.  
  
Karen perched herself on her favourite spot in the PO's room, running her eyes round the crowd, the PO's who always kept their mouths shut, ran past the two hostile presences of Di Barker and Sylvia whose negativity could potentially infect a new generation of PO's with their brand of poisonous cynicism and looked at Paula, Selena and Colin who were beginning to find their feet.  
  
"We will have a new inmate on remand before she stands trial whose name may be familiar to you all, Lauren Atkins," Karen started and paused while a gasp of mixed astonishment and pure venom rippled round the room.  
"In case you don't know already as the press have been slow off the mark, she was picked up last night and is accused of the murder of Jim Fenner……" "I might have known that that gangster's family was at the bottom of it. Didn't I tell you all," started Bodybag, crowing triumphantly.  
"I seem to remember that you kept banging on about Yvonne Atkins being responsible till I was sick of hearing about it," Karen cut short what she knew was going to be a stream of verbal diarrhoea.  
"I bet she put her up to it. No honour among thieves, that's what my mother says." "Well, to get to the point," Karen cut back with visible disgust in her tones, "She will be arriving shortly and she is to be treated as a normal prisoner. If I hear of any 'score settling' going on, any idea of taking it out of her as she is an Atkins, that person will be up before me facing a disciplinary charge and I don't mean just an aural warning." She paused to let the full impact of her last words sink in.  
"Any prisoners held on remand are, after all, innocent until proven guilty, and if they are sentenced according to the due process of law, they are treated fairly as a convicted criminal and not according to some lynch mob. Got that?" Karen glared at Bodybag.  
"It's easy to see that palling up with that judge who came round here has had an effect on you, not to mention that toffee nosed barrister," Sniffed Bodybag. "Oh, haven't they," Karen smiled mysteriously. Let them make of it what they like, she thought. "If Jim Fenner could see what was going on, that the Red carpet was being rolled out for the daughter of that Gangster's Moll, he'd turn in his grave," Bodybag's venomous words echoed round the PO's room.  
Instantly, she put her hand to her mouth, which was shaped like an O, as the impact of her words became clear. She was so used to uttering these proverbs without thinking that her 'died in the wool' attitudes tripped her up to fall headlong. Selena turned her head down to repress a smile while Colin suddenly had an explosion of coughing as something went down his throat the wrong way.  
"Sorry, Ma'am," He muttered in a strangulated fashion.  
"Let's move on to the next item which is some good news for us all," Karen continued briskly after her deadpan start and turning to look pointedly in Bodybag's direction. "Sylvia, can you remember your thirtieth wedding anniversary dance here when you were dancing very ardently with a certain young good looking prison officer?" Sylvia blushed a pretty pink colour as how could she forget the feelings of shame and embarrassment the morning after, seeing the hidden grins amongst her fellow prison officers at her expense. She would have done the same if that sort of thing happened to someone else and she was the spectator.  
"Dominic McAllister for the benefit of those who didn't know him. Well, he's coming back to us, date to be arranged and, as he's worked here before and earned a good reputation as a caring prison officer, Di," Karen spoke sharply, as the news had thrown her into total confusion, "I imagine he'll slot in with only a bit of refresher training to bring him up to speed." "That's brilliant news," Selena chirped up. "Don't you be getting any wrong ideas about him, Selena," Di broke in bitterly with undertones of possessiveness. As she had failed to snare him, she wasn't going to have a younger woman who thought she was God's gift to men swanning around and getting off with him. "Breaks all the women's hearts and never gives anything back." "I promise to behave myself, Di," Selena said primly.  
"And this brings me to the last item. We are at last getting a new Principal Officer on level transfer who, again, is no stranger to Larkhall. Gina Rossi. I am pleased with this appointment as she did a fine job when she was here last time and I've heard nothing but glowing reports from the men's prison where she's been working and deservedly got her promotion. Again, for the benefit of those who don't know her, she is friendly and outgoing and you know where you stand with her. I am sure that her honesty will be a real asset to the wing." And, with that, Karen discreetly drew to a close a long chapter of darkness in Larkhall's past. Things would never be the same, all the prison officers agreed on that for entirely different reasons. Di's and Bodybag's glares and bad vibrations testified to that.  
  
In the back yard of the magistrate's court, Lauren caught a glimpse of a square white van before she was led inside. The door slammed shut on Lauren's world, separating her from what in a sickening moment she realised was her past. She edged along into the tiny cell waiting for her and she felt her world judder sideways into slow motion to who knows where. There was no window and absolutely no sensation as to where her place was in the world, only whatever her sense of balance and movement told her which cut off one of her sources of perception in the world. She was cut off, disconnected and travelling not according to her own lazy grip of the steering wheel and right foot on the accelerator, but according to how some plod decided. She dared not think too much of the future. She was in suspended animation and sheer boredom was the only thing to cling to.  
After what seemed an eternity, the van swung right and lurched to a halt but the engine was still running.  
"What the frig is happening?" Lauren asked herself, her first taste of the feeling all prisoners experience when they know something is happening but they don't know what and nobody is telling them. In reality, the driver was checking in at the gatehouse and showing his ID. Lauren's world lurched sideways again and, when it came to an inelegant halt, she heard the engine switch off. Instantly, her heart was in her mouth though she talked to herself to rouse a little of the Atkins spirit. Like a wanderer in a bare desert, a wineglassful of water was precious. A blinding square of light dazzled her eyes and paralysed her where she stood.  
"Come on, move it," Growled a disembodied voice from somewhere out of the white nothingness and she could feel an unknown body pushing at her from behind. Instinctively, her feet found each step downwards and in front to the stone cobbled yard. At that moment, Lauren's eyesight returned to normal though her eyes hurt and opened up the illusion of the normal way to the visitor's block, which her feet were used to taking her to.  
The other prisoners, shabby, down at heel who were to be her enforced companions, mutely indicated her way in the opposite direction up a short flight of steps and to the intake room.  
"Your name please," Colin Hedges asked at reception.  
"Well, I'm not Victoria Beckham though I'm better looking than her." a trace of insolence in Lauren flashed in retaliation.  
"I'm sure you are but rules is rules. Your name, if you please," Came the polite reply.  
Sighing, Lauren gave herself away to the inevitable bureaucratic process that dragged her along while Colin Hedges noted, like mother like daughter in terms of hard-edged wariness and spiky humour. She had lost heart to argue any further after all the knockbacks of the last twenty-four hours. Listlessly, she watched all the belongings of her past freedom being stripped from her to be packaged away, listed and signed away along with her rights that she never knew she had. A prison number was going to be substituted for her name. The voice of a woman who chatted to her could be heard as if a long distance away as they all sat on the hard plastic seat in their rough blue terry towel robes. "In you come then, strip search, finger prints and then photo," A hated voice called out. "You what?" Lauren bridled. Yvonne had not told her about this one. "Causing trouble already, Atkins? I suppose you think you've booked yourself into a five star hotel. This is Her Majesty's Prison in case you hadn't noticed. We're only trying to do our job," Bodybag intoned for what must be the thousandth time in her life.  
"So were the SS. I suppose you'll gas us in our cells later on," Lauren's fired up anger made a blind rush to escape.  
"If you don't agree voluntarily, you can be forced," Bodybag's malicious smile and voice savoured every petty humiliation.  
What Bodybag and the two other prison officers were not prepared for was the wiry strength in Lauren's slight frame as she struggled and squirmed for all she was worth and that they were sweating by the time they were done. With relief, Bodybag was only too pleased to click the camera on the three mug shots and dab the fingerprints and hope that the next prisoner was going to be more acquiescent.  
  
It was a little later that Karen was patrolling the wing when a flush faced resentful Lauren glared at her with her black eyes. "Lauren, I've placed you to share a cell with Denny Blood," Karen said politely. "It might help you settle in here." "Settle in?" Lauren's angry incredulous tones exploded. "With Bodybag of all people strip-searching me? You must be joking." Karen's face was impassive as she took this jolt to her system. Sylvia must have arranged to swap duties with Di Barker against her express instructions. She would have it out with the pair of them later.  
"That was not my doing, Lauren. You must have heard before coming here that things don't necessarily go according to plan. I shall look into that later on. In the meantime, you must do your best to settle in and I shall see you later for a proper induction interview, as I would do for anyone else held here on remand," Karen's voice was pitched low but very emphatically hoping against hope that Lauren had Yvonne's genius for reading between the lines. This situation, as with handling a very lightly reined personal escort duty for Denny when she had home leave to visit Yvonne, demanded a delicacy of feel in walking a tightrope.  
"All right then," Lauren's monosyllabic reply showed that she had looked and listened and she took her plastic sack full of permitted possessions into the cell.  
"Hi Lauren. It's wicked to see you here. I mean that it's not good that you got caught but if you are going to end up here, it's great that we're sharing cells," Denny's wide grin and eager excitement burst in on Lauren as soon as she opened the cell door. "I can look after myself, Denny," Lauren said. "Look here, man. I've been here a long time and I've seen a lot of the girls come and go," Denny hesitated at this point as she had seen too many prisoners walk down that aisle being cheered on to the open gates at the other end, everyone but her. Then in a more confident vein as she acted as big sister to what stuck out a mile as a very confused, unsettled Lauren.  
"Everyone thinks the same when they come here, Nikki, the Julies, your mum, everyone. First thing you got to understand is that you need the help of all the other girls and everyone else needs yours. We've got to stick together and even if you don't think you need my help, I know that you will need it. I got to say that it's been easier since that bastard screw Fenner is out of the way and that we've got one of the best screws around in charge of this wing." Lauren sat down limply on her bunk, This was the first time that someone had actually spoken approvingly of what she had done in that insane period of madness and that she was seeing Karen in a new light. 


	3. Part Three

Part Three  
  
After watching her daughter being removed from court, Yvonne drove home without really knowing how she'd got there. She'd paced round the house, smoking too much and thinking, closely followed by Trigger's baleful gaze until three in the morning. For the life of her, Yvonne couldn't see how Lauren could possibly escape with anything les than the mandatory life sentence for murder. Lauren had killed Fenner, there was no getting away from that. A cold sweat ran over Yvonne every time she thought of that day, that Sunday afternoon when Lauren had come home carrying the tool of her trade, and with the earth from Fenner's grave all over her. She'd had that wild look of exultation in her eyes, the same look Charlie had always had after ending the life of some new enemy. Yvonne had drifted in and out of sleep for the last few hours that were left of Monday night, and had been up and out of the house in time to see her daughter plead not guilty. But now, back in the house they'd lived in since Lauren was three years old, Yvonne knew what she had to do.  
  
"Jo Mills?" Came the husky confident voice on the end of the phone. "Jo, it's Yvonne Atkins." "Yvonne," Said Jo, not entirely surprised. "I wondered if I might be hearing from you." "Jesus," Said Yvonne in disgust, "Bad news really does travel fast." "Have you taken five minutes to read a newspaper this morning?" Jo asked gently. "No, because they'll all be saying the same thing. Jo, I need your help." "Do you want to come and see me so we can talk about this?" "If you've got time," Said Yvonne, and Jo could hear the pain that Yvonne was clearly doing her damnedest to cover up. "I had a client cancel for eleven this morning. Will that do?" "Thank you," Yvonne replied with heartfelt gratitude, knowing that Jo would do everything she could to help them.  
  
Jo hadn't been in the least surprised to hear from Yvonne. It might have been three months since she and George had questioned Karen about Fenner's murder, but to Jo that all seemed like yesterday. It had taken a lot for Karen to tell her that Lauren had killed Fenner, and now here they all were, once again about to be turned inside out by the wheels of justice. but so much had happened since then. Jo had been brought face to face with the fact that George suffered from Anorexia, which admittedly Jo had taken in her stride, persuading George to unburden some of her innermost feelings. Jo had then come up with the idea that even now, even after quite a short time, was changing all three of their lives, hers, George's and John's. She knew John had taken advantage of their new arrangement, not because he'd specifically told her, she just knew. Jo was also forced to admit that not only was her uncertainty over John gradually beginning to recede, but that she and George were slowly forming a close friendship, something that, this time last year, Jo would have thought quite impossible. When she'd opened the newspaper on arriving at work this morning, Jo had been hit full in the face with the headline: "Lauren Atkins charged with the death of murdered prison officer James Fenner." She, like Karen, had also known this day would come, it had simply been a matter of time before she received the call from Yvonne Atkins.  
  
When Yvonne brought the Ferrari to a stop outside Jo's office with a little less of her usual style, she was reminded of when she'd last been here. It had been on the day that Karen had first talked to Jo about mounting a case against Fenner. The irony wasn't lost on her that now she was here because of Fenner's murder. Yvonne had driven here in the Ferrari almost to give herself courage. The Ferrari had always been hers, never Charlie's. She couldn't bring herself to go near his silver Jag right now, and she doubted she ever would again after this. Charlie Atkins had a lot to answer for, even from beyond the grave.  
  
As Jo stood at the end of the corridor in the doorway of her office, and watched as Yvonne followed the receptionist upstairs, she was presented with two immediate realisations. The first being that Yvonne had clearly just returned from somewhere far warmer and dryer than England, and that she looked utterly exhausted, dark circles under her eyes and lines of worry marring her usually attractive face. "Yvonne, come in," Jo said as they approached. She had been going to say that it was good to see her, but she bit her tongue just in time, realising that this certainly wasn't an appropriate form of greeting. "thanks for seeing me so quickly," Yvonne said as Jo closed the door behind her. "How are you?" Jo asked as they sat down, Yvonne in one of the chairs by the window and Jo in the one at her desk, turning it round to face Yvonne. "You look like you've been somewhere warm." "I was giving my villa in Spain a bit of company till I got Lauren's phone call yesterday lunchtime. Ritchie hadn't been at home for Christmas for years before he died, but this one just felt wrong without him. Sorry," She said, as if just catching up with what she was saying, "It's Lauren I'm hear to talk about, not Ritchie." "don't be," Jo said gently, realising just how thrown off course Yvonne must be feeling for her to talk about Ritchie, something Jo suspected Yvonne rarely did. "Is that this morning's paper?" Yvonne asked, seeing it face down on Jo's desk and wanting a change of subject. "Yes," Replied Jo carefully, "But I'm not sure you'll want to see it." "I might as well know the worst," Yvonne said matter-of-factly. Jo handed it over. After making a quick scan of the article on the front page, details to be found on further pages inside, she said, "Why are all journalists bastards?" "I think it comes with the job description," Jo said with a rye smile, remembering that time, not so long ago, when John had used the media to force the Lord Chancellor in to appealing against an obscenely light sentence in a case that had been bribed away from him. "But they've made out like she's already been convicted." "And you should know better than I do," Said Jo seriously, "That they'll have done that more because of who Lauren is rather than because of what she is accused of." "I'm kind of used to seeing my name in the papers," Said Yvonne, "But not Lauren's." "Tell me what happened yesterday," Prompted Jo, being reminded anew that she had to be extremely careful here not to betray the fact that she'd known for close on three months who Fenner's killer had been. Yvonne didn't know that Karen had given them Lauren's name, and Jo had to keep it that way. "Lauren got a visit from two particularly thick members of the law yesterday lunchtime. As it happens, I know both of them from the time they came round Larkhall trying to pin a death by nut allergy on me. That's probably why Detective Inspector Sullivan," She laid an emphasis of sheer disgust on Sullivan's title, "Took on this case. Lauren phoned me before they took her to the station, and as far as I'm aware, she didn't say anything to incriminate her. I stood in court this morning and watched her plead not guilty before being put on remand." "Yvonne, did she do it?" Jo asked, paying particular care to sound genuine. "Yeah, she did," Replied Yvonne regretfully. "I can't defend her knowing that." "Jo, I'm never going to say she didn't kill Fenner, I don't even think Lauren would seriously try to do that, but what I need you to understand is that I don't think she was entirely sane when she did it. I'll never forget that Sunday for the rest of my life. She strolled in to the house, casual as you like, with one of Charlie's favourite guns in her hand. There was this weird look in her eye, like she was high on something." "Was she?" "No, but I'd know that look anywhere. It scared the living daylights out of me because she looked exactly like Charlie used to when he'd done something like that. She was proud of it. She even told me that if I was a real Atkins, I'd be proud of her. It hurts like hell to have to say it, but sometimes Lauren's her father through and through." Yvonne stopped, suddenly thinking that she was saying too much. Jo stood up and began pacing, eventually ending up standing before the window, looking down on to the rain washed street. She knew that she was being given a view of a kind of life she knew absolutely nothing about. Jo knew little of Charlie Atkins, except that he had met his end on the steps of the Old Bailey, supposedly after a trial in which his wife, the woman sitting before her, had given evidence against her husband, not for him. "Yvonne," Jo said contemplatively. "Can you satisfy a point of curiosity for me. When you gave evidence in your husband's trial, why did you suddenly change your story at the last minute?" Jo had turned to face Yvonne when she said this, and now Yvonne just sat staring up at her. "He deserved it," She said simply. "I don't guess you know what it's like being married to one of the mob since the age of eighteen, but that was my way of breaking free of everything he'd put me through over the years. Now tell me why you asked," She said, swiftly skirting round what she'd done to Renee Williams. "Because I'm getting the distinct feeling that even though he's dead, Charlie Atkins has a lot to do with this." "You're probably right," Yvonne conceded. "I just wish I'd had more of an influence over my own kids," She said bitterly. "Maybe if I had, Lauren wouldn't be in this mess." Sitting down in the other visitor's chair, Jo lit a cigarette and offered one to Yvonne. "You're right," Jo said after taking a long drag. "I know absolutely nothing about being married to someone like Charlie Atkins, or what kind of an influence he probably had over you, as well as your children. So, enlighten me." "Before I do, how come you know so much about Charlie's trial?" "That trial prompted almost as much publicity as the Nikki Wade appeal, though for different reasons." "I was only eighteen when I married Charlie. I had Ritchie when I was twenty, and Lauren when I was twenty four. Charlie wanted more, but it didn't happen. I walked in to that marriage as starry-eyed and gullible as a twelve-year-old might have done. It didn't take me long to find out what Charlie was really like." Jo didn't miss the closed expression that came over Yvonne's face as she said this, a look to lock out any unwanted observer. "But, when you marry someone like Charlie, you're in for life. The only way you get out is in a coffin." Jo winced at these last words. "I'm sorry," Said Yvonne, "But that's how it was. Lauren must have been twelve when Charlie started teaching her to shoot, and Ritchie the same." Jo's eyes widened at this. "Yeah, I know," Yvonne said, interpreting her expression. "And you're probably wondering why I allowed my kids to be brought up like that. I probably ask myself that question at least once every day, even now, even now that Charlie's dead and I've kept to the straight and narrow ever since I got out of prison. But disagreeing with Charlie Atkins, especially when it came to the raising of his children, wasn't something I was ever going to do twice." At these words, and at the raising of every barrier behind Yvonne's eyes, Jo found herself wondering just how much torment Yvonne had gone through over the years, watching her children being taught the rudimentary skills of committing serious crime. Then Jo gasped as a memory struck her. Getting up from her chair, she walked over to the filing cabinets in the corner and began rummaging through a drawer, eventually emerging with the transcript of the Merriman/Atkins trial. Flipping through the initial pages, she said, "When you were on the stand last year, Brian Cantwell said something about Ritchie having once been threatened with being nailed to the warehouse floor." "There you are," Replied Yvonne, "That was Charlie Atkins for you. When Ritchie came to visit me in prison, we were talking about Charlie, and Ritchie said that his dad could charm the birds off the trees and then wring their necks. Just a shame that was a pretty good description of Ritchie as well." Dropping the transcript back in the drawer, Jo returned to her chair. "Once Ritchie left," Jo continued, "Did Charlie begin to treat Lauren as the son he no longer had?" "Right in one," Said Yvonne, clearly impressed. "When Ritchie died, he left two letters, one for me and one for Lauren. In the one he wrote to Lauren, he referred to her as Charlie Atkins protégé, and much as I'm ashamed to admit it, that's exactly what she was. Also in that letter, Ritchie left Lauren his one dying wish. He asked his sister to get rid of Fenner, because of what Fenner had done to Karen. It was Ritchie's way of trying to put right some of the bad things he'd done, but especially what he'd done to Karen in using her as a way of getting the gun in to Larkhall." Jo sat, utterly gob smacked, finally beginning to see the pieces of this very complicated jigsaw fitting together. "Jesus Christ," She slowly said, not a usual utterance for her. "I know," Said Yvonne in appreciation of the magnitude of the situation. "He asked me to take care of Karen, and he asked Lauren to kill Fenner. Ritchie even went as far as to tell Lauren that he didn't ask me to do it because he knew I wouldn't, and because I'd never been what he called a real Atkins." "I think you might consider that something to be proud of rather than something to regret." "I know, and I do. I just wish she'd told me. Maybe then I might have been able to stop her doing it and landing herself in the one place I never wanted her to go." "Yvonne, by the sounds of it, Lauren was determined to do this, and nothing you could have done would have stopped her." "Oh, and you'd think that if it was one of yours, would you?" "No, I wouldn't," Jo said quietly. "And I'd be doing everything in my power to help them." "That's why I'm here," Said Yvonne, "Because even if you decide that you don't want to touch this case with a barge pole, you'll still be able to give me some idea of where to go next." this seemed to bring Jo back to just why they were there. "Before I go any further," She said carefully. "Just how much are you implicated in this? Because the last thing Lauren needs is for you to be put on remand right next to her for destroying evidence and perverting the course of justice." "My fingerprints aren't anywhere near the gun she used, but then neither are Lauren's. When she came home that Sunday afternoon, I made her put everything she was wearing in the washing machine. Then I cleaned the gun before I got rid of it. So yes, if they catch up with me, I'm as up to my neck in it as she is, but there is absolutely nothing to tie me to anything she used that day, not the gun, the car, or the spade she used to bury him." Yvonne shuddered at the mention of the spade and Jo began to entertain the suspicion that there was something about Lauren's crime that went far beyond what Yvonne might once have been used to dealing with, something that frightened her to her core. "You said that you didn't think Lauren was entirely sane when she did this. Why?" "You'll know exactly why I think that if you talk to her. Only she can tell you what she did to Fenner. I made her tell me, but I can no more sit here and tell you that than I can get Lauren out of Larkhall. I might have been more angry with Ritchie than I've ever been in my life for what he did last year, but everything I know about him will never give me the kind of nightmares that this has." "Okay," Jo replied gently, thinking that this must be a first for Yvonne Atkins to admit she was afraid of something. "I'll go and see her. But I can't promise anything. If she really wasn't in her right mind when she killed Fenner, then the most I can do for you is to construct a defence of diminished responsibility, and that will take time and a very good psychiatrist." "Thank you," Yvonne said sincerely. "But if after talking to Lauren you can't continue with this case, I will totally understand. I'm not sure I'd want to take it on." "I've never yet been frightened away from a case, no matter how difficult it looked."  
  
On the Tuesday afternoon, Yvonne drove in through the gates of Larkhall. All remand and unsentenced prisoners are entitled to a visit every day, unlike convicted and sentenced prisoners who are lucky if they get one a week. It wasn't ever supposed to be like this, Yvonne thought as she made her way to the visitor's centre. Lauren had always come to see her, and it should never have been the other way round. "I see you've been in the papers again, Atkins," Said Sylvia in greeting. "One word like that to my daughter and you'll be out on your arse," Yvonne said in an undertone, as Sylvia patted her down. "Is that clear?" "You want to watch your step, Atkins," Sylvia replied, "Or you'll end up banged up alongside your daughter." "Sylvia, cut it out, now," Came Karen's firm, not to be messed with voice, clearly having had quite enough of Sylvia's antics for one day. When Yvonne's old nemesis had moved on to someone else, Yvonne said dryly, "I see she's taken over where Fenner left off." "She's been itching to put the boot in all day," Said Karen as they walked over to the visiting room. "Has Lauren been acting up?" "You know how it is," Said Karen, trying to make light of it. "Everyone regresses slightly for the first few days." "If I thought it would make any difference, I'd apologise for her, but I don't think that's the last time I'll be apologizing for my daughter." "She's twenty four, Yvonne," Said Karen matter-of-factly. "Whatever Lauren's done is one hundred percent her responsibility, not yours."  
  
When Yvonne sat down across the table from Lauren, she couldn't quite believe they were here like this, Lauren sitting in the chair usually reserved for the con. Lauren looked tired and out of sorts. "Hi Mum," She said as Yvonne leaned over to kiss her cheek. "When did you get back?" "Last night. Karen picked me up from the airport and I saw you in court this morning." "I did what you said. I didn't tell that wanker anything." "Good. Listen, I went to see a barrister about you this morning, Jo Mills. Do you remember her?" "The barrister who got Ritchie sent down?" "Yes, and if anyone can get you off, she can. She knows the basics, but you've got to fill her in on the details because I can't do that for you. She's going to come and see you some time this week, and you've got to tell her everything, and I mean everything. The only way to get the right help from someone like her is to co-operate. Are you listening to me, Lauren?" "Mum, I'm not fifteen, of course I'm listening. But if she knows I did it, how the hell is she going to get me off?" "Jo reckons that the only defence you might have is one of diminished responsibility." "Make out I'm soft in the head? You must be the one who's barking if you think I'm doing that." "Just grow up for five minutes," Yvonne said fiercely but quietly. "You are on remand for the most serious crime possible. If you don't co-operate with Jo Mills and do exactly as she says, you're going down for a very long time. There is absolutely no denying that you did this, Lauren, so you're only hope is to plead diminished responsibility. What you did, Lauren, it's not normal, it's mad stuff. If you wake up and smell the coffee, you'll know that as well as I do. Do you really want to go down for life? Is that what you want?" "No, of course not," Said Lauren in disgust. "Then start acting your age and for god's sake realise what a bloody mess you're in. You're on remand for murder, which means there isn't a hope in hell of getting you out on bail. If I know anything, it'll take something like a year before you get back in to court, so you're going to have to knuckle down and behave while you're in here." "Jesus," Said Lauren in quiet outrage, "That's rich coming from you." "You're not me, Lauren. You're a hurt, angry and confused young woman who right this minute is acting like she's twelve years old again. I mean it, just keep your nose clean and stay out of Bodybag's way. Who've they put you in with?" "I'm in a double cell on basic with Denny," Said Lauren miserably. "Well, that's good," Said Yvonne, sending up a silent word of thanks to Karen for doing this. "Denny will look after you." "As I told her this morning," Lauren hissed, "I don't need looking after." "Lauren, you might be an Atkins, and I wish with all my heart that you weren't, and you might be more capable than most of looking after yourself, but one thing you don't do in here is to throw an offer of help back in someone's face. You'll need every bit of support you can get." "All right," Said Lauren in adolescent defeat. "So, when's this barrister coming to see me?" "She said it would probably be in a couple of days. Lauren, when she does come to see you, you will be nice to her, won't you." "I don't believe I'm hearing this, Mum." "I mean it," Yvonne insisted. "Jo is going to do everything she can to help you, and I don't want you ruining the only opportunity you might have." 


	4. Part Four

Part Four  
  
Selena ignored the venomous glare from Di Barker as she headed for Denny's and Lauren's cell. She knocked quietly and turned the keys and the huddled form of Lauren could be seen under the blankets. From years of institutional living at Larkhall, Denny was dressed according to the mental clock.  
"Your brief's due in early this morning, Lauren. I'll take you down right after breakfast, when you're ready." Lauren turned over in her narrow bunk, already having adjusted from the spacious double bed at what is or was home. "What's the point? I ain't never going to get out of here," Lauren's despondent mumble filtered its way through the blankets.  
"You're saying this after two days?" Denny's question was edged with controlled amazement. "You can't give up already, man, even if you feel like shit." Denny had never seen Lauren like this, hair unkempt, no makeup and sunk into a deep depression. This was a million miles from the sophisticated, totally in control woman who had made her feel down at heel, even in her best clothes on her day out. The last day or so had worried her so much after she had heard Lauren talk so positively after Yvonne had bent her ear during what must have been a real mother/daughter argument. Denny had grinned as she could so easily fill in the blanks. To her horror, Lauren's self-confidence had plunged downwards like an express lift. She knew the signs as she'd seen it before in others and herself as well. "Denny's right, Lauren. You have to be positive and make the effort," Selena said in her crisp but kindly voice.  
It's all bloody words, Lauren fumed to herself. She was being shown up as being a right wimp and this was not her style. She shot out of bed like a cork out of a bottle and turned her back on everyone as she slung on her smartest clothes, and pulled her hairbrush fiercely through her long tangled hair and, in true female Atkins style, started on her makeup.  
"She'll be fine, Miss," Denny muttered out of the corner of her mouth to Selena who nodded in agreement. That only made Lauren more angry as she was being talked about as if she couldn't hear. It would have been futile to point out that had anyone spoken to her, she would have bitten that person's head off. It was the tendency of any prisoner, no matter how old, to revert to adolescence in the first few days of imprisonment.  
Selena smiled briefly at Denny, closed the door and walked up the metal stairs to Kris's cell.  
  
Jo presented herself at the first of the series of bolts and bars that needed the presence of help to get her through.  
"Oh yes, we're expecting you. You'd better come this way to Miss Betts' office. Governor's orders. She insisted that she see you first though I don't know why," Bodybag greeted her with the minimum of politeness and a suspicious glance in her direction while Jo nodded and her long legged easy stride kept pace just slightly behind the rapid self-important fussy steps of the smaller woman. She deposited Jo at her destination with the barest civilities and shot off down the corridor.  
"It's good to see you again, Karen," Jo greeted her with a natural sense of diplomacy as her mind went back to the time when she was here previously and Karen was the helpful wing governor helping to assemble the case against Fenner and on a second occasion when she and George had subjected Karen to the cut and thrust grilling of her as a possible murder suspect outside and inside any court of law. However, thought Jo, time had separated them and had distanced that period of high drama in all their lives last autumn with the day to day bustle in their lives. "Not for a social call regrettably. Still, I know from personal experience that she is in safe hands. I wanted to talk to you first to give you a bit of advice as to how she's likely to be. Is this the first time you've defended a client?" "I've done defence work quite often before, though my normal work is as a prosecuting barrister where my clients are the CPS. I've visited clients in prison on remand before but this feels somehow like a new experience for me." "You need to understand that most prisoners, no matter how old they are, revert to adolescence. You understand what I mean?" Jo raised her fingers to her temple in reaction to a sympathetic headache, remembering days in the summer holidays before her younger son Mark left to go to university to either grow up or sink and counting the days. She remembered his tendency to grunt in an inaudible mumble at her and, when asked politely to talk louder, to turn up the volume control in his voice to the aggressively deafening. There were times when being in court was more relaxing and predictable than being at home.  
  
"What advice would you give, Karen, in talking to Lauren from what you've seen." "From initial reports, Lauren Atkins has alternated between depression and aggression," Karen's measured tones unreeled the report. "It's anyone's guess as to which Lauren Atkins you'll find but my advice is to get her to talk and go easy on her - easier than you did with me at any rate," Karen added at the end with a little nervous laugh.  
"I'll try," Jo answered with a little smile. The reference put a strange twist on both their past and present.  
"How's George? I did mean to ask earlier," Karen said suddenly, the words bursting out of her without premeditation.  
"She's doing fine," Jo answered with a warm smile. "I know as I've got to know her better than I used too."  
  
She found herself escorted by a polite young female prison officer along the maze of corridors past a short middle aged uniformed woman staring in disapproval of the world in general and into one of the visiting rooms for 'brief's as she heard herself described. The room reminded her of her early days in one of the more decrepit out of the way courts in the outbacks and painted in drab institutional colours to match the mood of the place. Nothing but a small battered wooden desk and a couple of hard chairs. She settled her papers out on the limited space and waited for Lauren to appear.  
  
"So, you're the brief who's the miracle worker who can get me off this rap?" Lauren's slouch in her chair and eyes like black orbs pegged her, in Jo's eyes, as the archetypal adolescent. "I'm the brief who made mincemeat of your brother if you remember, but I'm here to help you," Jo's low voice was pitched in very hard tones, which was the verbal equivalent of a slap in the face. It was all too unsettling as only her mother had that rarely used knack of getting through to her when she could be free to speak her mind, not someone else's. Charlie had relied on a mixture of charm and fear of the very tangible aura of that violent side of his personality, which dispensed with words beyond a certain level of frustration.  
"Are you sure you're not my mum in disguise?" Lauren asked incredulously, instinctively straightening herself in her chair and leaning forward, her arms folded in front of her. Her attention was instantly sharpened and focussed on what this very strong woman had to say. Her mild exterior was a surface front and, like her mother, she related to what lay behind that person.  
"Where do you want me to start?" Lauren offered, half fearfully, half eager for deliverance. She bit the bullet and placed her destiny wholly in the hands of someone else and that came hard to an Atkins.  
Jo reached in to her handbag and fished out a packet of cigarettes and Lauren gratefully helped herself and angled her cigarette into the lighter flame offered by Jo who lit up, quietly demonstrating one thing the two women had in common. "How's it been, since you've been here?" came the first approach on a safe and impersonal topic.  
"Could be worse. I've got Big sister Denny to look after me and tell me if I'm talking a load of crap. The rest of the girls are great. Karen Betts, I mean Miss Betts, is playing it straight down the line and I can handle Bodybag now that……" "Meaning?" Jo asked softly not deceived by Lauren's nonchalant manner and abrupt stop in dragging up the presence of the absent Fenner.  
"Sylvia Hollamby, whose disapproval you're bound to meet. All us girls call her that as she's the resident Nazi. All prisons have one." Jo grinned.  
"Having your movements controlled 24 7 takes a lot of getting used to but I know what I miss most though it may sound stupid." "I know enough, Lauren, to understand that sometimes the little things in life matter most." "I miss my dog, Trigger. Sounds soft but it's true." Her faint blush and the way she fidgeted showed her embarrassment at her making such a daft confession, but her slight smile signaled to Jo that she felt all the better for it and Jo's soothing reassuring manner was working. "There's a lot of family background I need to know before I can even begin to understand the case. Perhaps you can help me out with this?" Lauren exhaled cigarette smoke deeply into the air while isolated random memories shuffled themselves as if her mind was dealing them off the top of the pack. In her troubled life, she shrank back in time to when all was small scale, safe and innocent, well, as innocent as growing up an Atkins could ever be.  
"I grew up with everything that money could buy, well Ritchie and I. We never took the number seven bus from Stepney Green like mum did when she was little. Mum drove us to school, all dressed up, me with my ribbons in my hair. It was always some flash motor that she changed fairly often as Charlie wanted to show off to the locals how much money we had, 'nothing was too good for my princess' Charlie told me with that proud possessive smile on his face which I thought meant how much he loved me, that I would do anything for him. Ritchie was the same and he was the first born, the man of the family after Charlie, Mum's little angel," at which point Lauren grimaced and stopped.  
"He had a way with words which made you want to believe him and he used it on Mum, Ritchie and me all the time." "Used it?" Queried Jo. "You make it sound not quite real." "It felt real when I was growing up." Past blind instincts grappled for control in the tones of semi approval in Lauren's voice before being pushed back. "The Atkins business was a man's world, just like all Charlie's friends. Women were an adornment, something and someone to show off and know their place. You see, there was the other side of Charlie." "If you don't mind me asking, why do you call him Charlie as opposed to Mum for Yvonne?" Jo's curiosity got the better of her.  
"Because that's his name," Lauren's tones suddenly hardened and turned abrupt. "What the bleeding hell do you think I'd call him, Daddy?" That was precisely what George's ultra sophisticated, ultra cool outward persona called Joe Channing without a shred of embarrassment, Jo's lightning flash of thought told herself before hastening to pour oil on troubled waters. Jumping into Lauren's memory came the image of her as the Black Angel of Death standing on the front steps of another court as the pizza delivery man whipped out a pistol. The one crack shot splattered Charlie's blood all over his latest piece of skirt and he dropped flat on the ground. Charlie had died months before as her father as he had totally betrayed and stitched up Mum before his sudden physical death.  
"You're quite right, it doesn't matter and we're getting off track. I'm sorry." "Mum was always around for me," Lauren thought fondly, a smile softening her steel hard persona. "When I was alone with her, she was a different woman, softer and gentler and was only harder and tougher when Charlie was around. She loved him but she needed him too much. I'll never forget the one time I answered him back. I could see the fear in her eyes, everything went quiet for a second and he started sounding off, just as if everything was normal, like close families are supposed to be. Ritchie never said a thing." "And what happened next?" "I saw the bruises on her arms later and she made some excuse. I knew Mum was covering up as I overheard Charlie shouting at Mum, complaining that she hadn't got enough discipline over us and she was being too soft. He said that she would regret it later on and that his own mother ruled the house with a rod of iron while his father was working hard to get the money to support the family. She had all the time in the world as she was at home all day. That was before she got a job in the betting shop when we got older but Charlie thought of that as pin money compared to the money his businesses was raking in. "Can you explain to me what growing up as an Atkins is about." 'the Atkins values', 'the Atkins values' those words were what were spinning round in her mind but they were the words that caused her to be as she was and talking about it was her lifeline to understanding herself but had brought her to where she was in life.  
"If you get hit, you hit back harder," Lauren intoned the litany. "Everything's fair in love and war and you need outside muscle, like the hit man Mum hired because Charlie Williams was moving in on the Atkins's turf. You need guns around you or someone's going to finish you off when you're not looking. The Atkins world is a man's world. There's no place for softness in life, that's for losers." A gentle dismissive smile spread slowly across Lauren's face as she saw the daydream in front of her eyes that was so real, the softness of Roisin's and Cassie's bodies as they gently made love together. She didn't need to be an Atkins when she was in bed with them. Then or when they comforted her after Ritchie's suicide.  
"What was it like when you got older?" Jo gently asked.  
"Like anyone does when they realise that their cosy little world doesn't fit anymore," Lauren addressed her idealised version of childhood in that hard Atkins voice and stared right through Jo into her past. "Mine was never that cosy. It just meant that I got to see that the car hire company which I thought that Charlie brought in the readies, was a front for a drugs baron. Half the drugs, which went through the East end of London, went through Charlie and that bought the villa in Spain where I went on holidays. It meant that when I discovered men, I never wanted any soft, pathetic, dick brained man to faun over like in the soaps. I only knew hard men like Charlie but I was always harder than them, in bed and out of it. I needed to be tough so that…so that …nothing would hurt me ever again like when I was little." Lauren fumbled for an extra large sized tissue and blew hard into it while corners of it covered her eyes and concealed her tears. A part of Lauren hated herself for feeling that way as Atkins didn't do tears or being scared. Right now, she did both. "And do you still feel that you need to be tough and hard?" Jo gently asked, feeling a mixture of horror and sympathy at what was being unveiled before her eyes.  
"Not any more, but the Lauren Atkins that killed Fenner felt differently." "Do you want a break, Lauren?" Jo asked as she offered another cigarette. In truth, she needed a break as much as anyone while all the details of this case were funneling into her mind. This was a case like nothing she had handled before.  
Lauren smiled gratefully at this little touch of consideration from the other woman who had that sureness of touch in engaging with her. At the best of times, she knew that she could be prickly and abrasive but the circumstances of that crazy period in her life would be bound to make her feel dangerously aggressive or suicidally guilt ridden or both together. "So, tell me how you felt when you were up in the gallery and I was in court prosecuting Snowball Merriman and your brother." "I wanted that evil tart to be banged up in prison for life for stinging Mum and me out of fifty grand and for what she did to those women who were nearly burnt to death and for Shaz Wiley who was killed. Denny's told me a lot about it since I've been here," Lauren snapped furiously, pleased to feel that her anger could be directed at a target that deserved it.  
"Have you resented me for prosecuting Ritchie and getting him sent down?" "Not at all," Lauren blew out the answer with a cloud of cigarette smoke. "You did what you had to do. He had that coming to him for being stupid enough to let Merriman take over what brains he ever had. He let down the Atkins family by robbing us blind, swanning in from Spain, giving Mum all that hearts and flowers stuff when he knew that mum would feel as guilty as hell from the last time she saw him. All this 'my little angel' shit. Besides, to get at her, you had to get at him, also You heard what mum and Karen said in the trial about Ritchie and I know that you remember it right." A flood of memories came into Jo's mind of that trial but the level headed way that Lauren looked her in the eye and talked to her as adult to adult showed her mother's strength and gave her hope that, in this seriously disturbed woman, there was the strength in her for what she had to face. Jo smiled in recognition and it did not need Lauren a great stretch of her imagination to see that her point had got home.  
"I have to ask you, Lauren, and please bear with me but can you explain how you felt when Ritchie committed suicide?" That brought Lauren up short. For a second, her anger glared out at Jo in a way that made her feel uncomfortable and vulnerable, stuck in a room where no outside sounds could be heard. Then Lauren was pulled into the centre of a swirl of confused feelings and she could not keep up the tough act any more. She looked down at the table and grabbed at a lock of long black hair that straggled down at the side of her face. There was a palpable feeling of grief fighting with pride in the way that she huddled up into herself that didn't want a comforting hand on her shoulder. She had to be allowed her own time before she could carry on and her half smoked cigarette end smouldered away in the ashtray where it was roughly stubbed out. "I felt that I had let him down. Bastard though he was, he was still my brother. Naturally, being an Atkins, I took it out on the nearest person to hand, Karen, I mean Miss Betts. I acted like a cow that night, and blamed her for being there when Snowball fired her gun and Ritchie got shot and not her. Pathetic isn't it?" Lauren grimaced.  
"I remember when my husband died many years ago, and the way I behaved wasn't exactly rational," Jo's soft tones gently comforted as if it were a helping hand stretched out. Impersonal comfort wasn't her thing, perhaps a weakness or a strength. "Was there any special reason why you behaved that way to Karen except for her being there?" She knew this one was coming, Lauren sighed to herself but having come so far she might as well go the whole hog. She was in the hands of this gentle considerate woman who she had seen as a force of nature in a court of law.  
"I had found out half way through the trial that my mum and Karen were an item. They made it pretty bloody obvious when we were all in the gallery, holding hands. I was jealous of them and, besides, Atkins women didn't behave that way or so I used to think." Jo was silent as she smoked her cigarette which gave her time to think as she came to grips with the complexities of what she would have to put over in a court of law.  
"Let's get to the point," Lauren grabbed a hold on the conversation as Ritchie's last words and testament demanded to be heard.and propelled the conversation onwards. "Ritchie wrote a letter to me which says everything as to why I killed Fenner….." "I haven't got the letter with me, Lauren," Jo mildly interjected.  
"……doesn't matter," Cut in Lauren abruptly. "I can remember the letter word for word and this is what he told me.  
'Dear Lauren,  
  
You're probably more furious with me than Mum is right now. But you know me, I don't do a hard life. I never have, and now I never will. You probably think all this is my own fault, and yeah, I suppose most of it is. But that's another thing isn't it, us, the Atkins family, we don't do blame. Only, it ain't quite worked out like that. I can't ask Mum for what I need you to do, because she won't do it. She never was a real Atkins, only in name. But you and me, Lauren, we've got Charlie Atkins' blood in us all the way. Lauren, I need you to get rid of Fenner for me. Don't throw this away until you've read what I have to say. You were there through the whole of the trial like Mum was, so you heard that stupid wanker of a barrister we had first, trying to pull Karen Betts' evidence to shreds because of what I think he was told by Fenner. Lauren, Fenner did rape Karen, I know he did. You don't sleep with as many women as I have, without knowing when something just isn't right. Lauren, a bit of me loved her. I know that's not how it was supposed to be, but I did, probably still do. She didn't deserve what I did to her. But I can't put any of that right now. This is why I'm asking you to get Fenner out of the picture for good. I can't put right the things I've done, but if you'll do this one thing for me, I can take away one of the worst things that's ever happened to her. You know that Fenner deserves a dose of the Atkins justice as well as I do. Please do this for me, Lauren, please. Don't tell Mum I've asked you. She's stayed on the straight and narrow since she got out, and we both know she won't be in favour of doing what's right. But you're still my sister, and you weren't Charlie Atkins' protégé for nothing. The best shooter in the East End is my little sister.  
  
I'm proud of you Sis,  
  
Ritchie.'  
  
Lauren stumbled to a halt as Ritchie's final words to her died on the wind and in that moment, she said her last final painful goodbye to Ritchie. She put her hands to her eyes and quietly cried to herself, forgetting Jo's presence, as all the hurt in her was painfully forced out. Her body shook in spasms for all the pain she had ever felt in her life, which she had never let out and had remained trapped within her skin. Jo felt helpless, being an onlooker to Lauren's feelings as if her hands were tied and she was condemned to just being an onlooker. It horrified her to hear the spoken words of how much real love there was between brother and sister however much they had both denied it. Even she could see that the big mouthed man whom she had verbally shredded in that trial had some sense of human decency in his own way. Everything to her mind was making sense in a twisted way and that even to her detached mind, how certain words were written in flames of vengeance and guilt. It was clear how the Atkins family values acted as a powerful undertow like that of a huge rolling Atlantic breaking wave and pulled Lauren into acting as she did. There was only one thing that she needed to know, her relationship with Fenner. "That letter explains a lot to me. The only thing I need to know is why you came to hate Fenner and how you came to kill him. He was asked to give evidence as, believe it or not, that slimy untrustworthy man was pretty central to the case. As for George Channing, she cut him to shreds partly out of sheer pleasure. I have to demonstrate to the court that not only did you act as you did for the last wishes of your brother, but that you had reason to hate Fenner."  
  
"It goes back a long way," Lauren's ice cold voice dripped with a hatred that she was not ashamed of. "I used to visit mum in prison and always, that pig was his usual sneering vicious self. I know from mum that he was responsible for every rotten thing that happened at Larkhall. Everyone hated him, all the women who were watching the trial. I know that he tried to blackmail Karen Betts to cover up for the way he let that tart Merriman string him along by his dick. But….that doesn't explain why I went as far as to kill him," Lauren slowed down and relaxed back in her chair for the first time during the interview.  
"I swear to God that after I got that note from Ritchie, I wasn't in my right mind, Jo. Early on in the trial, Mum had told me that she wanted him out of the picture for good, same as Ritchie did and threatened him that if he either laid another finger on Miss Betts, or if he kept his promise to discredit Karen's evidence, she would have him nailed." "Oh?" Jo asked out of interest.  
"But I don't want you thinking that mum put me up to that," Lauren hurriedly and almost aggressively explained. "She wanted to go straight after she came out of Larkhall and I mean straight. She would not have heard of anyone doing anything like what I did to Fenner but her words and Ritchie's letter nagged at me till something in me went kind of funny." Lauren shook her head in a dazed fashion as she tried to recall for herself how she had acted and felt in that crazed period of her life before making one final push. "I was in some sort of invisible tunnel that told me how to stalk Fenner for weeks on end, what time he came and went, what pubs he went too, everything about his movements and carried it all round in my head like some detailed blueprint. If people aren't expecting to be followed, they won't be on the lookout. Mum never knew a thing as I was working, I wasn't a child that she had to ask where I was coming and going any more. It was some huge obsession that swallowed up everything in my life. The only break I got from that was seeing Roisin and Cassie and their kids and I could be Auntie Lauren, that other person." And here Lauren smiled in a surprisingly innocent fashion, which transformed her whole personality before resuming her grim self imposed task.  
"As luck would have it, I caught him on a Sunday afternoon when he was just going to let himself in to his house when he least expected trouble. After that everything was easy. All you've got to do is to work out your moves in advance and what he might do to break loose. We drove all the way to Epping Forest with me pointing a gun at him, scared shitless. Once I'd got him off the beaten track, I got him to do just what I wanted. He knew better than to argue with an Atkins with a gun pointed at him. He dug his own grave or rather, the grave I'd dug for him and covered up, got him to stand in the grave, shot him and gradually covered him with earth and buried him alive. I felt as high as a kite all this time. Doesn't bear thinking about," Lauren finished in a tone of voice that was as if she were an incredulous spectator to her own crime rather than the flat recital of the events as if a crime reporter might relate.  
Jo finished smoking her cigarette. She would have no problem in remembering every word Lauren had said even if it might give her nightmares. She was doing it for Yvonne's sake and she knew now why Yvonne could never tell her what had happened. In a weird way, it seemed possible to Jo that Lauren killed Fenner to regain her mother's attention. Ordinarily, that would seem a crazy, out of the way idea but then again, everything she had seen, heard and read was totally unusual. It was bizarre that just one prison was the source of two such enormously complicated trials. "You've not asked me for any details of what I did to Fenner," Lauren asked, half fearfully and thinking that a brief would probe over every detail of the crime. That was what she had expected and most feared.  
"I wanted to find out not what you did but why," Jo gently told her. "That is far more important than anything." "What chance do you think I have? Tell it to me straight," Lauren replied to her huge relief, her appealing eyes stared up at Jo now that she could relinquish the strain of reliving the person that she used to be.  
"I can't make any promises but I will promise to do my very best to help you Lauren." "That is good enough for me," smiled Lauren, hugely relieved to have so slight a promise in contrast to so many meaningless extravagant promises she had received and wouldn't be let down.  
A silence fell on the room while two mentally exhausted women collected their wits till there was a polite knock on the door. Karen entered the room followed by Selena.  
"Have you finished, Jo?" "Just done. You'll hear from me in future and Karen Betts will arrange any further meetings as things crop up." While Selena led Lauren back to her cell to crash out on her bunk as she had mentally purged herself, Karen led Jo back out into the sunshine. She looked at her watch and it was only an hour since she had come to the first of the bolts and bars. It seemed that an eternity had passed since she had last crossed the threshold. Karen seemed at ease with herself but, as she said goodbye, the one thought that was at the top of all that was buzzing round in her mind was that Karen didn't know the half of how Fenner had come to die. Jo prided herself in being able to face any awkward moment but her mind shrank from even contemplating just how Karen would hear all the clinical details in court such as her rapidly growing file held in its depths. 


	5. Part Five

Part Five  
  
On the evening of Saturday the eighth of January 2005, Jo Mills knew that there was one last thing she had to do before the start of the Lauren Atkins trial on Monday. Jo had spent the last year getting to grips with Lauren's defence of diminished responsibility, obtaining reports from psychiatrists and witness statements from Lauren's mother, Lauren's closest friend and her cell mate Denny Blood. It had taken a lot for Jo to really get her head round what Lauren had done on the fifth of October 2003, and she couldn't be said to have taken up this case lightly. But she had come to the realisation a long time ago that she wasn't doing this for Lauren, her client, she was doing this for Yvonne. At the end of the day, Yvonne was a mother, just like Jo, and Yvonne was only doing the best she could for her daughter. But there was still one link in the network of communication, which had led to this crime that still hadn't been satisfactorily prepared for the upcoming trial. This pinnacle of all Jo's current worries was Karen Betts. As far as Jo was aware, Yvonne, Cassie Tyler, Denny Blood and Dr. Margaret Richards, were all acquainted with exactly what Lauren had done to James Fenner. These were Jo's four witnesses other than Lauren herself, Dr. Richards being a psychiatrist friend of Karen's. But Jo knew that Karen would without doubt be present at this trial, and that she didn't know just how Fenner had died. The first few times Jo had thought about what Lauren had actually done, she'd been unable to suppress a shudder, but she'd had a year to gradually become accustomed to the idea that she was defending someone who had not only shot a man to paralyze him, but who had buried said man alive. Jo had tentatively suggested that Yvonne put Karen in the picture before the trial, but Yvonne perfectly understandably had been unable to do it. Fenner had been Karen's one time lover, and even though he had raped Karen, one reason for which he had eventually been killed, the way in which he had died would still come as an enormous shock to Karen. But, as Jo wasn't about to break the rules governing client confidentiality, the only option left open to her was to make sure that there would be someone in the public gallery who could offer Karen some moral support. Jo would be utterly incapable of doing this as she would be in full flow defending her client, but she couldn't simply leave it to chance as to how Karen might react. She knew too much of what Karen had gone through at the hands of Fenner to simply allow her to find out how he had died without putting someone there who could try to do what Jo couldn't. Her thoughts naturally would have veered towards John, but as he would hopefully be presiding over the trial, if he could prize it away from Monty Everard, this was impossible. The only person left to her was George.  
  
The last time George and Karen had been in the same room together, their meeting had been anything but amicable. George had been in the process of ruthlessly questioning Karen as to her own culpability in Fenner's murder. But this had been fifteen months ago, and they had all moved on a long way from then. With her visits to see Lauren over the last year, Jo had come in to contact with Karen on a number of occasions, the two women always making time to catch up with each other. Jo was also aware that Karen had seen quite a lot of John over this time. Quite when and how their friendship had begun, Jo didn't always like to contemplate. But she had no doubts that what friendship did exist between Karen and John was purely platonic. Jo privately thought that Karen was good for John, someone who would always give him nothing but the absolute unvarnished truth, no matter how much he might not want to hear it. Jo had no doubt that Karen was aware of Jo, John's and George's thruway relationship, but this didn't bother her. Karen knew how to be discrete having had too much of her private life brought out for all to see during the Merriman/Atkins trial. It was an odd thing, Jo thought to herself, that Karen usually asked after George when she saw Jo, and George occasionally asked after Karen, yet neither having had contact with the other for over a year. But Jo knew that if Karen reacted badly to hearing how Fenner had died, George would be able to handle the situation tactfully and sensitively. Good God, she thought, that really did show just how much things had changed between them all. Before the Merriman/Atkins trial, Jo would rather have spent an hour in the company of a poisonous snake than an hour with George. But since George had begun to remove some of her outer layers of scorn, pride and bitterness, and they'd begun on this arrangement by which John could continue to have a relationship of sorts with both she and George, though meaning that he was banned from chasing other women, Jo and George had slipped in to a closeness that Jo suspected neither of them had ever had in a friend before. The legal profession, especially in the days when they'd both entered it, hadn't allowed for female friends, it being a world of either domineering males or equally backstabbing females, all eager to reach the top by the fastest route. But here they were, fifteen months on, and all three of them were relaxed with this new arrangement. It had taken both Jo and George some time to get used to the idea, but they'd eventually overcome the awkwardness and could now freely talk about John, it no longer being taboo to mention and occasionally discuss the evenings they spent with John. Each in their own way had crossed a line, removed a barrier. Jo's being the hurdle of jealousy that John did sometimes sleep with George instead of her, and George's the burden of guilt that she was making John cheat on Jo, no matter how much it might have been Jo's idea in the first place. But they had gradually dispensed with these negative feelings, both having made a concerted effort not to tread on the other's toes, learning pretty quickly that communication was the way to avoid problems. For the first time in her life, Jo really was happy with the relationship she had with John, and the friendship she had with George. She was now able to feel that she could rely on John not to stray, not to wander off and pick up some nameless stranger. Jo had been right, on that Halloween evening when she had initially suggested this new arrangement. She did feel far more secure in the knowledge that although John might still sleep with George on a regular basis, he would never entirely go back to George, and that George would never try to persuade him to go back. This meant that Jo was finally beginning to trust him, which was still something of a novelty in her relationship with John. But this wasn't the only advantage of their little triangle. Both Jo and George were getting a great deal out of having a female friend, something neither of them would ever relinquish for anyone.  
  
So, knowing that John was at the digs reading through the papers for the coming trial, still hopeful of getting it away from Monty Everard, Jo drove over to George's, wondering how she would take her request. In personality, George had changed quite a lot since this new arrangement with John and Jo had begun. She was altogether softer, a few of her sharper edges having been sanded down by a regular dose of expert loving from John, and by her gradually allowing Jo to get that bit closer to her. This didn't by any stroke of the imagination mean that George didn't still have the capacity to make verbal mincemeat of any opponent, it simply meant that she was able to drop this harsh facade behind closed doors. She had managed to regain most of the weight lost during that extremely serious bout of Anorexia that had so irrevocably removed any lasting barrier between her and Jo. She hadn't found this easy to do, but with the support and encouragement coming from both sides, she had at last managed to regain a size that whilst not ideal, was certainly no longer life threatening. It had surprised George more than a little that beginning the process of unburdening herself with Jo had been so good for her, and that even now, if she thought she was drifting back in to the cycle of depression and starvation that had almost killed her, Jo would be there to pull her out again. After the initial session of verbal purging Jo had put her through after she'd fainted in court, George had been reluctant to go through anything similar a second or a third time, but Jo had usually managed to coax her to do so.  
  
George hadn't been unduly surprised to see Jo on the Saturday evening. The Lauren Atkins trial in which Jo was defending was starting on Monday, and George figured that Jo would likely want to talk about it. "You look incredibly stressed," Said George, after pouring Jo a Scotch and a Martini for herself. "I've got a problem," Jo said without preamble. "Well, that much is obvious," Said George, receiving a brief roll of the eyes from Jo. "How busy are you this week?" "That sounds like a loaded question," Replied George carefully. "It depends how much of my week you want to appropriate." "Certainly the first couple of days of it. After that, I'm not sure." "Start at the beginning," George said, having absolutely no idea what Jo wanted from her. "I could really do with you in court for the start of the Atkins trial." "Jo, I know I've been doing more and more criminal work recently, but you're still by far the better criminal QC out of both of us." "I don't mean on the defence bench," Said Jo with a smile. "I need you to be in the public gallery." "What on earth for?" Asked George, clearly intrigued. "Against my continuous advice, Karen Betts hasn't been brought up to speed with the exact details of how Fenner met his end. As far as I'm aware, everyone else who needs to know in advance of Monday does. But Karen doesn't." "And why is it so absolutely necessary that she be informed prematurely?" "Well, there's now no hope of her being told beforehand, but I think it's going to come as quite a shock to her. After having prized snippets of information out of John, I'm pretty sure that at the time, Karen couldn't entirely support what Lauren had done because Fenner had previously been her lover. You know how it is, George, when someone is suddenly removed from our lives, we initially remember only what was good about them, no matter how much we might have been hurt by them." "And you're guessing that's what Karen did when Fenner was killed?" "Yes. She'd never admit it, not to anyone, except perhaps John, but I think part of her missed what she'd once had with Fenner, even though it led to one of the worst experiences of her life." "Do you think this is why Yvonne hasn't put Karen in the picture?" "Possibly, but I think it's got more to do with what actually happened." "If I'm going to be in the public gallery supposedly for moral support, you'd better fill me in, though quite why you think Karen will take any offer of help from me, I can't imagine." "Whenever I've seen her over the last year, she's almost always asked after you," Jo said quietly, knowing that George deeply regretted questioning Karen so ruthlessly on that mid October day, even though George had never said so. "I don't know what for," George said with a frown, but Jo wasn't fooled. This was George's way of hiding how touched she was. "The first witness that Neumann Mason-Alan is going to put on the stand on Monday afternoon," Said Jo, returning to safer ground, "Will be the pathologist who did Fenner's postmortem. I think it's then that Karen will find out what Lauren actually did to Fenner. I don't think even Neumann would put something like that in his opening speech." "What exactly do I need to be prepared to deal with?" "I really shouldn't be doing this, George." "I know," George said softly. "Breaking client confidentiality just isn't you, which means that you obviously think there's a necessity for doing it. You've never discussed one little detail of this case, something which you probably ought to be proud of if it's that bad." "Lauren Atkins abducted Fenner at gunpoint, drove him to Epping Forest and made him dig his own grave." Here Jo stopped, and didn't continue until she'd lit herself a cigarette and taken a long drag. "She shot him, not to kill him but to stop him from defending himself. I'm certain Neumann will show the photographs, which might be what Karen will react to." "If the shot didn't kill him, what did?" "She buried him alive." George recoiled like she'd been slapped. "Jo, are you absolutely sure you know what you're doing in defending this case?" "There's no way Lauren Atkins was completely sane when she did it." "Well, I'll take that as read," George said in disgust. "I'm not doing this for Lauren Atkins," Jo explained, "I'm doing this for Yvonne." "I don't believe you," George announced, her voice rising with anger fuelled by her concern for Jo. "You're doing exactly what you did when you attempted to prosecute that case for Karen. You've got emotionally involved up to your neck in something that let's face it, is a bit peculiar to say the least. Karen's case did at least have merit behind it." "In case you've forgotten, George, all three of us, you, me and John, were all up to our necks in this case long before Yvonne arrived at my door. We knew precisely who had killed Fenner even before the police did. If any other barrister had taken on this defence, they'd likely have asked enough questions to find out that it was Karen who gave us Lauren's name. Yvonne still doesn't, and if I've got anything to do with it, she never will know that. Don't you remember just how much of your prosecution-style questioning it took to drag that all important piece of information out of Karen?" "You don't have to remind me of that day," Said George, self-recrimination dripping from every syllable. "No, I know I don't," Said Jo, calming down slightly. "But you have to understand that that's partly why I'm doing this. After having read Fenner's forensic report, there is absolutely no way that Karen could ever have entertained the possibility of doing what Lauren did, and you and me owe it to her to somehow support her through this trial. Not John, because in his infinitely bloody minded wisdom he believed her from the start. Not John, but you and me both thought Karen Betts if not actually guilty then at least possibly guilty of Fenner's murder. I can't be with her when she discovers how her once lover was killed, but you can. As for the reasoning behind what happened, if you come to court, you'll find out, and then maybe you'll understand why I'm doing this for Yvonne as much as for Karen." "Okay," George said quietly. "I haven't got much on this week, at least not on Monday and Tuesday, so I'll be there. It'll be quite odd, seeing Karen again," She ended somewhat meditatively, also thinking that Jo had just given her the perfect excuse she needed for having cleared much of this week of appointments in the first place. George knew full well that she would have been at court on Monday whether or not Jo had asked her to be. Karen would undoubtedly be there, and to see her again was an opportunity George just couldn't bring herself to miss. It gave her a nervous sense of adolescent excitement somewhere deep inside her when she thought of what it would be like to see Karen again after all this time, after the many times George had dreamt of her over the last year. When Jo left an hour or so later, George gave her a tight, half-impulsive hug. "Just be careful," She said in to Jo's hair. It was very rare that they touched like this and the contact was nearly always initiated by George, but Jo was nevertheless grateful for it and for George's sentiment. "Just promise me one thing," She said with a broad smile. "I don't want any audience participation from you if I screw up." "Well, there's an easy answer to that," George said with a mischievous grin. "Don't screw up. Though I might not be able to forego the pleasure of commenting on Neumann Mason-Alan's cross-examination. It'll be an interesting exercise being in the public gallery instead of on the bench for a change. But I mean it," She said, again turning serious. "Please be careful." 


	6. Part Six

Part Six  
  
The house was too still and quiet for Yvonne, these days now that she rattled around on her own in contrast to years ago when the place was full of life, for good or bad. Another Christmas had passed and, this time, Lauren wasn't at home to share it with her nor Karen either. Even Trigger clearly missed one of his mistresses being around as his tail hung low and his big round doggy eyes looked up at Yvonne asking questions. Once more, she was to drive the familiar route to Larkhall from the date of the visiting order that she had been sent. It helped give her some purpose in life.  
  
Aside from Cassie and Roisin whom she was going to pick up from home, Yvonne met up with Karen from time to time as in the old days for a drink in a nearby pub. The pleasant flow of conversation suited both their purposes as intelligent women who wanted more out of life than wondering what was going to happen in Corrie and talking about Changing Rooms and the normal dull suburban commonplaces. It might have been expected by the casual observer in the pub with ears for casual talk but not eyes to see but both their lives had defied normal expectations in the way that they had intertwined. The bread and butter of their conversation was about the way Lauren was bearing up over the months. Yvonne knew that Karen would keep a discreet yet searching lookout for what was going on at Larkhall. Outside of that, they let the conversation drift in whatever way it cared to blow.  
  
It was a relief to be out of the house to go, with Cassie and Roisin to visit Denny and Lauren, as Yvonne coupled the two names with a gulp. She was used to Denny being a fixture in Larkhall, having come from the children's home that she had torched but Lauren being there, even if on remand, it had hit her hard. She had got used to saying to herself to have faith in the one brief and the one judge who would give them the time of day and not as a client to make their money out of. At heart, she feared for Lauren and a sinking feeling in her stomach told her that Lauren could be put away for a very long time. She couldn't wait to be out into the cold, sharp winter sunshine with the sun barely peeking through the trees and casting long shadows and she powered her red Ferrari round to the sanctuary of Cassie and Roisin's. For once, they were on their own as on no account would they dream of taking the children to Larkhall prison after the dreadful experiences of Aiden hurling abuse at their mother and later, being stopped at the last minute from seeing them.  
  
Roisin greeted Yvonne effusively with open arms and a big warm hug that was almost motherly, as she knew all too well what it was like being separated from your children. This time, Yvonne's situation was reversed from her own experience of being in Larkhall. The fact that Lauren was twenty-four made no difference in Roisin's eyes as, in her mind, you never leave your children. Yvonne felt warmed through and through equally by Cassie's light hearted joking and her companionship. They looked so well together with each other that she could never be jealous of them but bathe in a soothing undemanding loyal friendship.  
They had half an hour to kill and, while Cassie checked herself over in the mirror to ensure that she looked her best, Roisin poured out cups of coffee and chatted away to her. Yvonne lay back in the comfiest armchair, which seemed to swallow her up.  
"We'd better go, girls. Can't be late for Old Bodybag," Yvonne smiled faintly.  
"To think that we'd see the day that we would ever set foot in that place again," Roisin's intense Irish spirit was awash with loathing for the place and said the same thing each time they went.  
"We'll be all right, babe, but Bodybag will be sicker of seeing us than we will of seeing her," Cassie grinned mischievously. The balance of power had shifted in their favour as her impotence to boss them about aggravated her temper every time.  
  
Yvonne smiled broadly, enormously grateful for their company. She could do with a few laughs in her life. She drove the car steadily down leafy roads, in her mirror seeing Cassie and Roisin cuddling up together. For once, the radio was off as the casual friendly chat was a version of when they met up but carried along on four wheels.  
Pretty soon, the city streets closed in and the familiar signposts directed them in to their destination and all three of them felt that familiar sick feeling as if they were forced against their wills to pass through the solid wooden gates and let those high stone walls, topped with curled barbed wire, surround them. No matter how many times they visited, they never lost that initial feeling.  
  
Yvonne swung her car to a halt and they made their way to the gatehouse, inside the massive open wooden door which was swung back.  
"VO for Denny Blood and Lauren Atkins," Yvonne insisted with the firmness of an ordinary member of the public who could reasonably expect proper treatment as of right. "You know which way to go," came the response that did not look their way.  
Instantly, they trooped into the room where Bodybag's hectoring voice lectured the audience that the prisoners were to stay in their seats and did not move until they were told to.  
"Oh you again," Came the hostile tones. "Thought we'd get a holiday from you three." "Aaah Sylvia," Emphasised Yvonne in parody, "we thought you'd miss us if we stopped coming. Give you something to look forward to, Miss." "No backchat then, Atkins…" "Yvonne Atkins, if you please. I'm a free woman remember." Bodybag pointedly ignored them to hector prisoners who would put up with her ways. Close the prisoners in their kennels and no home visits, that's the answer to a smoothly running prison. If she'd told Stewart and then Betts, she'd told them a thousand times but would they listen? So Jo Soap had to struggle on, and noone thanked her for the way she struggled on.  
Gina Rossi entered the visiting room and felt the invisible backwash of bad atmosphere between Sylvia and Yvonne and tut tutted under her breath. Why does the silly cow try to get one over Yvonne Atkins as she loses every time. She's as much chance as being 'made over' as Britney Spears in "Stars in your Eyes." "Hi, Yvonne," She greeted her with a broad smile much to Bodybag's annoyance as she had to put down her magazine. "Make yourself at home. Is that Cassie Tyler and Roisin Connor? Haven't seen you for months." "Why thank you," Roisin flashed her brilliant smile while Bodybag scowled impotently at that Irish druggie.  
"It's nice to meet a decent screw," Yvonne smiled.  
"More than she gets," Gina muttered cryptically, jerking a thumb in Bodybag's direction who was staring vacantly around.  
Yvonne grinned and Denny and Lauren came forward, Denny with a big grin and Lauren following with an uncertain smile. This was not the confident Lauren that Yvonne had seen before.  
"We're really sorry, babe, that we haven't seen you for a while," Cassie ventured apologetically.  
Tears sprang into Lauren's eyes and she hugged the other woman tightly.  
"Here, none of that," Bodybag sounded off, her eyes alert for only one thing at visiting time.  
Gina let that one pass, as, technically, she was right to restrict the amount of human contact, which was a very effective way of smuggling in drugs. It's just because the cow wasn't getting it that she enforced the rule so rigidly.  
"I'm really glad you could come here just before the trial as I'm really scared," Lauren frankly confessed as Jo's last visit had made her all too acutely aware of what she was up against. The five of them comandeered a couple of tables and chairs which Gina's warning eye told Bodybag not to do her jobsworth routine and object to. "Hey, I thought Atkins didn't do scared." "Mum and I are just better at hiding it, that's all, Denny."  
  
The other woman puzzled over this one, her forehead furrowed in deep thought, trying to get her head round this one. She had seen that Lauren had got over her initial shock of being locked up for the first time in her life and she had slipped effortlessly into Yvonne's old shoes as 'top dog.' with that mixture of diamond hard confidence, sharp intelligence and the sense of invisible feelers for what went on in Larkhall. The difference between Lauren and Yvonne was that there was far less to battle against with some decent screws coming back to Larkhall and Miss Betts's firm but fair regime. Lauren had achieved a balance of sorts, which was helped out by the personal officer that she was allocated.  
  
"I'm Dominic McAllister and I'm to be your personal officer. Any problems you have around here then give us a shout and I will see what I can do to help," Were the first words from the polite knock on the door first thing and a fairly shy, pleasant good looking man appeared round the door.  
"Why, thank you," Lauren started in with a slightly mocking and seductive stare. "I'll be hanging on your every word." "So long as you don't buy me a new Harley Davidson like your mum did. I had a great burn up the Old Kent road but I wasn't allowed to keep it. I have to stick by the rules, same as you do." Lauren did a double take, sensing the traces of humour, which coloured but did not soften the very serious way he took his job and remembered Mum talking about him with affection. Things were starting to look up.  
"Look, I know it will be a week max before you take over the running of G wing but just don't give us a hard time as there's been a few changes amongst the prison officers since your mum was here." "I promise you faithfully that I'll behave myself," Came the half flippant reply which she softened up. "You were fond of mum, weren't you." "It's weird, when I first came here and I was new and inexperienced that I was told to watch out for your Mum and Nikki Wade as the troublemakers and there was no harm in either of them when you got to know them, yet the one prisoner who did give me trouble, Shell Dockley, was one that I was never warned about. I make my own mind up but I'm a good listener And yes, I'm fond of her." "Suits me fine," Lauren's casual reply told him that he had passed the Atkins test with flying colours.  
So Denny reasoned to herself that Lauren had felt she was only here temporarily but the days had relentlessly crossed themselves off the wall till the date of the trial until the one-day's mark remained. The days of decision were on her.  
  
"I just think that it's such an open and shut case no matter what Jo Mills has been telling me. I can sort of believe it myself when she's talking but a day after she's gone out the door and I'm back the same way of thinking before she comes." "You've got one of the best barristers and the best judge that I've ever seen," Yvonne's respect evident in her choice of words to describe Jo Mills and John Deed. "If there's a way of doing the best for you, she'll do it and the judge ain't likely to put on the black hat for you. You've seen them both." "Mum, that's when I was looking on and wanting them both to send Ritchie and that Merriman cow down for a long stretch. It seems different when you're in the dock." "We've all been there, Lauren, don't forget," Came Roisin's gentle reminder.  
Lauren coloured a little at that remark. She had forgotten that both Cassie and Roisin had stood in that same dock charged with embezzling funds from the company they had worked for. Her mum and Charlie likewise had had their collars felt by the Old Bill and had stood up in court though ironically, Charlie had got off by bribery and corruption until he had faced a much sterner justice arranged by herself.  
"I'm sorry, I've forgotten." "Doesn't matter, babes. We're all here for you today and we'll be in the gallery in court." Lauren smiled nostalgically at the feelings they had when they were all together in that mutual comfort zone, even if they were perched up on high sitting endlessly on those hard benches. She would give anything to be there right now, not stuck there in the dock, the focus of attention. She remembered the feelings of dark jealousy when mum was holding hands with Karen as she was then. If she only knew then what she knows now, her life would be so different.  
"You've got to go for it, kid. It ain't going to be easy. I ain't going to tell you to go out there as an Atkins as you have got to go out there with whatever strength you have. Just don't do the same as Ritchie did and mouth off as that didn't work. You're stronger than that, you've got to keep your cool whatever happens and you'll help Jo Mills to do her bit." It was that occasional soft and gentle and infinitely caring voice of her mother which had been that thin tracery of a golden path which had led her through the darkness of what had been the story of her life. She had to cling on to that feeling to pull her through. Lauren lay back in her chair staring at the ceiling and took a number of deep breaths in and out as she let the words sink in. Mum was right and so were Roisin and Cassie. Her mind stopped racing as she could do no more right now.  
"Time's up. All the visitors, go back to the other end of the room and make your way to the gates and sign out. And don't leave anything accidentally on purpose behind or it will be immediately confiscated." Spare us, Gina thought, she never gets any better. Lauren and Denny kissed the other three women gratefully as their messengers of good from the other side, the place where who knows, they may go to in time.  
"Two of us will be with Lauren over the next few days. If it can't be me, I'll choose a couple who won't be a pain in the arse. See you." The three women diminished in size and mingled with the crowds, which queued out of the far door. Denny gestured to Lauren to follow her back to their cell while Bodybag stomped self importantly behind them. 


	7. Part Seven

Part Seven  
  
On the Monday morning, John arrived at court early. He still hadn't quite managed to prize the Atkins case away from Monty Everard, but Coope being the wonder that she was, had made an unauthorised photocopy of the papers which he'd been ploughing his way through all weekend. But John did have one last card up his sleeve. He hadn't wanted to use it, but nothing else had so far worked. But he wouldn't play his last hand until just before the trial was due to start, to give Monty as little time as possible to wriggle out of handing over the case. But this wasn't his immediate concern. Having been brought up to speed over the weekend as to the exact details of Lauren Atkins crime, he knew that he would more than likely have a hurt and betrayed Karen at his door before too long. He knew that Jo's ongoing concern over the last year had been that Karen wasn't fully aware of how Fenner had died, and after having acquainted himself with the facts of the case, John knew perfectly well why nobody had wanted to tell her. Jo had said that she would put George in the picture and ask her to be in the public gallery, but John felt slightly guilty for not being able to be there himself. Ever since he'd slept with Karen that night nearly fifteen months ago, they had formed an unusual though extremely strong friendship. Other than Jo, John had never had a close female friend before, the women in his life being reserved for purely sexual purposes. But Karen was different. Once they'd got the inevitable sexual attraction to each other well and truly out of the way, they had got to know each other as friends rather than lovers. They had not repeated their one sexual experience, and John was forced to admit that their friendship was far less complicated because of that. No other woman he knew, apart from Jo or George, had ever been at times more brutally honest with him, had ever listened when he needed to rant about the judiciary or his still strong urge to chase random strangers. There wasn't anything he couldn't say to Karen, nor anything she couldn't say to him, and neither would have given up the other's company for the world.  
  
But what would she say to him when she discovered that he had been all too aware of the horrific way in which her one time lover had met his death. John could still vividly remember that day when she'd come to see him in chambers, when he asked her to explain why she hadn't reported her knowledge of Fenner's death. On that one occasion, it hadn't been the fact that Fenner had raped her that had hurt her, but the fact that she had once loved him. She had never again spoken of those feelings, but John knew they would only have been in hiding somewhere, waiting for some complete imbecile of a prosecuting barrister to force them out in to the open for cross-examination. All her feelings had been so confused with regards to Fenner, that John knew the discovery that Fenner had been buried alive would come as an enormous emotional shock to her. So, if even his last persuasive tactic didn't work on Monty Everard, he would be in the public gallery instead of or as well as George.  
  
When Karen pulled in to the carpark in the green MG sports car, she could see that she was lucky to find a space. Half the world's press had clearly been marking out their territory since dawn, and Karen was forced to wonder from where they'd managed to dig up a jury who hadn't previously heard of this case. Yvonne's Ferrari soon slid in next to her, followed by Cassie and Roisin's car, an Audi she recognised as Nikki's, and numerous cars that she didn't. "I thought I might see you here," Karen said as Nikki walked towards her. "I think it's called poetic justice," Said Nikki in reply. "The very last person Fenner would have wanted at the trial of his killer is me, so maybe that's why I'm here, just to piss him off." Karen couldn't help seeing a sense of black humour in this, because she knew that Nikki was also there to support Yvonne. "I don't know how I'm going to stand this," Said Yvonne, coming over. "I'll probably not be wanted until next week, but because I'm a witness, they won't let me anywhere near the public gallery, and like I can support my daughter if I can't even see what they'll be putting her through." Remembering Yvonne's performance from the public gallery during Ritchie's trial, Karen privately thought this was a good idea. "You'll have me to keep you company," Put in Cassie as they all walked towards the court building. "I know," Said Yvonne. "And I'm grateful, I'd just like to actually be there." When they walked inside the Old Bailey, Cassie and Yvonne detached themselves from the group and walked towards the witness room where they'd been asked to wait until they were called, and Nikki, Karen and Roisin walked upstairs to the public gallery.  
  
As they took their seats in the front row, Karen was reminded of when they'd all last been in court. After receiving her appeal some years before, Nikki's conviction for murder had been reduced to manslaughter, enabling her to leave prison and to make something of her life. But that hadn't been the end of it. Nikki's solicitor, who had since qualified as a barrister, had persuaded her to reappeal for her conviction to be completely removed. After much fighting with the criminal cases review commission and the home office, Nikki's conviction for manslaughter had been finally overturned, leaving her a completely free woman with not a sniff of a criminal record. "Yvonne better get used to seeing her name in print," Nikki observed as they watched the reporters battling for space at the press bench. "I think she already was," Said Karen dryly. "Every time there's been anything in the papers about Lauren's case, they always use it as an excuse to bring out Yvonne's trial, Charlie's trial and Charlie's death. She had to take out an injunction last year to keep them from surrounding her house." "I hope Cassie behaves herself when she gets in the witness box next week," Said Roisin hopefully. "I wouldn't bank on it," Said Karen. "You remember what she was like at Snowball and Ritchie's trial, and that was only from the gallery." Almost from force of habit, Nikki was scanning the faces which were assembling around them, a habit she'd clearly not relinquished since her Larkhall days. "If you turn round," She said in an undertone to Karen. "Standing by the door, you'll see a ravishingly sensational blonde who can't seem to take her eyes off you." Whipping her head in the direction of the door that led in to the gallery, Karen was more than a little surprised to see George standing as Nikki had said, her eyes fixed on Karen. Their eyes met, and locked. Karen felt a tingling along all her nerve endings, a chord that seemed to resonate throughout her entire being. The last time Karen had seen George was on the day she had accused Karen of Fenner's murder. The last time she'd had any form of communication with George was via the couple of e-mails that had been sent between them a few days after that well remembered exchange of words. Whilst Karen had usually asked after George when she'd seen Jo over the last year, she had gained far more of an insight in to what George had been up to through John. Karen had not been unduly surprised when John had explained his relationship with the two women to her. She personally thought that no man had ever had it better, and if he ever showed any signs of going back to his old ways, Karen was quick to remind him of just what he did have. Karen had long since come to the realisation that had that last battle of wills with George not been about something so serious, she almost certainly would have enjoyed it, finding an equal with whom she could exercise her verbal dexterity. John often talked to her about Jo and George, and Karen knew that it had taken a monumental change for John and George to put aside there differences long enough to realise that they still loved each other. But John had never told her what this was and Karen had never asked. Karen was forced to admit a certain curiosity where George was concerned. She had absolutely no doubt that someone as verbally ferocious as George would almost certainly transfer their fiery energy to their sex life, and knowing what she knew about John made this all the more probable. Karen wasn't sure if her memory had simply dulled the mental picture she'd had of George, but George certainly looked better today than when Karen had seen her last. George had been no less smartly dressed or well made up on that occasion, but today she seemed to have more life about her, the clear blue eyes seeming to hold a new energy, maybe even a hint of excitement. But when George became aware that Karen was looking at her, she blinked, as if to hide away that sense of nervous anticipation. Karen lifted a hand and waved. "I didn't think this was one of your usual haunts?" Karen said in greeting. "No, it's not," George said as she sat down on Karen's right. "I thought I'd come and see Jo in action," She explained, privately thinking that this must be the lamest excuse she'd ever heard and conveniently glossing over the fact that she'd seen Jo in action many times. "So, you don't still think me guilty then?" Said Karen keeping her face devoid of expression. George opened her mouth to reply, but for once not being able to think of anything to say she shut it again. "I'm only joking," Said Karen, relenting and giving George a broad smile. "Oh," George said with a slight stammer, relief washing over her. "I cringe every time I think of that day." Karen strove to reassure her. "You shouldn't," She said kindly. "I'd probably have done exactly the same had I been in your shoes." Then, turning to Nikki and Roisin who were sitting on her left, she said, "This is Nikki Wade and Roisin Connor, and this is George Channing." "How did you know I was here?" George asked, after receiving a polite smile of greeting from Nikki and Roisin. Karen grinned and gestured to Nikki. "I was informed that a ravishingly sensational blonde couldn't take her eyes off me." "Oh, I see," Said George, half laughing half blushing, and it was duly noted how flustered this made her. "How are you?" Karen asked, trying to change the subject. "Oh, I'm all right. Just about managing to keep myself out of trouble, escaping from a conviction for contempt of court by the skin of my teeth, still seeing John, but then I think you know that." "I think we've both been keeping tabs on each other through John," Said Karen with a soft smile. "Yes," Admitted George. "He told me you've got a promotion board coming up soon." "I've been a wing governor for long enough," Replied Karen. "I want to spread my wings." "I don't see any reason why you shouldn't be able too." "Nothing's certain when it comes to area management," Said Karen cynically. "They're as bad as the judiciary." A distraction was then provided by the arrival of Barbara who moved along to sit between Nikki and Roisin. Her eyes ran quickly over George's face. "Nice to see you're on the right side this time," Barbara said, looking straight at George. "It is possible to live and learn," Said George, immediately putting an end to any impending argument. "Do you two know each other?" Asked Nikki. "In a manner of speaking," Replied Barbara. "Barbara had the dubious pleasure of being cross-examined by me during the Merriman/Atkins trial," Explained George. This was followed by a widening of Nikki's eyes, no doubt as a result of the many things Yvonne had said about Ritchie's barrister when they'd talked about his trial. "Oh, absolutely bloody marvelous," Karen said quietly, looking over at a woman sitting in one of the front row seats on the other side of the gallery, far enough away from them not to hear their conversation, but near enough to possibly recognise her. "Who is she?" George asked, glancing at the woman Karen was staring at. "She," Karen said slowly and deliberately. "Is Marilyn Fenner, Fenner's ex-wife. The last time I saw her was after Dockley stabbed him. It stands to reason that she's come to watch the last act so to speak." They were prevented from discussing Marilyn's appearance further by the clerk of the court calling "All rise," and by the appearance of John through the door behind the judge's bench. "His last ditch attempt must have worked," George murmured to Karen. Karen simply raised a questioning eyebrow at her. "He said that if he hadn't managed to get the case away from Monty Everard by this morning, he'd use blackmail to get the case. Whatever he had on Monty Everard must have been successful." "At least we now know that Lauren will get a fair hearing," Said Karen in relieved response. She wouldn't have trusted another Judge to be fair to an Atkins, but she knew that John would. No matter the background or the circumstances of the crime, she could always trust John to conduct a fair and open-minded trial. 


	8. Part Eight

Part Eight  
  
John's mind was finally made up. Theoretically he could demean himself by ingratiating himself to Monty Everard and grossly flatter his non-existent good qualities but he instinctively ruled that one out. Practically, he had as much chance of succeeding as Osama Bin Laden had of knocking at the door of the White House and taking tea with President Bush and discussing Christian theology as to the creation. For another, his blood boiled at such a gross moral indecency and a violation of his basic moral principles. So blackmail it would have to be.  
With the most casual demeanour he could summon up, he knocked at the door of Monty's chambers.  
"Oh, It's you, John," Monty growled, glaring up at him as he stood before him. True to form, his chambers were that bit more luxurious than his own, the three-piece suite straight out of Harrods, the pictures on the wall original Constables. So it has come to it that a part of a life's work of a famous British artist had been destined to decorate the walls of such an utter philistine. Petty one upmanship, not appreciation of the finer things in life was one force that drove his mediocre personality.  
"I was wondering if you had had second thoughts about releasing the Crown versus Atkins case to me," He opened the argument perfectly mildly, sitting down, uninvited in the chair opposite him. "I ought to explain that I was perfectly sincere in reciprocating in any of the cases that I have similarly reserved to myself, or any other one case that you fancy." "Well, you wondered wrong, Deed," Monty's childish vein in his personality was uppermost." "Might I ask exactly why you are declining a perfectly reasonable request?" "Ever since I had the displeasure of making your acquaintance, you have made great play of obstinately holding onto any and every case which you have reserved to yourself. The boot is on the other foot, Deed. I will be damned if I will release a case of mine which I have properly reserved to myself and your presence in my chambers, sir, is an unwarrantable intrusion," Monty Everard stormed and blustered.  
"I was merely concerned that a certain private matter did not become public knowledge," John's mild mannered voice belied the force with which he was disinclined to be dislodged from his chair in the same way that a limpet at the seaside merely holds on tighter the more an attempt is made to detach it from its native rock.  
"I had always thought that you were, at the very least, eccentric but now you, sir, have finally gone over the top," Monty snorted.  
"You are aware that the trial will centre very much on inmates in Larkhall prison, past and present as well as prison officers," John replied languidly, infuriating Monty with his elliptical approach to what he vaguely suspected was some kind of threat against himself.  
"What has some crumbling Victorian prison possibly got to do with me besides witnesses who will be called before me in court? What happens to anyone who comes before me on the bench becomes the matter of the Prison service and not myself. Now, if you will excuse me…….." "I happened to make a visit to Larkhall some time ago out of natural curiosity. I happened to chat to two personable, very amusing women there who were very informative." John's maddeningly reasonable tones emphasised the last word but one in the sentence which started to worry Monty.  
"Why the devil are you staying around in my chambers, inflicting these ridiculous reminiscences. You are gibbering." "I mention these points to you because if you do not exchange cases in the way I propose, I shall resume my acquaintance with the very attractive female Times law correspondant to whom I shall make direct references on the best of all possible authority the way that you paid for the sexual services of the 'Two Trudies.' Every Thursday at eight. The press would be so very interested in the private life of someone who has gone on record in the interminable pompous moralising outpourings that has been inflicted on the poor suffering public. Do you know, the "two Trudies" are the very same women who I engaged in recent conversation with at Larkhall. They have excellent memories. If I remember rightly, 'he used to say his wife wasn't attractive enough to get him going, but then they all say that.' Legover Everard, that's what they know you as. Don't you think that the popular press's interest that there will be in one of the Atkins family appearing in court may spill over if by some chance, you sat in judgement in a case where Larkhall Prison will loom rather large." The way that John suddenly switched his tone of voice that was heavy on the consonants and made a very deadly use of sarcasm took Monty Everard aback. He remembered only too well what effective use he had made of the press in forcing the hand of the attorney General and, by implication, the entire government. It appalled his sense of proper order that such a maverick could wield such power. However, fear undercut his anger and the very possibility that the gossip, which had only circulated within the cloistered world of the bar, could become the stuff of public gossip. He imagined that the matter could spill out such that some wretched comedian like Rory Bremner does a 'Legover Everard' impersonation. His wife would not stand for it and never would the respectable circles in which he mingled in his native town by adoption of Henley, that bastion of conservatism. "It's only one favour that I am asking of you and I am willing to exchange one case in return. What could be fairer than that?" John persisted teasingly.  
Something snapped in him, partly that intense desire to be rid of the one man that he couldn't stand over an issue that he had made in his pig headed way.  
"You'll find the case with my clerk. Her room is right next to mine. I shall write a note to authorise you to pick up the case if you wish," Monty's muffled voice uttered the words of surrender very jerkily.  
He scribbled a quick note, thrust it into John's hands and feebly poked with his forefinger in the general direction of the exit door.  
"I'm so glad to have relieved you of a burden," John's parting words turned Monty's face from red to purple as his blood pressure rose.  
John clutched the note firmly and strode eagerly out the door while Monty mopped his forehead with a handkerchief and reached for a decanter, half filled with whisky.  
  
John smiled at the unfortunate careworn woman who had the onerous job of being nursemaid to Monty. She and Coope had often confided in each other and both had concluded that while John's turbulent private life had extended Coope's role in directions outside the traditional duties, John at least had a certain precision in the way that he worked and a natural consideration and kindliness which more than compensated for it. Life, for Coope, working for John was never dull. In contrast, Monty Everard's personal assistant was the overworked drudge for a spoilt little boy who treated her with a cavalier lack of consideration at best and with petulant tantrums at worst combined with a slipshod treatment of the papers, which passed through him.  
  
"Oh yes, Coope advised me that you may be requiring the Crown versus Atkins file. It's at the top of my in tray ready for you to pick up if you want. You do want to collect it personally?" How the devil did she guess, John thought to himself, bemused at Coope's mysterious far-flung personal network that worked so impeccably for him. She popped it in his briefcase for him in a motherly way and they exchanged polite words before John excused himself.  
That John Deed, such a delight to work for and such a charmer and not at all like the way that that tiresome man vilified him. Coope is a lucky woman, she thought as she adjusted her spectacles to focus on Monty Everard's spidery scrawl.  
  
"Why on earth did you let Deed get his hands on the Crown versus Atkins case, Monty? After all the time you have lectured us about getting tough with him, you let yourself get walked over in this fashion. Above all else, this is a case demanding sound judgement and Deed is capable of acting in some outlandish fashion. I shall have to spend two weeks sitting on the hard benches in the gallery instead of doing the work I am paid to do," Sir Ian's somewhat amplified and irritated tones reverberated in Monty's left ear.  
"Lawrence," he could hear a quieter voice directed away from the phone, "stop what you're doing. We are going to the Old Bailey." "Is there some kind of trouble, sir?" Lawrence James's head jerked sideways, yanked out of his concentration on the report he had in hand. He loved the peace and serenity of these moments contemplating his life's work.  
"Deed is the trouble," Sir Ian said cryptically. "Come on." And Monty heard the phone slammed down on him.  
  
Newmann Mason-Allen heard with utter alarm his worst nightmare come true. Instead of the amenable Monty Everard who let him and Jo Mills slug it out without interruption, he faced a second unpredictable antagonist in the name of John Deed situated up in the Gods whose notorious tendency to intervene without warning at a moment's notice and his brilliance at the law made him feel threatened and inferior. It was just his luck, he thought to himself.  
  
John's impatient stride propelled himself across the large polished stone tiles of the Old Bailey.  
"I've got the case," he spoke in low but triumphant tones.  
Jo smiled warmly, pleased that he was the one judge who would at least hear Lauren Atkins without putting the pretried Atkins family reputation first before the court and to twist the trial to suit the herd prejudices of the judiciary.  
"Do you know what you are taking on in handling the case, Jo?" he added in mistimed and misdirected concern for her. Jo was always subject to pre trial nerves that, its most directed, shaped it in an adrenaline flow which sharpened her mind to razor edged cutting form. The downside of that mood came out when her temper snapped.  
"Seeing that we were up to our necks in what we knew about the case long before any arrest was made, we owe it to Karen Betts for the way we put her on trial and got it wrong," She snapped and then in softer vein she added, "I have to see it through to the end no matter what it takes. You know that, John." Expressionlessly, he nodded. The die was cast and it was time they all took their stands. 


	9. Part Nine

Part Nine  
  
When John emerged through the door behind the Judge's bench, he took a moment to look round at his court. There was Jo, stood at the defence's end of the bench, Neumann Mason-Alan at the prosecution's end of the bench, and Lauren Atkins in the dock opposite him. The press bench was packed to overflowing, and the gallery looked likewise. He could see Karen sitting next to George in the front row, next to two women he didn't recognise. He could also pick out his two antibiotic-resistant followers from the LCD, Sir Ian Rochester and Lawrence James. He might have known they'd be here. After he was seated, and everyone else followed, he waited as the jury were sworn in and the charge read out, followed by Lauren Atkins plea of not guilty. But before Neumann Mason-Alan could begin his opening speech for the prosecution, John decided that a word or two wouldn't go amiss. "Before council for the prosecution makes his opening speech," He began. "I would like to say a few words. This trial has attracted and will continue to attract an enormous amount of media attention and speculation from the general public. As a result of this, it has been extremely difficult to find a jury who have not previously formed opinions as to the guilt or innocence of the defendent. I must therefore demand, that there be no unauthorised interruption of the proceedings, so as to enable the jury to reach a conclusion by the facts and the facts alone. I will not tolerate any form of audience participation from the public gallery, especially from any barristers who may be present. Those who choose to infringe this demand will find themselves before me on a charge for contempt of court. I hope I have made myself clear." In the gallery, George quietly scowled, knowing that this warning had been meant almost entirely for her benefit. Further thought was then postponed when Neumann Mason-Alan rose from the prosecution bench and turned to face the jury.  
  
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, throughout the course of this trial, you will see and hear many things I'm sure you'll wish you hadn't. Defence council would have you believe that this is an extremely complex case, but I can assure you it most certainly is not. The defendant you see before you, is without doubt, reasonable or otherwise, guilty of the crime with which she is charged, that on the fifth of October 2003, she did, with an enormous amount of premeditation, murder James Fenner, a law-abiding citizen who, until his untimely death, was a principle officer of Her Majesty's Prison Larkhall. Lauren Atkins did, for six weeks, stalk James Fenner, Lauren Atkins did abduct James Fenner at gunpoint from outside his own house, and Lauren Atkins did kill James Fenner in a most inhumane and brutal fashion. These unquestionable facts will be borne out by the four witnesses I will bring before you. The witnesses for the prosecution will run as follows: The first being Professor Samantha Ryan, the pathologist who conducted James Fenner's postmortem. She will make it abundantly clear to you exactly what Lauren Atkins did to James Fenner, the details of which will no doubt haunt you for some time to come. My second witness will be Dr. Thomas Waugh, a qualified and practicing psychiatrist who currently holds the position of senior medical officer at Her Majesty's Prison Larkhall. He has thoroughly examined Lauren Atkins, and can determine no possible, or plausible, psychiatric or psychological cause for her actions during the autumn of 2003. My third witness will be Detective Inspector Sullivan, the senior police officer in charge of Lauren Atkins' arrest. My fourth and final witness, will be Diane Barker, a close colleague of James Fenner's and who was, for some time before his death, James Fenner's lover. I shall endeavour to prove beyond all reasonable doubt, that Lauren Atkins is nothing less than a cold blooded killer, who should be detained at Her Majesty's pleasure for the foreseeable future. She is not in any way mentally disturbed, no matter how much defence council may attempt to convince you of this. Lauren Atkins carried out her actions with sincere malice of forethought, perhaps finally showing the true colours of those who have raised her. I simply ask you, members of the jury, to listen to the facts of the case, and to find Lauren Atkins guilty of the charge of murder."  
  
As Neumann Mason-Alan sat down, Nikki took a breath to object to the not so subtle insult that had surely been aimed at Yvonne, but Karen gave her a warning look which quelled her for the moment. Mentally putting her hands to her head, Karen realised with a feeling of half dread half resignation, that Nikki was going to be as difficult to verbally restrain as Yvonne and Cassie put together. Nikki had been prepared for it, but she still couldn't prevent herself scowling at the utterance of Dr. Waugh's name. Thomas had come back to work at Larkhall almost a year ago, and being the resident shrink, had been asked to perform a psychiatric assessment on Lauren by an order of the court. George, on the other hand, relaxed. Far too many times during that opening speech, she'd thought that Neumann Mason-Alan was about to deliver the shocking details of Fenner's death there and then. But thankfully, he had done exactly what Jo had thought he would. But whilst knowing that Jo wasn't about to discuss the details of Fenner's death either, George was all too aware that they would be brought out for all and sundry to examine some time that afternoon. Having virtually never seen Karen react to any kind of enormously emotional shock, George had absolutely no idea what Karen might do. But this was what Jo had put her there for, to deal with any eventuality that might arise. 


	10. Part Ten

Part Ten  
  
Jo had travelled through her ritual journey that preceded every court case that she had ever conducted, the sort of keyed up anticipation that sharpened and focussed her thinking without sliding into that pit of fear that could envelop any barrister. She knew of no barrister who was as totally calm and controlled as he or she appeared to be. That was all part of the act. So focussed was she that the final slur on Yvonne that angered the gallery was passed by her unnoticed at the time. She shuffled through her papers while Neuman Mason-Alan spoke, pulling in like lightning, the key phrases which indicated his line of attack. Going in second did have that advantage.  
  
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I am asking that you consider two vital and very separate questions, how James Fenner came to meet his end, and more importantly, why. If you hear the forensic evidence that will be placed before you as well as witness evidence, you may well conclude that the defendant, Lauren Atkins, took the life of James Fenner on the fifth of October 2003. The defendant has never denied the substance of the charge put to her. That is not, however, the end of the matter if you should so conclude. My first witness will be the defendant herself, Lauren Atkins, who will relate what she knew of the circumstances of the death of James Fenner. I intend to demonstrate from her testimony of the very powerful and dangerous personality of her father, Charlie Atkins, who was suddenly and brutally murdered two years ago. You will hear evidence that the taking of James Fenner's life was predated by two very traumatic events in the life of Lauren Atkins, one was the trial and conviction of her brother Ritchie Atkins whose crime included the betrayal of the tight knit family which Lauren Atkins was born into, a matter about which she felt very deeply. The other, only a matter of hours after sentencing, was her brother's tragic suicide and her receipt of the last communications that she would ever receive from him. This was a letter from him, begging her to take the life of the deceased, which I shall produce in evidence. My second and expert witness as to the state of the defendant's mental health is the consultant psychiatrist Dr. Margaret Richards, whose report is submitted in evidence. I shall attempt to demonstrate that there is clear clinical evidence that up to and including the time of the tragic events in question, the defendant was "not in her right mind." My third witness, her mother and only surviving close relative, Yvonne Atkins, will give evidence of the tragic events, including corroberation of what I have outlined and establishing a cogent connection between the defendant and James Fenner. A close friend of the defendant, Cassie Tyler, witnessed and will give evidence as to the defendant's state of mind immediately after Ritchie Atkins's death. The last witness I will call upon is Daniella Blood, her cellmate in the prison where the defendant has been held on remand this last year. She will give evidence of Lauren Atkins's deep and profound feelings of remorse as to the terrible consequences of her actions.  
  
After hearing all the evidence, you will be able to conclude as to whether or not Lauren Atkins did, indeed, take the life of one James Fenner but, if so, you will also have a clear picture of the state of Lauren Atkins' mind in those critical weeks and that a plea of diminished responsibility will be the fit and proper construction of the events."  
  
Jo sat down with a feeling of relief that her opening presentation had delicately weaved its way through the tangled clutter of events and gave notice to Neumann Mason-Alan and hopefully the jury that the matter was not as clear cut as he made out.  
  
In the gallery, the women on the front row went through a whole spectrum of emotions. George was clearly given first prize in the "Badgirls of the Old Bailey" gallery of infamy which related to spectators rather than the accused but John's searching eye had been trained like a spotlight on the rest of the women and was a warning that could not be overlooked. None of them had any great desire to see the inside of a barred cell. That feeling was minor when Neumann Mason-Alan's ponderous voice indicted Lauren in terms which brought a sinking feeling to their stomachs and his parting touch in indicting her upbringing roused them to protective anger on Yvonne's behalf.  
In contrast, Jo's ice calm perfectly controlled performance rolled back the suffocating layer of that sneaking feeling of guilt. All of them were doing their best to fight that feeling down and be positive. After the masterly way that Jo opened the case, hope struggled through into their light.  
  
"Not bad, Jo," George said in that considered fashion that one professional feels to a nicety the texture of the counter arguments used by another. "I couldn't have put it better myself." "Coming for a drink with us, George?" Karen asked.  
Her idea slotted in naturally to the others from their previous experience of the Atkins/Merriman trial. They could not help being conscious that, previously, Lauren had been with them in the gallery but this time, she was held in captivity. To Karen and Yvonne, the other change was that last time this overbearing female defence barrister had been the scourge of the witnesses but she had gone and George who looked a lot like her was there in her place but they were both highly aware that others might not feel the same way. "Going somewhere for a drink and a smoke. Sounds like heaven to me." George's Heartfelt words made them all smile.  
"I thoroughly approve of a smoking ban in public buildings. I had a real problem in Larkhall with constantly inhaling nicotine by passive smoking from the rest of you. Going for a drink sounds fine, though," Babs added more mildly. "Do you know, Barbara, you sound exactly like John. John Deed, the judge," George explained as an aside. "He's my ex-husband and such an infuriating non smoker." It was George's unique accentuated drawl lightened by her playfulness rather than darkened by sarcasm, which made all the others laugh along with her and showed her how far she had come. This started to break the ice. Up till then, they had seemed like a random collection of people thrown together in a crowded scene, some of whom knew each other and Babs, especially, who was wary of this woman who she had last seen in verbal attack mode when she was on the witness stand and George was batting for the other side.  
"Which pub are we going to? I've not been round here for years," Nikki enquired after Cassie and Yvonne had joined them downstairs and they had clattered outside only for a piercing cold blast of winter air to cut its way through their clothes.  
"The one we went to, left round the corner. It's the nearest and it's freezing." "I know the pub and it's changed hands," George chimed in. "It's a frightful place now. I wouldn't even sentence Neumann Mason-Alan to a lunchtime drink there, standing room only and you can't hear yourself think. I know a nice place, if we turn right instead of left." George found herself at the head of the crowd without needing to elbow her way to the front and fight for dominance, the other women formed in behind her. She felt she could relax and let life flow. Nearer to the pub, Karen's longer stride drew her level with George and Nikki who was chatting away to Yvonne nine to the dozen couldn't help noticing how good Karen and George looked together.  
"Haven't we been here before?" Yvonne asked as memories stirred within her and she trod in the footsteps of where she had been that time with Karen. The other woman's tremulous smile reminded them of the flowering of their love.  
  
Once the room had opened out for them to fill, the first move was to sort out what everyone was drinking. George's instinct while she smiled and chatted was a need to know where the others fitted in with each other so that she could position herself rightly in the constellation, She was always good at social occasions but the rules of etiquette rigidly buttressed her in. Here she had to invent new rules and to fit in.  
"Could someone explain where you've known each other from as I feel a bit like the new girl at school," George stammered in her naked honesty.  
Nikki's heart warmed to this normally sophisticated woman who was clearly feeling her way, as if learning a foreign language, but trying so hard.  
"I'll do the guided tour, George. You'll know Karen and Yvonne. I'm Nikki and Yvonne and me were both at Larkhall. Babs here shared a cell with me and put up with my smoking." Nikki's even white teeth showed in her wide smile smoothing out George's suddenly recalled memory of this personification of middle England. "Cassie and Roisin are a couple and have two children. They were at Larkhall after my time but I got to know them through the club I run with my ex." It came naturally to a socialite like George to clip together names, faces and potted biographies to then make polite conversation. She felt that she ought to have been thrown out of joint by the interesting cross section of strong women, only Karen of whom had not done time. She picked up on Nikki's trailing off lack of enthusiasm for her current situation.  
"My ex, a loathsome Cabinet Minister called Neil Houghton, pushed me into defending Ritchie Atkins and Snowball Merriman, not for any good reasons. It was the worst mistake of my life. When I became a free woman, I was working with Jo Mills to put Fenner behind bars, the one man who deserved to be there." George felt intensely the way that the polite formality melted into the warmth and positive glow of welcoming approval. "I'm no hero, George. I work opposite shifts to Trish so we hardly meet, just enough to meet occasionally to sort out business and try to be polite with each other. If you've investigated Fenner, you must have come across my present partner, Helen Wade, better known to you as Helen Stewart. Helen, a lot of good friends and a degree is what I got out of Larkhall. I want to do something better with my life than the club but I'm not sure what." George was utterly bowled over by the strength and sensitivity of the feelings which flowed so naturally out of Nikki making the confidence she used to display seem brittle in comparison. The understated intensity expressed what was most precious in this world that no amount of money could ever buy, and made her feel inexpressibly humble and that there was no other place in the world that she would rather be at this moment while time hung suspended. "Hey, babe. I remember you getting banged up last time by the judge for contempt," Cassie said with a grin. "You're as bad as the rest of us." George smiled foolishly at Cassie's greeting changing her mood from the sublime to the attractively outrageous. It must have been years since she had been called 'babe' but she wasn't complaining.  
"The only way I could purge my third removal for contempt was the not exactly marvellous tour of Larkhall with Karen acting as parole officer. It wasn't the nicest day of my life." George shuddered at the memory as her tongue ran loose in the spontaneity of the moment. A split second later, she blushed at the enormity of the situation and Karen rolled her eyes at the way that George's words ran away with her.  
"I remember how firm the judge can be. As you are his ex wife, I can understand that this made any arguments more complicated than it would be for the rest of us. I remember how unpleasant it was with the son of my second husband who accused me of being a gold digger and I hit him on the side of his face with a jolly good back-hander." Babs came to the rescue to George's inexpressible relief and utter open mouthed astonishment at the story. Life at Larkhall had taught them hard lessons that there was worse in life than the unintentional gaffe when that person's intentions were good. It was lucky with so many good people around that George did not need to speak.  
"At least you didn't ever have to call Karen Miss," Put in Yvonne, going even further to make George feel part of the group, something she hadn't felt in far too long. 


	11. Part Eleven

A/N: All forensic evidence has been created with the assistance of the American Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology, the European Journal of Trauma and many of Patricia Cornwell's novels.  
  
Part Eleven  
  
When they all reconvened in the public gallery for the afternoon's session, George could feel her nerves beginning to hum, like the strings of a violin being tuned to expert precision, ready to take part in a work by Mahler or Wagner, any music that might at any moment pour a whole load of emotions down upon her. She inwardly cursed herself for thinking she could do this. Both John and Jo were far better at dealing with hurt and angry people than she was. They knew how to be sympathetic, how to offer comfort and more importantly, to recognise when neither was wanted. But that was tough, she thought resignedly. Neither John nor Jo are here and you are, so deal with it. Karen had noticed how tense George had become, but being able to attribute no reason to it, she put it to the back of her mind. But George wasn't the only one to feel a sense of nervous anticipation. After having given her opening speech, Jo was quietly collecting her thoughts, ready to defend her client to the death. Well, perhaps not quite that far, but that's how it felt. John also had not been able to relax over lunch. He had paced the length and breadth of his chambers, annoying Coope to distraction. "Is something wrong, Judge?" She had finally been forced to ask. "Have you ever felt like you've really betrayed a friend?" He asked. "Why?" Coope asked without giving him an answer. "Oh, no reason," He replied, not wanting to share all the details with her, feeling that even to his ears it sounded stupid. But when he walked in to court and sat down behind the Judge's bench, he offered up a silent prayer that the shock wouldn't be too great for Karen.  
  
"Professor Ryan," Neumann Mason-Alan began. "Would you tell the court, exactly what you did and what your first impressions were when you received James Fenner's body?" As Sam Ryan began to speak, John reflected that someone as pretty as her really shouldn't be doing something quite so horrific for a job, and that her beautiful Irish lilt certainly didn't belong in a court room discussing what had killed one of the most loathsome men he'd ever encountered. "It is part of normal procedure for a forensic pathologist to x-ray any corpse that comes in to his or her possession, before beginning the postmortem. This is to identify whether there are any foreign objects concealed within any internal organs, that an initial external examination might not reveal. This is usually done as a precaution to warn the pathologist of any sharp objects they may encounter. The initial x-ray I did on James Fenner showed a bullet to be lodged in his spine, approximately just under the naval." "This will be shown later, My Lord," Put in Neumann Mason-Alan. "I then collected any visible fibres and other debris from his clothes. This mostly consisted of soil particles from the ground where he was buried. Once I'd removed his clothes, I found the entrance wound of his gunshot injury. As I'd suspected by the position of the bullet in his spine, James Fenner was shot in the region of his navel. On further examination, I was able to ascertain that this wasn't a contact injury." "How can you be certain of that?" Neumann Mason-Alan asked. "There was no gun residue on the surrounding tissue, there was no muzzle mark on the skin, and if this type of bullet had been fired at such close range, it would have passed straight through the body, not lodged itself in his spine." At this point, Neumann Mason-Alan moved to stand in front of an overhead projector, which had yet again been forced to take a part in a trial inside the ancient structure of the Old Bailey. Picking up Fenner's x-ray film from the evidence bench, he switched the projector on, waited for it to warm up, and then placed the film under the light source so that it was projected on to the blank wall of the court. Karen hadn't wanted to look, but like everyone else in the gallery, Marilyn included, she found her gaze inexorably drawn to the intricate design of Fenner's skeleton. Clearly lodged in the lower half of his spine, was a tiny cylindrical bullet. Professor Ryan continued. "The bullet is sitting at L5, or in the fifth lumbar bone, in the superior or upper bone of the Lumbar Sacral junction. From the moment he was shot, James Fenner would not have been able to feel anything below this point. He would have had absolutely no sensation in his lower body whatsoever. If he was standing when he was shot, which I suspect he was, he would have ended up in either a sitting or a lying position, thoroughly incapable of getting to his feet or of using his legs in any way. This would have seriously impaired Mr. Fenner when it came to defending himself from further assault." Neumann removed Fenner's x-ray film from the overhead projector, but left it switched on, showing that there were more pictures to come. He returned to the evidence bench and picked up something in a transparent bag. Holding it up to the light, he said, "Members of the jury, sealed in this evidence bag, is the bone of James Fenner's spine which originally contained the bullet. During your eventual deliberations, I would like you to look closely at this piece of evidence, keeping in mind the small whole it contains. I would like you to think to yourselves what sort of impairment this injury would have caused Mr. Fenner, and to further consider how he would or would not have been able to defend himself with such an injury." When Neumann had announced to all and sundry what he had in his hand, there had been a quiet gasp from Marilyn. Karen looked over at her with sympathy, but not knowing what, if anything, she could say to her. "Now, Professor Ryan," Neumann continued. "Would you describe James Fenner's gunshot injury." "James Fenner had been shot at fairly close range, by a nine millimetre Remmington cartridge, the bullet passing through the abdominal tissue to lodge itself in the spine. This injury was not James Fenner's primary cause of death. If nothing else had been done to him, he would have eventually bled to death, though this could have taken anything up to a few hours." "How can you be certain that this wasn't his cause of death?" "On its journey through James Fenner's body, the bullet struck neither the iliac arteries, which supply the small intestine, nor any of the renal vessels, the veins and arteries leading to his kidneys." "Why wasn't this the case?" "Unless the person who shot Mr. Fenner had known exactly where to aim, they would not have been able to pinpoint any exact target." "And why did the bullet become lodged in Mr. Fenner's spine, instead of passing straight through his body?" "Two things could account for this. One being the distance the killer was standing from him when the gun was fired, and the second being the extensive amount of scar tissue present in the area of the wound. James Fenner had, I understand, been stabbed on a previous occasion, and it was the scar tissue both from this injury and the surgery performed to repair this wound that I believe slowed the bullet in its tracks. I couldn't possibly prove it," Sam continued carefully, knowing she was treading a very thin line. "But I believe it is possible that James Fenner's killer might have known fairly precise details of his previous injury." Jo rose to her feet with a look of fury on her face. "My Lord, this is an unsupportable assertion and should be struck from the record." "Mr. Mason-Alan," John said seriously. "I do hope you have evidence to back up this claim." "I do, My Lord," Neumann replied smugly, picking up an envelope of photographs from the evidence bench. Moving back over to the projector, he removed two specific pictures from the packet. "This picture, My Lord and members of the jury," Neumann began, with the weighty tone of someone about to deliver the Nobel prize, "Is a photograph taken from Mr. Fenner's medical records of the resulting scar from both the stabbing and the surgery to repair it." Karen looked in sheer horror at the picture of Fenner's torso, displayed to life-size proportions by the magnification of the projector on the wall of the court. It looked so real. The sight of such a familiar part of Fenner brought back a host of memories to her, but one in particular insisted on raising its ugly head. She could recall it like it was yesterday. It had been on Jim's first day back at work. He'd followed her round all day, persuading, cajoling, and finally succeeding in getting her to talk to him about their relationship. He'd eventually cornered her in her office. She saw herself, as if from a bird's eye view, taking off her jacket and dropping it to the floor, Jim taking off his tie and casting it aside, she unbuttoning his shirt... Feeling the bile suddenly rising in her throat, Karen knew she had to get out of there.  
  
When Karen hurriedly rose from her seat and squeezed her way passed her, George took in the deathly pallor, the expression on Karen's face that could only be described as haunted. George sat for a moment, slightly stunned. Just why had a picture of Fenner's scar made Karen react like that? "Is she all right?" Nikki asked her in a whisper. "I'll go and see," George replied, remembering that this was why she was there in the first place. As she walked up the isle between the seats on either side, she was aware of Neumann Mason-Alan saying that the picture he was now showing was a photograph of Fenner's corpse, specifically his gunshot wound. Heartily grateful that she hadn't had to look at this, George walked out of court. When she came to the top of the stairs, she saw that Karen had already descended them and was striding purposefully across the foyer. Putting on a spurt, George ran down the stairs, jumped the last two steps, and briefly skidded on the tiled floor, landing in the waiting arms of Michael Nivin. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?" He asked her, making sure she was standing securely on her feet before letting go of her. "Sorry, Michael, can't stop. You didn't see a tall blonde woman heading off anywhere did you?" "She looked like she was heading in the direction of the Ladies'. Why?" "Because I'm supposed to be looking after her and I don't think I'm making a very good job of it." "Forgive me for saying this, George, but you don't strike me as the looking after people type." "Yes, thank you, Michael, I'm well aware of that. John asked me to do it." This wasn't strictly true but doing something for John would call for far less notice than doing a favour for Jo. "Isn't he overseeing the Atkins trial?" "Yes, and the victim's one time lover has just found out how he died. Michael, what am I supposed to do? You know me, I don't do sympathy." "Then it sounds like it's time for you to start." Giving him a quick peck on the cheek, George left him and walked towards the ladies'.  
  
Having thankfully had complete privacy in which to lose her entire stomach contents, Karen was splashing her face with cold water when George appeared. "Are you all right?" George asked, mentally kicking herself for the inanity of the question. "No, not really," Said Karen, praying that she wasn't about to throw up again. She could remember the feel of Fenner's very male skin on her fingers as she'd traced the length of his scar. But the memory that had caused such a violent reaction was of herself, the woman she looked at in the mirror every day, kissing that scar, actually putting her full, tasting lips against where Dockley had thrust her bottle. "I need a cigarette," Karen said in to the silence. "Well, I'm afraid that the new no smoking signs aren't just for show," Said George in disgust. "Then out in the rain it is," Replied Karen, taking a quick glance out the window. "I can do better than that," George said with sudden inspiration as she dug her car keys out of her handbag. "My car will always be friendly to addicts." As they walked out of the court building, through the pouring rain to George's car, Karen had time to put two and two together. It hadn't just been a coincidence that George had been there in the public gallery, George had been there to deal with a reaction like this one.  
  
When they were seated in George's car with the heater running, Karen reached for her cigarettes and then realised that she'd left her handbag up in the public gallery. George held out her own and they both lit up. "That was why you were here, wasn't it," Karen stated flatly. "Yes, partly," George replied, not knowing any other way of dealing with this rather than to be honest. "Who asked you to be there?" Karen asked, not quite knowing why this was important. "Jo did. She came to see me on Saturday and," She searched for the right words, "Filled me in so to speak." Considering what had actually happened to Fenner, this hadn't been her best choice of vocabulary. "But neither Jo nor John, because I'm assuming he knew about this, could possibly have known that seeing a life-size photo of Fenner's scar would affect me like that, which makes me further assume that there's a lot more that I would have learnt had I stayed." Briefly thinking that Karen had definitely been spending too much time with John, George also realised that Karen still didn't know the half of it and that she, George, would have to fill in the details. "Seeing that picture made you remember something, didn't it," She said, for the moment avoiding answering Karen's question, which in itself was as good as an answer. "You could say that," Said Karen with a shudder. "What was it?" George gently probed. "Trust me," Said Karen decisively. "You really don't want to know." "Perhaps not," conceded George. "But there isn't much about you and Fenner that I don't already know. So try me." "When he was stabbed, and during the investigation that followed, Helen discovered, possibly from Yvonne, that I was sleeping with Fenner. Probably because of this, and because of the slightly irrational way I dealt with his hostage situation, I told him I wanted to cool things for a while. But this was Fenner after all, and he doesn't take no for an answer. The day he came back to work, he kept trying to talk to me, and I kept avoiding him. But Fenner has this way of getting under your skin so that you end up going along with exactly what he wants." Karen suddenly seemed to realise that she was talking in the present tense instead of the past, as if Fenner was still alive. Giving herself a mental shake, she continued. "Most of the inmates and the rest of the officers were having a Pool competition. We went up to my office. We ended up screwing on the floor of my office. You know how it is," She said with a shrug. "The threat of discovery can turn even a nun in to a raging torrent of lust. What I remembered," She said very slowly. "Was kissing his scar." Taking in a deep, contemplative breath, George attempted to keep her face rigidly blank but failed spectacularly. "I did warn you that you wouldn't want to know," Said Karen dryly. "It was just one of those things," She went on, "One of those things you push to the back of your mind because there's absolutely no reason to remember it, and then some prosecuting barrister flashes up a picture without any warning, and there you are, a complete emotional wreck." She said these last two words with such self-loathing that George winced.  
  
Back in court, Neumann Mason-Alan had finished illustrating the fact that Fenner had been shot in the area of the lower end of his scar, which meant that John was forced to allow the assertion that Fenner's killer might have known details of his stab wound. "Professor Ryan," He continued. "Please would you explain to the court, the exact nature of James Fenner's primary cause of death?" "When I excised Mr. Fenner's lungs, their insides were liberally speckled with soil. this told me that after he was shot, James Fenner was buried alive." There rose a murmur of voices from the public gallery. Nikki and Roisin exchanged looks, both having been told by Yvonne and Lauren respectively what had happened on that fateful day. Nikki found herself looking over at Fenner's ex-wife, who had tears running unheeded down her cheeks. "I can be one hundred percent certain of this," Sam Ryan continued, raising her voice slightly over the murmur of voices. "Because James Fenner's lungs could not possibly have contained any foreign substance unless it had been breathed in by him. As his oxygen supply decreased, his lungs would have worked increasingly harder to secure an adequate air supply. This in turn would have caused the collapse of the alveolar framework, the overlapping of the alveolar septa and resulting in very little if any oxygenated blood reaching the heart." "Professor Ryan," Interjected the Judge. "Perhaps you would be good enough to explain this process in language that the jury can understand. I believe that you are the only person in this court so familiar with the medical terminology you are using so liberally." "I was just about to ask the same, My Lord," Put in Neumann Mason-Alan, hating it when this particular judge intervened. "If I might have leave to illustrate this, My Lord," Sam Ryan's voice crept over his senses. "It may make it easier for the jury to understand." "Be my guest," He said with a smile. Walking over to the overhead projector, Sam picked up a blank sheet of acetate and a pen and began to draw a picture of a pair of lungs. "The trachea, or the windpipe, begins at the throat, and goes down until it branches to left and right, forming the bronchus tubes," She said, drawing them in to place. "These two branches then form even smaller branches called the bronchioles, which in turn lead to the alveoli, or ducts and air sacs. In James Fenner's case, there was a considerable amount of soil on the lining of his trachea, his bronchus tubes and the bronchioles. This clearly illustrates a desperate attempt by the lungs to breathe in oxygenated air. When his air supply became greatly diminished, he began decompensating. His lungs would have begun to breathe quicker and quicker, with a rapidly decreasing supply of oxygen. A lack of oxygenated air, together with the presence of a foreign substance inside his lungs, would have caused the collapse of the alveoli, the ducts and air sacs, and an overlap of the alveolar septa or partitions between the air sacs." Sam had said all this in the tone of one giving a lecture, which John suspected she did on a regular basis. "Does that explain things more clearly, My Lord?" She asked. "I am much obliged, Professor Ryan," John replied, giving her his most chivalrous smile. "Professor Ryan," Neumann Mason-Alan said, clearly glad to regain the reins of his case. "The last detail that I would like you to explain to the court, is what you did just prior to the removal of James Fenner's lungs." "Before I excised James Fenner's lungs, I was able to ascertain that his laryngeal nerve was still intact. If it had been damaged in any way, by either a blow to the throat or a stab wound, Mr. Fenner would have had considerable difficulty in shouting for help. The fact that the nerve that directly controlled his voice box was still in tact, means that he ought to have been able to shout for help at any time during his abduction." "And can you make a suggestion as to why this did not take place?" Asked Neumann with all the stealth of a cat. But Jo hurriedly rose to her feet. "My Lord, it is not Professor Ryan's area of expertise to make assumptions as to the victim's lack of verbal response." "Not quite how I would have put it, Mrs. Mills," Said John mildly. "Though I do take your point. Mr. Mason-Alan, any speculation as to why James Fenner did or did not attempt to draw attention to his situation is not for Professor Ryan to comment on. That question will be struck from the record." "But My Lord," Mason-Alan persisted. "Surely that suggests that he knew his killer and that he either didn't expect her to go through with her threat, or that he was far too scared to put up a fight." "Fenner, scared?" muttered Nikki in the public gallery. "That'll be the day." "Mr. Mason-Alan, that will do," John said firmly. "You have been in my court less than a day and already you are pushing my patience. I would caution you on pushing it further. Is that clear?" "Crystal clear, My Lord," He said with a scowl. "No further questions."  
  
George and Karen had smoked in companionable silence for a while after Karen had related the details of what had made her flee from court. "Do you know what's really stupid about all this," Karen said after some thoughtful contemplation. "I've known the reasons behind what Lauren did pretty much ever since she killed him, but I've never actually followed it to its logical conclusion. Everything about this case, one way or another comes back to me." "I don't think it's quite that simple," Replied George, thinking she could see where this was going. "So Jo didn't give you all the details then?" "Only what she thought I needed to know." "Which you have yet to tell me," Answered Karen quietly. "If you had stayed in court long enough," George said with an air of finality in her tone. "You would have heard that Lauren Atkins' bullet wasn't what killed him." "So what did?" "He was buried alive," Said George, feeling like she'd just removed the pin of a handgrenade but had neglected to throw it out of harm's reach. "Jesus Christ," Said Karen meditatively. George simply waited. "And Yvonne couldn't tell me." "To give Yvonne her due," Said George fairly. "I don't think she has told anyone exactly what her daughter did. Jo tried to get her to tell you, but she couldn't." "How long has John known about this?" "Only since the weekend." "So that we're quits," Said Karen, attempting to get off the subject of Fenner's actual cause of death. "Lauren killed Fenner because the last letter Ritchie wrote to her, on the night he died, asked her to. It was Ritchie's way of making up for the way he'd used me to get Snowball's gun in to Larkhall." "Typical Ritchie Atkins logic," Said George in half amazement half resigned acceptance. "Slightly askew from everyone else's." Karen briefly smiled. "You got to know him quite well in those ten days, didn't you." "More than I realised at the time, yes." "But you see now why I appear to be at the centre of all this." "Darling, it won't do you any good to think about it like that," George said emphatically, barely noticing that she'd called Karen darling. "If I hadn't slept with Ritchie, he'd very likely have still been alive and he wouldn't have asked Lauren to do something so reckless and stupid." "Karen, listen to me," George said sternly though with a hint of sadness in her voice. "If Fenner hadn't forced himself on you in the first place, then you very likely wouldn't have gone looking for a bit of rough from Ritchie Atkins. One might even call what happened to Fenner poetic justice. Blaming yourself is pointless, trust me. I've done self-recrimination since before my daughter was born, and I can promise you it gets you absolutely bloody nowhere." "Just answer me one thing," Karen said, having taken a moment to calm down slightly. "When I asked you earlier if this was why you were here, you said partly. What was the other reason you were here?" George had been caught completely off guard, and now she stared at Karen, not having the faintest idea how to explain why she would have been there whether Jo had asked her or not. But she eventually bit the bullet, knowing that to give Karen anything less than a completely honest answer wouldn't be fair. "I, erm, I would have been here today in any case," She began slowly, "Because I knew without doubt that you would be here. As adolescent as it sounds, I couldn't quite resist the opportunity of seeing you again." The soft, incredibly pretty blush that rose to George's cheeks, left Karen in no uncertain terms precisely aware of George's motive. "Wow," Karen couldn't help saying in gentle amazement. "I certainly didn't expect that as a reply." "And I didn't expect I would actually be saying it," George said, looking slightly shell-shocked. "But for once in my life, honesty seemed to be the best policy." A little while later, they saw a crowd of people emerging through the front doors of the court, signifying that court had been adjourned for the day. "I'd better go," Karen said, half regretfully, knowing that talking to George had done her a surprising amount of good. "Thank you for being here," She said, briefly touching George's hand. "And thank you for being honest with me, about a lot of things." As George watched Karen walk back towards the building, she felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. For over a year she'd thought about Karen, wondering what it would be like to see her again, to talk to her again, and now here she was. She hadn't just seen Karen and talked to her, she'd actually dropped her barriers long enough to finally get off her chest what she'd been thinking about ever since Jo had told her she was taking on the Lauren Atkins case. 


	12. Part Twelve

Part Twelve  
  
Nikki was the last in the line of the spectators in the gallery waiting to shuffle along the narrow space between the long bench and the balcony when her sharp eye spotted Karen's handbag. She grabbed it and queued up the flight of stairs to the door at the back. "Thanks, Nikki, for keeping your eyes open." "Is everyone up for a drink?" Nikki asked.  
"I'm sorry, I've got someone to see but, another time I will," Came the polite reply.  
As the crowd moved off, she looked over her shoulder and saw Karen striding off in a determined fashion towards the corridor that led to the judge's chambers. "Same pub as before. This looks like being our regular," Yvonne directed them.  
These words struck a chord with Nikki in indicating a long timespan ahead of them, which was something new to her. It was lucky that Trisha's previous experience of two years visiting Nikki at Larkhall had caused her to loathe Fenner and, for once, wasn't kicking up at having to run the club by herself. "I must say, this is more enjoyable than making polite conversation at a vicarage tea party," Babs said enthusiastically. At this time of day, the dark was closing down on London and the streetlights were starting to come alive just as the working London population were crowding their way into the overloaded claustrophobic tube stations. There was every reason for them to chill out quite apart from drinking the heady spirits of the "class of Larkhall" sorority reunion. Passers by scuttled on their straight line journeys to destinations homewards and saw nothing out of the corners of their eye other than a group of smartly dressed women heading someplace else. Nikki and Yvonne commandeered a large table while Cassie, Roisin and Babs went to the long wooden bar to get in the first round.  
"You've done this sort of thing before?" Nikki enquired. "Yeah," Yvonne exhaled the words with the first drag of a much needed cigarette. "This was the best bit of when we were there for when that murdering tart, Snowball Merriman, helped by my son, blew up Larkhall library to spring her out of prison. She was in for trying to smuggle a truck load of Bolivian marching powder through customs." "The library? Jesus, some of my happier hours were spent there. I remember reading about it in the papers. Snowball Merriman, is she for real with a name like that." That shocked and angered her as she tried to imagine all that accumulated store of learning, even if some of it was second rate being wiped out in a single act of destruction. She had a real reverence for the written word. There, too, had been the art room where she and Helen had first declared their physical love for each other. That was holy ground to them, which no amount of physical rebuilding could properly restore. "Believe you me, Nikki," Yvonne's face darkened. "She was no joke…..First my son in the dock and now my daughter." Nikki impulsively put her arm round Yvonne's shoulders, as she knew how much her family meant to her, starting with her Charlie at one time. That sort of deep family bond was beyond her experience but not beyond her ability to sympathise with someone else's troubles.  
"What do you think of George?" Nikki asked to get her mind off her troubles.  
"It's really strange, as we've seen her before as I told you earlier. If she had asked to join us for a drink last time round, I would have spat in her eye and told her to go hang around her stuck up friends. She's really changed. Try and imagine Charlotte Middleton twenty years on, pushy, hard faced and doesn't give a shit about anyone who was 'beneath her'. She's become sort of nicer, more human and dead nervous of us. It really mattered to her that we were going to be friendly when once, she would never have given us the time of day. She's all right," Yvonne finished in her laconic way.  
They stretched out in the comfortable pub chairs, able to ease the aches and pains of long hours sitting on hard benches and tired from close concentration from following the trial. "Cheers, Cassie," as a glass of white wine was held out in front of them.  
  
"Talking about George, I didn't know that they made female barristers like that. She's totally gorgeous. I could really fancy a woman like that." "Cassie's always like that, Babs, if you remember," laughed Roisin who knew that Cassie, when not being the mum, had a reputation to maintain and was not backward in expressing her open admiration of the female form. Babs felt a strange sensation coming back here. She had married Henry and had settled down in a quiet village on the outskirts of London, and immersed herself in the blissful peace of the countryside with ancient thatched cottages, little shops and the fifteenth century stone church with stained glassed windows. Part of it attracted her as this time around with Henry, she could live without that lurking fear of discovery, which had marred her otherwise blissful life with her late husband Peter. She had felt married to him but she knew Peter's vindictive and spiteful children by his first marriage would not see matters the same way. Her fears had become concrete in the way that they mercilessly delivered her into the hands of the police for what she knew God would forgive as an act of mercy. Now, all the ghosts of the past were laid and those utter hypocrites had sulked off into the sunset forever out of her life. Yet a corner of her mind had never forgotten the razor edged excitement of those companions of her strange times at Larkhall. Even when her fingers delicately pressed the ancient black and white keys of the church organ and the reflective sustained chords filled out the huge space above and around her and inside her soul, flickers of memories came back to bless her. She loved Henry's gently Christian beliefs, which gently reasoned him to ensure that she kept faith with those who were dear to her and trusted to her good sense. It let her have her holiday on her own without any hidden and misplaced possessiveness. He knew as he had been there also. At moments like those, she could sit back and happily listen to conversations, which were somewhat different from the polite conversation of vicarage tea parties.  
  
"But she's straight," Yvonne said, the first time in her life that she used the word to draw distinctions.  
"That's a load of bollocks," Nikki judged with a practised eye. "She doesn't know it yet but she'll wake up and find out different. Take it from me." "But she used to be married to the judge. It ain't possible," Yvonne reasoned.  
"So? You used to be married to Charlie, didn't you." Yvonne shook her head in wonder. Living with Charlie seemed to be a very long time ago except that the bastard still haunted her through the way Ritchie and then Lauren lived their lives. Lauren was always the sensible one, the one who saw through Charlie earlier than she had, the one whom she was most hopeful of breaking with their past, until that night where that image of Lauren swinging her gun casually still haunted her dreams.  
  
"How's the trial going so far?" Yvonne dared to ask. "It ain't easy sitting in a waiting room imagining what's going on. Cassie's great in trying to make me laugh though." "It's early days, Yvonne but I would lay good money that the judge is one of the good ones even if he did have his eye on me as someone who was likely to cause trouble…." "…as if, Nikki," Yvonne managed a faint smile.  
"Did he really have George banged up for contempt of court?" Nikki asked in half puzzled, half-admiring tones. "That's ten out of ten for style. I didn't think that judges did that sort of thing, not even the best of them." "She's even gobbier than you, Nikki, if that is possible," Was Yvonne's very accurate comparison.  
"This judge would have anyone banged up but only if they deserved it. Yvonne actually got cautioned by him and I wasn't far behind her. I suppose being out of the court will keep me out of trouble. Tell you what, Nikki, if you behave yourself, you might set a good example for me when I get to sit in the gallery." That outrageously improbable line from Cassie was the other thing that pulled Yvonne out of her dark mood. She didn't say anything but her head turned sharply round to face her and just looked at her with that disbelieving smile at the corner of her lips.  
"We'll have a couple of us to keep us in line, Karen and Helen from Wednesday when she gets time off. You know, two strong Wing Governors to keep the old lags in order." "Are you sure that they won't be worse than the rest of us? You know, all those years of having to be the good girl might just make them go wild once they're let off the leash?" teased Cassie.  
Nikki dug an elbow into Cassie's ribs to shut her up. The other woman was worse than she was and she had never thought that one was possible.  
"So how's it gone so far apart from that?" Yvonne asked anxiously. It was obvious that she was deeply worried about Lauren now the time of the trial had come and the limbo period had ended. The fact that Lauren's future, her life was in the balance made her fret so that her mind had got one track that it would run. The others understood and respected that feeling. "It's funny but last time I was, we were here, I wanted so much to see the judge send Ritchie down for a good long stretch together with that murdering tart Merriman. Now I want more than anything to see Lauren beat this rap but they are both my kids. It don't make sense." "Of course we understand," Roisin's Irish lilt emphasised how heartfelt were her words. "We know our children are younger than yours but I get worried sometimes when they aren't around us as to what might be happening to them, especially when they were with Aiden and his precious mother." "Michael can be a perfect spoiled brat at times," added Cassie while Roisin smiled at the way those words described Cassie as she used to be. "But even after a bloody big row, I can't stop loving him. Of course, when they become teenagers….." Cassie shuddered, remembering what a hormonal, gobby teenager she had been and wondering how she would manage on the receiving end of temper tantrums.  
"I'm afraid the parent child bit is a bit beyond me," Nikki smiled gently. "When I was thirteen, fourteen, I was that terrible teenager, the despair of my parents but, then again when I was outed as a lesbian when I was sixteen and was kicked out of boarding school, it was a case of goodbye parents, hello big wide world. I didn't have a lot of choice about that one." "I came out at twelve," Replied the very precocious Cassie very smugly.  
"What a smart arse," Nikki joked back at her and the conversation flowed its way ever onwards.  
The evening wore on surprisingly decorously considering. Despite appearances otherwise, all of them were going to get into a routine of not getting pissed and no late nights. They all knew that this was going to be a very gruelling experience, sitting up in the visitor's gallery emotionally hanging on the ups and downs of the trial. The sheer mental concentration was going to be bad enough without having to go up on the stand. By now, Yvonne had a lot of experience of this but this wasn't going to make it any easier this time around than it would for Cassie's one experience of being in the dock. Perhaps even if they had tried to get plastered, something within each of them would have found it impossible to fully let go.  
  
"See you in the morning, Yvonne."" Love you." "Be strong." The ragged chorus of encouragement as they made their separate ways from outside the pub when the streets of London were wide open and dark and cold took them all back to the time in their lives when these words were sent like prayers out of their narrow prison windows high up and barred from the outside world, the night calls out into the air which practice carried them to their destination.  
Tears came to Yvonne's eyes at the friends who were with her. It didn't occur to her to tell her she was being soft. 


	13. 

Part Thirteen  
  
When Karen had parted from the others who were clearly set on finding the nearest pub, she walked back up the marble staircase, passed the door to the public gallery, and along the well-remembered route to John's chambers. It hadn't been unknown over the last year for either her to come here or him to visit her at Larkhall, both feeling very much at ease in each other's workspace. The rain was still pounding at the window panes and she caught glimpses of cars fighting to get out of the carpark. She was surprised to find herself thinking that this building and Larkhall really did have something in common. No matter how bad the weather, or how terrible the things might be that were discussed inside them, they were as sturdy and reliable as a rock. The people who worked in them might not be, but the buildings themselves could stand up to any storm. She glanced at herself briefly in a mirror just to make sure she still looked presentable and knocked on the door of John's chambers. His call of "Come in," sounded as reassuringly calm and confident as ever. When she pushed open the door, he was seated behind his desk, drinking a cup of tea and reading the paper. "Have I come at a bad time?" Karen asked as she walked in to the room. "No, not at all," He said, getting up and coming towards her. "I was waiting for you." "Am I that predictable?" She asked, the smile not quite reaching her eyes. "No," He said, closing the door behind her. "You nearly always manage to surprise me." "But not today it seems," She said dully. "Not by your visit, no," He said, pouring them both a scotch and sitting down next to her on the sofa. "I thought I might be seeing you before the end of the day. Though I had expected you to be cross with me." Karen took a grateful sip of her scotch. "What would be the point?" She said. "It's not your fault you have to abide by rules of case confidentiality. The same goes for Jo. The irony is that the reason George was asked to be in the public gallery wasn't what made me walk out of court." "Ah, now that did surprise me," He said. "I had no idea seeing a photograph of Michelle Dockley's handiwork would have made you react like that." "No one could have known. There's no way even I would have known that would happen." "So, why did that photograph make you leave the public gallery quicker than anyone I've ever seen?" "I've explained that one already today," she said mildly. "And once in one day is quite enough." "If I hadn't managed to blackmail the case away from Legover, I'd have been up there with you." "That would have caused a stir," She said with a smile. "But the thought is appreciated. I really came to see you because I've been told that the way I feel about this case is pointless, and I know that from you I'll get an honest, unvarnished opinion." John laughed. "Well, I hope I can be a little more tactful than that." "That's the point," She said with a smile. "I don't want you to be. I know that if I am barking up the wrong tree, you'll tell me, and that if I'm absolutely right, you won't try to soften the blow." "Okay, but please remember that there's only so much about this case I am allowed to discuss." "Everything, about why Lauren did what she did, about why Ritchie asked her to do it, comes back to me." John got to his feet and began walking slowly round the room, his brows knitted in concentration. He took a tangerine from the bowl of fruit on Coope's desk, dropping the peel in the waste paper basket and giving a piece of the fruit to a drooling Mimi. Karen simply watched him, knowing that this was his way of buying himself some time to marshal his thoughts. "I can see why you've arrived at that conclusion," He said eventually. "But I don't agree with it. Yes, Ritchie Atkins might have initially asked his sister to remove Fenner from the picture because of what Fenner did to you, and he might have done this as a way of making up for the way he'd used you, but that's really only part of it." Finishing the tangerine, he sat back down and put an arm round her. "It is not your fault that Lauren Atkins is up on a charge of murder," He said slowly and deliberately. "And it is not your fault that Yvonne might be about to watch her daughter receive a life sentence." "You know me too well," Karen said, a little self-conscious at how clearly he could read her mind. "Only after a lot of practice," He said gently. The smell of the orange reminded Karen that her stomach was now far too empty. "Seeing as I can no longer smoke in here," She said with a slight glower. "Do you think Coope will mind if I steal one of her oranges?" "I'm always doing it," John said with a smile. "So I doubt she'll notice." Karen ended up sharing half her tangerine with Mimi, the big brown eyes making her feel unutterably guilty. "She'll have you wrapped round her little finger," John commented. "Well, if she can succeed with you, I suppose she can with anyone." "I do hope George was nice to you," John said with a slightly worried expression. "Of course," Karen said in amusement. "She is perfectly capable of being tactful and sensitive when she wants to be, you know." "Yes," He said dryly. "I still have to remind myself of that sometimes." "We started talking about self-recrimination of all things, and she said something quite odd. She said that blaming myself was pointless and that she would know because it was something she'd done since before Charlie was born." John's eyes widened in surprise. "That's progress," He said in complete astonishment. "George never talks about that except under duress. It's one of the forbidden topics of conversation that only ever gets discussed when absolutely necessary. Jo and I must at last be having some effect." "What was she talking about?" John became serious. "Get to know her a lot better, and she might just tell you," He replied, thinking that a friendship between George and Karen wouldn't do either of them any harm. They sat and talked for a while longer, John having an arm round her and Karen with her head on his shoulder. Perhaps because of their one night together all those months ago, they could be close like this, taking simple, friendly comfort from each other's presence. Karen made an effort not to talk any more about the case, knowing that John had to remain as impartial as possible. But after about half an hour of this, they were interrupted by a knock on the door. On John's instruction to enter, the extremely unwelcome forms of Sir Ian Rochester and Lawrence James were revealed in the doorway. John had made absolutely no effort to withdraw his arm from Karen, and Sir Ian's initial view was of John, sitting on his couch extremely close to a tall, blonde, very attractive woman who looked vaguely familiar. "Ah, John," Sir Ian said rather curtly. "Do you have a moment?" "Not right this minute, Ian, no," John said, knowing exactly what this was about. "It's all right," Said Karen, detaching herself from John and giving him a kiss on the cheek. "I'd better go." "I'll no doubt see you tomorrow," John said as they got to their feet. "I expect so," Karen replied as she walked towards the door which Lawrence James held open for her. Giving John a smile, Karen left him to the far less pleasurable duty of being nice to the executive.  
  
When she walked down in to the foyer, she could see Jo sitting on one of the padded benches in one of the alcoves, clearly waiting for her. "If you were planning to go and see John," Karen said as she sat down next to Jo. "You might want to give him time to get rid of the terrible twins from the LCD." "They didn't hang about," commented Jo, thinking that Karen's description was perfect. "And I'm sorry I walked out this afternoon," She said quietly. "That's all right," Jo said gently. "I'm just sorry I couldn't put you in the picture beforehand." "Jo, like I've just said to John, case or client confidentiality overrules what you might have preferred to do. If what did make me walk out of court hadn't, then what came later would have been a shock. But when George filled in the gaps, I don't think I had any element of surprise left in me. When I saw that picture of Fenner, I wouldn't have expected to remember what I did in a million years. But George's presence was appreciated so thank you for asking her to be there." "Over the last year, I've tried and tried to get Yvonne to tell you what Lauren did." "I know, but I also know why she couldn't. One of the worst things a parent may ever have to do is to admit what their child may be capable of." "I just hated keeping something like that from you," Jo said, and Karen could see what a strain this had put Jo under. "Keeping to the rules of client confidentiality is one thing, but keeping something like that from someone I would like to think of as a close friend is quite another." "Think of it this way," Said Karen gently, incredibly touched by what Jo had said. "You kept your client's confidence, and you made it possible for me to find out the details of Fenner's death in the gentlest way possible." "That's the first time I've heard anyone describe George as gentle," Jo said with something approaching a smile. Karen grinned. "Well, believe it or not, she was. But then I suppose anything less than how she was the last time I saw her could be classified as gentle." "How do you feel?" Jo asked, remembering the last time she'd asked Karen this, on the day when she'd first heard of Karen's experience of Fenner's persistent torment of too many women. "Part of me feels shocked and disturbed and guilty of all things, and the rest of me feels stupid for feeling like that. It isn't a nice thing having to admit that I once loved that pathetic excuse for a human being, but I did. I loved him, I lived with him, I even agreed to marry him. But it was him who ruined it, not me. I will never be able to say that he deserved everything he got, but I know that once all this is over, even if that takes years, my life will be easier without him." 


	14. 

Part Fourteen  
  
Sir Ian prided himself in always knowing where his duty lay and he was able to sleep soundly with a clear conscience. Sir Ian could only remember one disagreeable occasion when that Houghton savage was arrogant enough to expect him to do some private business, which he had refused. Since then, the man had kept his distance from him, which meant that life could go back to normal.  
  
It did not need to be spelled out in detail by the Lord Chancellor as they all agreed that the Atkins family were a notorious Eastend gangster family and resembled far too much the sort of dangerous characters that the more reprehensible soaps glamorised. The whole family needed watching, so their contacts in the CPS advised them and it was an opportunity of a lifetime when the daughter was arrested in very incriminating circumstances. The whole thing was an open and shut case and there should be no problem of securing a conviction. Sir Ian had got over his shock when it was dropped on him that Monty Everard had unaccountably been feeble enough to let deed take the case. Even that thorn in his side and generalised loose cannon, John deed, couldn't pull some peculiar looking rabbit out of a clown's hat and hand down some perverse sentence. After the first day, he felt more secure, even when Deed's paramour, Jo Mills, was up to her usual tricks.  
Lawrence James was eager to tag along after Sir Ian and demonstrate his unfailing loyalty to the man on whom he depended on for patronage. His career was entirely dependent on what choices he made in being able to bask in the reflected glory of a rising star in the corridors of power. He studied his master's particular likes and dislikes very closely and he came to believe in them also. He walked alongside Sir Ian who was that important half a pace ahead of him.  
"We ought to call by on the off chance and have a friendly chat with John. Who knows, it might eventually smooth good relations between us." To their consternation, their first sight of John was him on his sofa with his arm round just the sort of glamorous blonde that he would associate with. He didn't even bat an eyelid when they came in and, as a result, their reaction was distinctly frosty. "Why is it that whenever you come to visit me, I get the feeling that you have come to put pressure on me?" Sir Ian realised that the conversation was getting off on the wrong foot and now was not the time to needlessly antagonise John.  
"Come, come, John," Sir Ian said in a falsely hearty tone of voice as he tacked an ill fitting smile onto his face. "We merely thought we would pop round and see how you are going on generally. We like to keep a regular informal contact with our judges and Lawrence and I thought only the other day that we had been somewhat neglecting you." Chance would be a fine thing, John thought.  
"My Lord, we do not see enough of you these days," Lawrence James's earnest voice further confused John. He felt comfortable in a perverse way with them when they either threatened him or blustered at him, as at least he knew where he stood with them. On rare occasions when they attempted to be pleasant with him, he was sure that there must be a hidden agenda.  
"Can I pour you a drink," he gestured to the drinks cabinet.  
"A cup of tea if you don't mind," Sir Ian replied for both himself and Lawrence James.  
They sat on the three-piece suite in frozen postures, making polite conversation in the manner of taking tea with the Queen.  
"I trust the tea is to your liking." "The tea is most excellent, my Lord," Lawrence James replied.  
"I hope that your work at the LCD is not too onerous these days." "As well as can be expected, John. The work of a government department never stays still and I seem to be buried in endless paperwork, proposed reorganisations and feasibility studies. The periodic little jaunt to chat to judges like yourself becomes a welcome break." While we are having a tea party, I ought to make sure that the mad Hatter and the Dormouse aren't too late was the irreverent thought behind John's fixed smile before he tired of this pantomime.  
"And the next thing you will ask me is about the Crown versus Atkins trial that I am hearing?" John sneaked in the next question he knew they were deliberating when to ask him.  
"Well, since you're asking, we were going to mention it out of mild interest what your thoughts are on the trial," Sir Ian replied, very much overdoing the note of bland indifference.  
"This case cuts deep, Ian. The evidence on the face of it is very strong but I am always reluctant to form conclusions too early in a trial. From what I can see, the matter of the defendant's state of mind may become crucial. There are two very competent psychiatrist's reports which do not mesh together which is unusual." "Come, come, John," Sir Ian scoffed. "From what I have heard, the woman comes from a family which is as steeped in criminality as you and I are as steeped in the law." "That is a highly dangerous argument of guilt by association. I was a guiding principle of the KGB in its selections of wretched outcasts from a tyrannical regime who were subsequently thrown into the Gulag." "You must admit at the very least, John, that the facts of the case are extremely damning by themselves. I cannot conceive of any reasons why the defendant should not be convicted and punished in an exemplary fashion for so ghastly a crime. Burying a helpless man alive with a bullet in him, my God." John's features froze in horror, partly in what Sir Ian was rather tactlessly rubbing in and partly as, yet again, the hated double act just couldn't leave it alone. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply for a little while to let his emotions settle and he could think clearly. "It seems to me that you are operating strange standards here when I remember your attitude in advance of, and during the Atkins/Pilkinton trial. I remembered you saying how compromised the evidence was in relation to convicting Ritchie Atkins, the very brother of the defendant in the present trial. In this case, you are now saying that there is a cast iron case." "The argument is specious, John, as the cases are totally different." "And so are the attitudes of both you and your lord and masters," John cut back, getting as heated as Sir Ian was.  
"You are being deliberately awkward. What possible obstacle is there in handing down a prison sentence to a woman who freely admitted that she brutally murdered the prison officer. It is, I repeat, an open and shut case." "Just as open and shut, is it not, that James Brooklands in broad daylight ran down a woman and her two children. Monty Everard saw fit to give the wretch a community service order and you were right behind his actions. If the Atkins family had made regular donations to party funds, you would, no doubt, be asking me if I could be persuaded to a similar act of clemency that that wretched judge did." "Your comparison is outrageous. There is no possible connection between some seedy East End villain and the founder of one of the country's most dynamic enterprises." "Oh, isn't there? I have been doing my own research on the Atkins family. The father, Charlie Atkins ran a car firm as a front for criminal drug smuggling operations for which he was charged, along with demanding money with menaces. The case for the crown was two pronged, that a comprehensive investigation into Mr Atkins accounts revealed expenditure far in excess of his declared income coupled with a dispute as to whether or not a large consignment of class A drugs, seized at the Atkins home was supplied to Mr Atkins with his full knowledge. Rumour has it that he had bribed the jury to convict only on the third and lesser charge of handling stolen goods. In the case of the Brooklands trial, no crude handover of money immediately before the trial was necessary. He had been making large regular contributions to a political party, which were designed to secure for him favourable conditions for his trading than he would have otherwise obtained. The same process was achieved by a nod and a wink in high circles. I freely admit that Mr Atkins empire was founded upon the exploitation of human weakness and an inciter of half the street crime whereas I cannot see anything in Mr Brooklands' business empire that I could take the slightest exception to. Nevertheless, the circuitous means by which the two men go to, to pay for justice favourable to them which the ordinary honest citizen is unwilling and unable to resort to are not so distant from one another. Who knows, if the father of the Atkins family had cleaned up their enterprises and had lived, he too would be knighted?" "By the way, John. Just who was that woman who was with you just now." It had to come to this, sighed John. It was only a matter of time but an adolescent side of his personality could not resist tantalising them. If he had been asked nicely rather than in an aggressive fashion with the obvious intention of causing mischief, he would have told them straight out.  
"Wouldn't you like to know?" he teased.  
"I bet Jo Mills would just love to know," Sir Ian snarled in a nasty tone of voice. "Wait a minute, I've seen that woman before, she was in the gallery and was a witness in the Atkins/Merriman trial. Yes, I have the answer, she's Karen Betts." All the time, Sir Ian had been making short jabbing movements with his forefinger as he probed to the bottom of the puzzle.  
"I just knew you'd get there in the end, Ian. There will, of course be no problems as the PCC hearing duly pronounced that Jo Mills and I are friend and friend." "Then there is nothing more to be said. We shall, of course, observe the trial very closely from the spectator's gallery to keep an eye on you." Sir Ian had turned red with anger in the way that Deed had resurrected memories of one of the most almighty rows he had ever had with the LCD and the way that the damnable fellow had wrong footed him at the last. Lawrence James too, was angry to see thrown back in his face, the words he used to describe as 'circuitous means'. This referred to the way the 'offshore fund' had been apparently arranged for Deed's benefit to handle the proceeds of the printing firm belonging to Lady Rochester's aunt. Both of them remembered the way that the informal enquiry had blown up in their faces. Not content with that, he had brought up the way that Deed had lied his way out of trouble and had got away with it.  
John sank back in his armchair to rest. If only he had been allowed to continue with the delightful company of Karen in place of the political commissars of the LCD, life would be so much more enjoyable.  
  
Jo had virtually sleepwalked her way to her car and, after freshening herself up briefly, acted upon impulse and phoned up George and fixed up a quick visit.  
"Jo. Come right in and join me for a drink." George's wide smiled greeted Jo as she opened the door wide to let her in.  
"That sounds fine by me." They sat in the luxury of George's lounge while they sat back companionably together. "Jo, you look as if you have something on your mind. This isn't just a social call." "Well, no," Jo admitted. "I noticed Karen leave the court in a hurry and that you followed her. I was wondering what you found out had happened to make Karen react that way." George sipped the drink that she held in her left hand while she thought of a delicate way to drop the news on Jo. Finding none, she reverted to the way of telling a story that came naturally.  
"If you remember, it was at the time that the blown up picture of the scar tissue on Fenner's body was shown on the wide screen. You know everything of her relationship with Fenner from about the time that their relationship had broken down. You've made the same mistake in pushing to the back of your mind that an intelligent attractive woman like Karen could have fallen for such a loathsome specimin of sub humanity as Fenner, the sort of human cockroach that you want to tread underfoot. You remember the Atkins/Merriman trial where you weren't much nicer to him than I was." Jo grinned at George's concise and witty description. "Karen explained to me that on Fenner's first day back at work after the stabbing, they ended up screwing in her office. Her words, not mine. She unbuttoned his shirt and saw the same criss cross of scars on his body that we saw on the wide screen and kissed them. It was a shock to her to have that moment brought back to her without any warning. She really thought that all her feelings were dead and buried…..Oh God what have I said," George suddenly blushed and added apologetically. "I keep making these faux pas." "I blame myself for not having found this out before or I would have intervened," Jo's voice was stiff with self-reproach as her guilt-ridden imagination took command of her thoughts. "There was no earthly reason for you to know, Jo. There are only so many questions you can ask when, after all, your main focus of attention is on Lauren Atkins. I would have done nothing different if I had been in your shoes," George reasoned generously. "I used to have this desire that everything in my life should never be less than perfect. I'll still try bloody hard and do my very best but I'll strive for the right reasons." A few tears came into Jo's eyes in the way that George had been so sweet and generous in trying to shoulder some of the blame onto herself. She still felt bad about the matter but not in that dreadfully self-isolating fashion that could spiral into depression. The room fell silent apart from the gentle sound of the wind outside and Jo started to feel easier in her mind when she reasoned to herself that, at least she knew and the very start of the trial was a better time to find this out and especially not when she was crossing swords with Neumann Mason-Alan.  
"What do you mean, you've done it before?" Jo smiled suddenly. "I went for a lunchtime drink with the rest of them in the gallery. They were nice," George smiled reflectively. "They all drink and smoke like chimneys, except Barbara so I felt right at home. No smug, infuriating health freak to look disapprovingly at you, though, of course he doesn't actually say anything." "That's John all over." "Anyway, I started whinging on about that day that John forced me to spend a day at Larkhall before I realised that they had done months, if not years there. They were awfully nice about it. Terrible, wasn't it?" George finished in an embarrassed way.  
"If that's the worst that can be said about you these days, you've nothing to worry about. I'm really grateful that you are around in the gallery to help out." Jo looked at her watch and regretfully decided that time had run away with her just when she was enjoying herself.  
"Look, George, I've got to go." "Night, Jo, and make sure you get plenty of rest." George shook her head as she shut her front door. She was starting to make a real habit about concern for other people, she said fondly to herself. 


	15. 

Part Fifteen  
  
On the Tuesday morning, Karen walked in to court praying that she wasn't about to receive another flashback like yesterday. One night, interrupted constantly by various dreams of Fenner, was quite enough. She had walked upstairs, not really taking much notice of the people around her, but as she reached to open the gallery door, she found herself coming face to face with Marilyn. "I thought I recognised you," Marilyn said, not hostile, not friendly. "How are you?" Karen asked, thinking that she was developing an attack of George's verbal nervousness to ask such a loaded question without any prior thought. "About as well as you are, I suppose," Marilyn said without rancour. "I had to come," She added. "Yes," Said Karen understandably, "So did I." This seemed to be all that needed to be said for now, and they moved to take their seats at opposite ends of the front row. Karen was soon joined by Roisin and Barbara, followed closely by Nikki and lastly by George, sitting down between Karen and Nikki. "So, I didn't frighten you off yesterday then?" Karen couldn't help asking with a small smile. "Good God, no," George said ruefully. "Ghosts usually have a reason for reappearing. Besides," She said with a self-deprecating smile of her own. "I thought it might have been the other way round." "Definitely not," Karen said quietly but firmly, her smile becoming suddenly warm and bright, as if a dark cloud had been momentarily blown away from the sun. "I haven't had a compliment like that in a long time." George grinned wickedly and lowered her voice so that only Karen could hear. "Not since John I suppose," She said, her grin becoming broader at Karen's slight look of surprise. "I'm not going to ask how you know about that," She said, watching in fascination as a blush stained George's cheeks. "On second thoughts, maybe I should ask him." "No, don't," George said, the wind up working perfectly. This increased Karen's curiosity a thousand fold and she assured George that she wouldn't, but she couldn't help but wonder. George on the other hand was inwardly kicking herself for thinking she could get one over on Karen, seeing all too easily that where verbal acrobatics were concerned, Karen was just as good as she was at leading an unsuspecting opponent in to a trap, even if only in friendly humour.  
  
When Professor Ryan returned to the stand, Jo moved in for the kill, but subtley, as one might lead a swimmer out of their depth, only to leave them floundering. "Professor Ryan," She began, sounding genial enough. "Please could you explain to the court exactly how you could determine that the empty cartridge case, 1D in the artifacts My Lord," She added jerking her head in the direction of the bench, "could be matched specifically to the gun supposedly used to injure James Fenner?" Sam fixed Jo with her piercing gaze. "When a person's fingerprint is taken, extremely high resolution photographs are taken of the ridge detail which is different in every person. If this person's fingerprints are discovered as part of a crime scene, the photographs of the two sets of prints, when significantly magnified, can be compared. If the pattern of the ridge detail of one set of prints matches the other, then you have found the source of the fingerprints. With this type of gun, the firing pin, which is the mechanism that ejects the bullet, leaves a very small scratch or indentation on the metal surface of the cartridge case. Under a microscope, this can be as clear as any type of engraved pattern. Even though all guns belonging to a particular type might be made to an exact specification, the firing pin will almost always leave a unique impression on any metal surface such as a cartridge case. After a gun has been in use for some years, such things as the mechanism connecting the trigger to the firing pin, or the actual position of the firing pin are almost always altered by simple wear and tear. This means that every gun using this type of bullet will leave a unique indentation on the surface of the cartridge case, as unique a mark as that left by a person's fingerprint." "Professor Ryan, I am interested in your use of the words almost always. Are you not prepared to commit yourself to saying, that it is without doubt that this particular gun's firing pin could have caused the indentation you say is present on the cartridge case discovered at James Fenner's crime scene?" "I have never had any reason to doubt the validity of the similarity of the indentations made by firing pins to the unique detail of fingerprints." "Forgive me, but you are avoiding my question, Professor Ryan. Is it possible that an identical gun which has been kept in similar conditions and similar working order, could have been the gun used to shoot James Fenner?" Jo's voice had risen slightly, as her verbal stalking of her prey became more apparent. In the gallery, George watched in awe at Jo's mode of attack. "Very occasionally," Sam said slowly, aware that she was probably digging the prosecution's grave in the process. "Identical twins can have the same ridge detail in their fingerprints. It is extremely rare, but occasionally possible. So I suppose it would be possible for two very similar guns, kept in similar conditions and similar working order to have firing pins that may leave the same indentation. I must however impress on the court that I believe that there is no doubt that this gun fired the bullet that injured James Fenner." "Professor Ryan, I would ask you to keep your testimony to facts and facts alone," Jo said seriously. "The jury need to make their decision with regard to factual evidence not with the help of the beliefs of someone who simply thinks she is right." John wasn't sure which was causing him the most astonishment, the fact that Jo was instructing the witness and making him feel superfluous in his own court, or that she was openly insulting the Professor's knowledge and experience in the same way George often did. George for her part was staring at Jo with a mixture of open admiration and slight concern. There was only so much of this kind of behaviour that John would take, she should know. "Precisely where are you going with this, Mrs. Mills?" John asked in an effort to regain control. "If you allow me to continue, My Lord, you'll find out," Jo said without a pause, which brought a roll of the eyes from George, who could see that Jo had something pretty monumental up her sleeve.  
  
"Professor Ryan," She said, returning to the attack. "You have stated in your report, 3C in your bundle, My Lord, that James Fenner was suffering from mild coronary artery disease. Can you explain to the court exactly why you assume that it wasn't this that killed him?" A snort of derision came from Neumann Mason-Alan. "James Fenner had a degree of thickening of his coronary arteries, no doubt as a result of years of smoking, drinking and unhealthy living." "Not much hope for us then," Said Nikki quietly which made George smile. "Whilst this condition would without doubt have deteriorated if left untreated, eventually resulting in a heart attack," Sam continued, "It was definitely not his primary cause of death, this was as a result of the inhalation or aspiration of soil particles during the process of his being buried alive as I explained yesterday." Not for the first time since she'd heard this specific detail Karen found herself feeling an almost physical pain for what Yvonne must have gone through when she'd found out exactly what her daughter had done. "To return to the issue of the gun," Jo continued, doing her best to jerk Sam around. "You have also stated in your report that you didn't think the bullet that shot James Fenner was intended to cause maximum damage. Please could you explain this assertion?" "James Fenner was shot in the abdomen with a Remmington nine millimetre bullet. If the killer's intention had been to kill him, either he would have been shot in a more direct, far more certain place such as the head or the chest. Or, a different type of bullet would have been used, a Smith and Wesson Black Tallon, for example." "Professor, can you explain to the court the difference between the bullet that was used and a Black Tallon?" John asked. Mentally clenching her fist, Jo said, "My Lord, might I be allowed to continue questioning the witness, as I was about to ask the same question." Feeling a distinct battle of wills coming on, John said, "I apologize Mrs. Mills." "The bullet that I retrieved from James Fenner's spine," Sam answered, feeling that there wasn't just one fight going on in this court but two. "Is a very small, cylindrical point that simply pierces anything it encounters that isn't bullet proof. The Smith and Wesson Black Tallon looks, on initial examination very similar to this, but when it makes contact with any soft surface such as human tissue, it opens outwards in to six or eight very fine needle-sharp points, making it eventually look something like a large spider. This can cause irreparable damage, as it can pierce several veins or arteries in one go if shot at the correct target. It is extremely rare for someone to survive a shooting by a Black Tallon." "Professor Ryan, when you were on the stand yesterday, you made what can only be called an undoubtedly wild unsupportable assertion that James Fenner's killer possibly had prior knowledge of the exact details and dimensions of his previous stabbing injury. Please would you now qualify this remark?" Sam had known this would come back to haunt her. "James Fenner's gunshot wound was found in the region of the lower end of his thoraco-abdominal scar. The fact that the extensive scar tissue clearly slowed the bullet in its tracks enough to mean that it lodged itself in his spine, and therefore made it impossible for him to defend himself, led me to believe that this had been the intended goal of causing him such an injury." "Professor, might I remind you that you cannot prove this assertion in any way. That is unless you have particulars to further qualify this assumption that are not included in your forensic report." "No, I do not have any further proof," Sam said for all the court to hear. "Then, My Lord, I must insist that this previous assertion be immediately struck from the record." "On what basis, Mrs. Mills?" "My Lord, this is a criminal trial, not an instance where the Civil Procedure Rules regarding hearsay have any place whatsoever. Hearsay is all Professor Ryan's assertion consists of." "I do not need reminding where I am, thank you, Mrs. Mills," Said John firmly, and George began to think that Jo might just be in danger of pushing her luck. "My Lord, if Professor Ryan's remark is left in place, the jury may draw the inference that Lauren Atkins' intention was to make James Fenner suffer as much as possible prior to his death. If Professor Ryan has no proof to substantiate her claim, then the jury may draw this inference under false pretences." John sat for a moment, his brows knitted in deep thought. He was forced to admit that Jo was absolutely right, but there was something different about her delivery today. She was going in all guns blazing, but with none of her usual caution or respect due to either the witness or, indeed, to him. "You do have a point, Mrs. Mills," He eventually conceded. "This previous assertion of Professor Ryan's shall be struck from the record and must be omitted by the jury during their eventual deliberations. However, Mrs. Mills, take this as a warning to treat both the witnesses and the court with a little more of your usual courtesy." Jo only just restrained herself from glaring at him.  
  
"Professor Ryan," Jo said, ignoring John and focussing on the witness. "There is just one last point on which I would like your considered expert opinion." There was a hint of pure stealth in her usually mild-mannered tone which would have raised George's hackles had she been opposite. "You have noted in your report that the gun supposedly used to shoot James Fenner contained," Here Jo picked up a copy of Sam's report and quoted "Some identifying details of its own. Just above the trigger, were the letters CJA." Putting the report back down on the defence bench, she returned to her own words. "Now, it has been assumed by the police that this gun contains the initials of the defendant's father, initials that stand for Charlie James Atkins. Can the authenticity of this claim be proved?" "If I might draw your attention to the object with which this gun was found," Sam answered, "Which was the spade that was used to bury James Fenner, the spade which contained not only his fingerprints but also the fingerprints of the defendant. Therefore, I would assume that this gun did once belong to the defendant's father." "Mrs. Mills," John intoned, "I can see exactly where you are heading, and I must point out to you that it is a pretty fruitless line of enquiry. Your client has never denied using this particular gun to shoot James Fenner, so I would warn you not to waste the court's time in attempting to prove or disprove its actual ownership." There was a long, sonorous silence. "No further questions, My Lord," Jo added, every syllable a freezing icicle of anger.  
  
As the clerk of the court called "all rise", George said to Karen, "What the hell has got in to her?" "I don't know," Said Karen thoughtfully. "That looked more like an image of when I last saw you in full cross-examination mode than Jo." "It's going to cause trouble in paradise before long, that's for sure." When they, along with Nikki, Barbara and Roisin, went downstairs, George detached herself from the group and went to meet Jo as she emerged through the door reserved for personnel such as barristers and clerks. When Jo appeared, she said, "Not here," After seeing the look on George's face. When they walked outside where it was thankfully not raining, George said, "I don't need to tell you that you were extremely lucky to get away with that. Had that been me instead of you in there, I'd have been banged up in a cell quicker than your client." "Why is he so bloody infuriating?" Asked Jo, feeling a childish urge to stamp her foot, though she just about managed to refrain. George grinned. "You've only just noticed?" She said. "Jo, in spite of John being at his most bloody minded, you're doing brilliantly. You just need to calm down slightly, or he really will think you're me in disguise." Just then, the rest of them, complete with Yvonne and Cassie appeared through the doors. "Help me persuade Jo that she needs a large drink," George said to Karen. "Absolutely no question," Karen said firmly. "After that performance you deserve one." "How's it going?" Yvonne asked. "That was the most ruthlessly powerful bit of defending I think any of us have ever seen," Replied Nikki. "Thank you," Jo said, after which Yvonne introduced Nikki to Jo. "I would love a large glass of wine," Jo said regretfully, "But not if you want me as much on the ball this afternoon." Yvonne could see the fraught, tense brain that wouldn't allow Jo to take a break. "Listen," Yvonne said gently but firmly. "One drink and half an hour's break won't do you any harm, and I definitely have a vested interest in making sure that you're calm and relaxed before you get back in the ring." Touched that they were all so concerned about her, Jo gave Yvonne a warm smile and agreed to accompany them, on the one condition that she could really only be away for half an hour, to give her plenty of time to get her head round what was coming that afternoon. 


	16. 

Part Sixteen  
  
An immediate ripple ran round the gallery of spectators as Dr. Waugh took the stand. He was a popular figure at Larkhall as a doctor who would actually listen to what he zealously called the patients who were there to be treated. All the prisoners had been heartily glad to see the back of Dr. No No who contemptuously brushed aside what he saw as cons who were bodies cluttering up his waiting room.  
"What is Dr Waugh doing? Does he really want to help throw that poor girl to the sharks?" "He should be thoroughly ashamed of himself, Roisin. I did think better of him," Was Babs disgusted verdict.  
"We don't know the full story," Karen half turned and leaned over to speak quietly in Babs' ear. "It's more than likely that being the Senior Medical Officer, the CPS would be quick off the mark to snap him up as an expert witness once Lauren arrived in Larkhall. He may have no choice but to testify." Nikki was silent with shock and white faced as the very well known, tousle haired man, casually dressed, holding an untidy sheaf of papers took his place confidently in the witness box for Neumann Mason-Alan to weave his testimony in to the main body of the trial.  
"Dr. Waugh, for the benefit of the court, will you state your present occupation, how long you have worked in your present employment and how you came to be involved in giving evidence." "I am the Senior Medical Officer at Larkhall Prison where I have practised for the last year. When Miss Atkins was admitted to Larkhall, she came under my care as a routine matter and I was requested to provide a detailed psychiatric report in connection with the alleged crime in question at the request of the CPS." "What is the range of your duties?" "Well, in a closed environment like Larkhall I have experience of treating the normal physical ailments but from time to time, the matters I come up against are psychological problems." "Do you have any special expertise in the medical field? Can you describe your previous employment and anything in it which enabled you to develop any expertise?" "Well, my basic training and experience is that of a General Practitioner. More recently, I went on to specialise in psychiatric consultancy work before a chance reference by a colleague known to me, Dr. Margaret Richards caused me to deal with one specific case at Larkhall. Shortly afterwards, I took up permanent employment when the previous incumbent left his job." Dr. Waugh exuded an air of total confidence and it was plain to see that he was no newcomer to public speaking.  
"If I might turn to the bundle of evidence, I would direct the court to Exhibit 3A which I ask you, Dr. Waugh, to confirm is your report." "It is indeed, sir."" The report ran as follows:  
  
Lauren Atkins: psychiatric report  
  
Name: Lauren Atkins. Case Number: 240073. Date: 21/04/04. Attending Psychiatrist: Dr. Thomas Waugh.  
  
I was asked, by request of the court via council for the prosecution in the case of the crown versus Atkins, Neumann Mason-Alan QC, to examine Miss Lauren Atkins. In performing this statutory duty, I was invited to pay particular attention to Lauren Atkins' state of mind when discussing and/or alluding to the death of her victim, Mr. James Fenner, a former principle officer of Her Majesty's Prison Larkhall. In compiling the results of my examination of Miss Lauren Atkins, I will endeavour to focus on three specific points of speculation. These will be as follows: her thoughts and reasoning as to her actions on and prior to the fifth of October 2003; her distinct and possibly severe lack of closure with regards to the death of her brother, Ritchie Atkins, on the 29th of August 2003; and finally, her general demeanour with regards to a serious breech of the law, such as the one with which she is charged.  
  
To begin with, I have talked at length to Miss Lauren Atkins, on the subject of the undoubtedly premeditated and brutal attack on Principle Officer James Fenner. There can never be any doubt whatsoever, that Lauren Atkins did perpetrate this crime. Indeed, Miss Atkins has herself on a number of occasions, admitted her direct involvement with James Fenner's demise, both to myself and to her fellow inmates. It may even be fair to suggest that Miss Atkins has not only openly admitted her sole involvement with James Fenner's death, but that she has been known to brag about this event, and has undoubtedly been held in high regard by her fellow inmates for her participation in the death of one of their officers. Lauren Atkins has shown little if any remorse for her actions, even though they resulted in a man's death. James Fenner was after all, someone she barely knew. Her only known encounters with Principle Officer Fenner were on the few occasions when she visited her mother, Yvonne Atkins, when Mrs. Atkins was herself an inmate of Larkhall prison. I fail to see any direct causal link between Lauren Atkins and James Fenner, which could possibly have led to her killing him in such a brutal and inhumane fashion. Quite why she felt it necessary to put James Fenner through the severe torture of paralysing him by a bullet through the spine, and then to bury him alive, I couldn't possibly begin to estimate. When asked why she deemed it acceptable to carry out the necessary stalking, abducting and eventual killing of James Fenner, Lauren Atkins simply replied that it was something that needed to be done. Lauren Atkins does not, in my professional opinion, feel a single ounce of guilt for what she has done, except for the worry and concern she has caused both her mother and her close friends by putting them through such an ordeal. Also in my opinion, Lauren Atkins has a definite, extremely secure reason for having killed James Fenner, one, which she has chosen not to share with either myself, or the prison officers who have charge of her. It would have undoubtedly taken an enormous amount of planning and forethought to carry out this crime, faculties, which I believe would not be entirely, present in a person of unsound mind.  
  
With regards to the death of her brother, Ritchie Atkins, who killed himself by drug overdose on the 29th of August 2003, after receiving a custodial sentence, it has become clear to me, during the course of my dealings with Lauren Atkins, that she has not begun to deal with her feelings concerning her brother's death, and that she has not been able to achieve any form of closure regarding this tragic event. For example, whenever Miss Atkins is encouraged or prompted to talk about her brother's death, she will either exhibit a level of anger which, if not handled correctly has the potential to become violent, and extreme bouts of grief and depression. Lauren Atkins will not, in any instance, discuss the circumstances of her brother's death voluntarily. I would severely discourage anyone from attempting to question her on this subject within a formal, legal setting such as a courtroom.  
  
Finally, if I am to make any assessment as to Lauren Atkins' attitude with regards to the issue of breaking the law, I must inevitably refer to the matter of her being an Atkins. This, as any member of the jury will gather, means that for the whole of her life, she has been exposed to the circumstances surrounding serious law breaking, and that she has almost certainly been brought up with the ethos governing the principles of organised crime. However, putting these facts aside, as it would be somewhat unfair to place Lauren Atkins merely by assumption and association in to the category of those who break the law on a regular basis, it can be ascertained by way of a simple conversation with Miss Atkins, that crime, in particular drug dealing and other forms of organised crime, are clearly a way of life she has known for many a year. Lauren Atkins may claim that she has left this life behind, but I feel that all one needs to ask her, is where did she obtain the firearm with which she injured James Fenner, in order to realise that she does not live as far from this life of crime as she thinks she does.  
  
In conclusion, I have examined Miss Lauren Atkins, in accordance with the court's request. I have attempted to categorise my findings in to three areas: that of her thoughts and feelings on the subject of James Fenner's murder; her hitherto unresolved grief at her brother's untimely suicide; and her general attitude with regards to a serious breech of the law. I was further invited to assess whether or not the event of her brother's death may have affected her state of mind severely enough to make her innocent of James Fenner's murder by virtue of diminished responsibility. I cannot by any means endorse this possibility. Whilst there can be no doubt that the event of her brother's suicide has greatly affected her, I do not feel that this alone gives Miss Lauren Atkins sufficient excuse for stalking, abducting and killing someone she barely knew. This course of action would have required a degree of mental capacity, which a person of unsound mind would almost certainly not be capable of maintaining over a prolonged period such as the time it would have taken to achieve such an end. In my professional opinion, Lauren Atkins is simply seeking a loophole with which to bypass the law, and to avoid the custodial sentence, which, if she is found guilty, would be the mandatory punishment bestowed on her.  
  
"What the hell has that guy been saying about Lauren?" Nikki asked in irritated tones. She had been on the outside quite long enough, being used to demanding and getting as of right everything that her sense of justice and forceful personality felt that she was entitled to. "We could do with a copy of the bundle of papers and follow what's going on down there." George laughed. She herself was starting to chafe at being without the familiar set of papers and felt as naked as if she were at a social gathering without makeup.  
"For the first time in my life, I'm sitting in a courtroom and relying entirely on Jo Mills to bat for us. I somehow don't think that I can prize a spare set of papers from the judge for our personal use. We'll have to wait and hear what happens." "In your report, you lay particular emphasis on the enormous amount of planning that went into the perpetration of this brutal crime. In your clinical experience, is there any possibility that someone who could be described as not responsible for her actions could commit such a crime?" "Absolutely not. Where the means of carrying out the crime are planned over a sustained period of time with such precision, then such a personality is, within its own terms, what could be loosely described as 'highly together.' An indication of focussed thinking is the way she said that 'it was a necessary course of action.' The words clearly describe a large element of forethought." "You would agree, Dr. Waugh, that the defendant's history has been of a cold blooded violent and dangerous criminal." Neumann Mason-Alan's normally deep, ponderous tones, started to take the first steps to climb to an eventual theatrical crescendo when a totally furious Jo Mills jumped up.  
"Objection, my Lord. My learned friend has exceeded his usual style of leading the witness to the extent of putting words into the mouth of the witness." "I allow the objection. Mr. Mason-Alan, you really have not progressed in all the time you have been here before me, in fact quite the opposite. I direct that your last words be struck from the record." John's voice was so pitched as to slice through the barrister in tones of icy contempt and total authority, which John projected with all his force of personality to bring the barrister to order.  
"Jesus, I wouldn't have liked to be up for adjudication before a screw like him when I was at Larkhall and I'd done something wrong," Nikki's hushed words were underlined heavily by deep respect.  
"You should try rowing with him, Nikki," George grinned. "I did for years when I was married to him." "Your very first words to me, Nikki, when you were down the block and I foolishly entered the cell were 'well, as long as you piss off when I ask you, frankly I couldn't give a toss," Karen said dryly, raising an eyebrow at Nikki who was pretending to be Miss Innocent.  
"I'd just had a row with Helen, what did you expect?" Nikki grinned back sheepishly.  
  
John's eye flickered up at the gallery as even their quiet voices could just be heard in the dead silence while Mr. Neumann Mason-Alan licked his lips and shuffled his papers to collect his thoughts. When he led off again, the occasional higher registers could be heard like a badly blown trumpet.  
"My apologies, my lord. Dr. Waugh, I shall rephrase the question. Can you describe the defendant's general attitude to the law and also any influences that her family upbringing may have had on her." "……may have had? That is an insinuation if you like. Oh well, Jo, let that one go if you must," echoed George's scornful critical voice, slightly loudly and ending on a tolerant note.  
"The defendant's family upbringing has played a very decisive part in her attitude to the law. Put briefly, she has been brought up to believe that to achieve your ends through criminal means is absolutely no bar to acting in a particular manner. She refers to such matters in a completely matter of fact manner as if it were the most natural way of behaving. Even from a cursory examination, it is deeply embedded in her character." "One moment," John interrupted, his impatience and his insatiable curiosity outrunning the slow moving way the court proceedings trundled along. "You say in your report that 'Lauren Atkins may claim that she has left this life behind, but I feel that all one needs to ask her, is where did she obtain the firearm with which she injured James Fenner, in order to realise that she does not live as far from this life of crime as she thinks she does.' Did she or didn't she make such a claim?" John's sharply pointed question flustered Dr. Waugh in the delivery of his words which, up till then, was smooth and persuasive.  
"Er, I admit that I cannot recall those words from the defendant. I was making an observation to anticipate a line of argument which the defendant may make in court." "In other words, it was not a matter of fact and I direct that those words be disregarded." A flicker of annoyance passed over Jo's face as she saw that John was up to his old tricks. "Might I be allowed to carry on with examining the witness?" came the long-suffering voice from the other end of the long bench.  
John's head turned fractionally to face him and blinked as if taken by surprise.  
"Yes, carry on." "Can you clarify for the court the defendant's manner when the matter of her dead brother Ritchie was brought up?" John winced at the indelicate way the question was phrased but let it go. "I talked to the defendant at some length as she is fairly articulate and forthcoming but never once did she refer to her late brother. I did broach the subject in a tactful enough manner and an extraordinary change took place in her manner. It was as if I had triggered off a time bomb. Her manner was vitriolic and contemptuous to the extreme indicating a callous denial of him as a human being let alone a brother with whom she had grown up. She expressed an intense wish to write him out of her life as if he had never existed. I found her reaction very disturbing." "You mean, you found yourself feeling threatened by her? You felt that if you said just one wrong word and she might physically attack you? Such a reaction would be quite understandable from your description of the woman who you describe as 'having been known to brag about this event, and has undoubtedly been held in high regard by her fellow inmates for her participation in the death of one of their officers,'" jumped in Mr. Neumann Mason-Alan eagerly.  
"My lord, I object most emphatically against the prejudicial remarks by my learned friend. Another leading question is immediately followed by hearsay evidence attributed to the defendant in a conversation with an unnamed prisoner. This precludes the ability of the court to test its reliability or otherwise," Jo ended on a heavy sarcastic note sliding up and down the scales in a manner that George noted very approvingly.  
John was inwardly vexed at the way that Jo Mills encroached on his position as judge, stealing some of his best lines, but that was as nothing compared to the towering rage that was building up inside him. "I cannot say that in all good conscience that I felt in anyway threatened. I must be allowed to explain myself in my own words," protested Dr. Waugh. He was beginning to be irritated by the way this barrister was trying to twist his words and constrained at this framework of conversation for idiots. Left to himself, he felt that a short, simple address by him would cover all the points that he thought worth making. However, he wasn't going to get that chance. John's pent up fury broke loose like a dam at the moment that the steep wall caved in.  
"Mr. Mason-Alan, you are putting me in the position that, in the words of Mr Justice Roskill that I shall have to assume a more inquisitorial role in order to secure a fair verdict if your utterly shambolic conduct of your case continues. I have advised the gallery that I would not tolerate audience participation as their conduct in a past trial proved to be somewhat lively. Instead, I find their conduct exemplary …………….." and at this point, all the women assumed a misleadingly virginal look of innocence at being so flattered"…………whereas you are in danger of being subject to the most extreme penalty that I could impose on an errant barrister. Now, are there any more questions that you care to ask the witness and pray let it be short, sharp and relevant or do I take over?" "I have no more questions, My Lord," He sank back onto his bench and felt like sinking through the floor.  
  
"Dr. Waugh, I can understand why you would wish to address the court in your own terms but a simple address, though no doubt, very fluent would not serve the course of justice as the defence council would be deprived of the opportunity of asking questions and probing to the heart of the matter. I trust you understand," John's sonorous voice smoothed over the emotional backwash of colliding emotions.  
Jo Mills was already up on her feet with an agility that spoke of someone chained up for long, being suddenly set free. Her opening remarks were greeted by a sharp glance from John in her direction.  
"That is just the point I was going to make. There are questions that I have to ask you of your report partly in terms of questions you have left unanswered and certain inconsistencies that must be explored." Dr. Waugh nodded anxiously, feeling that his accustomed authority was about to slide out of his hands. He was acutely aware that the work that he had slaved over was going to come under searching critical scrutiny which his life's experience had not prepared him for.  
"Can you explain why you found the defendant both aggressive and subject to extreme bouts of grief and depression as your report does not explain why she should react that way?" "I can only refer you to the sentence immediately before then when I have stated that the defendant has not begun to deal with her feelings over her brother's death and has not begun to achieve any closure on the event." "In other words, the contradictory feelings exhibited by the defendant may be a surface reaction to something deeper. Can you explain what that might be?" "Sadly, I am unable to offer any further enlightenment as it was as much as I was able to achieve to discuss these matters with her as far as we did." "If such a personality behaved in what I would regrettably call a dysfunctional manner, would this not have been a pattern of her personality in the events leading up to and including the death of Mr. Fenner and is this not inconsistent with your view that she behaved in a calm, controlled fashion in allegedly planning this event." "I suppose it could be the case." "It has been claimed that the defendant has a violent personality. Do you agree with this, Dr. Waugh?" "It is possible that a combination of factors ranging from her family upbringing and her own personality would produce such a tendency. As she has never denied taking the life of Mr. Fenner, then I have to conclude that she is certainly capable of violence." "I offer in evidence item 3K in the bundle of evidence, the defendant's prison record for the past year. As you can see, her record is exemplary which would suggest at the least, the defendant is capable of a considerable level of self-restraint. Is not this a reasonable conclusion to arrive at from your year's experience as an SMO in Larkhall." "I admit that there may be some truth in what you say." "I offer in evidence item 1D, the empty Remmington cartridge case that was found at the scene of where the body of James Fenner was found. If the prosecution is able to prove that the cartridge case is from a gun used by the defendant, do you not agree that this utterly contradicts the point of view urged on you that the defendant has a calculating criminal mind. As you quite rightly observed 'Where the means of carrying out the crime are planned over a sustained period of time with such precision, then such a personality is, within its own terms, what could be loosely described as 'highly together.' If the defendant is as calculated a killer and has been steeped in criminal behaviour for most of her life as you suggest, why would she make such an elementary and fatal mistake as to leave evidence behind?  
"She could have made a mistake in the heat of the moment. Your amateur psychology is simply polarising personality types into stock characters," Stammered Dr. Waugh becoming very anxious as this woman was steamrollering her way over the report.  
"I put it to you that your report is flawed as you have been regretfully unable to resolve the contradictions in its content. You are saying either that the defendant has a calculating criminal mind as a result of which she planned the taking of Mr. Fenner's life in a like manner or else that there were instabilities and mental conflicts in the mind of the defendant which makes such a smooth correlation far less likely. Of the two possibilities, which possibility do you now think is the more likely?" Jo's smooth restrained questioning technique uncoiled itself as she probed and exposed the weaknesses in Dr. Waugh's report that he had only just now realised were there.  
"Again, I would back my clinical experience that the 'either' 'or' alternatives that you are posing are over simplistic," Dr. Waugh's precise earnest tones recovered something of their assurance but the way his eyes shifted about betrayed how trapped he felt.  
"So it could be a bit of both or a bit of everything like a casserole with no defining flavour," Jo's voice took on a dangerous sarcastic edge. "Which means that the defendant could have any personality you care to name with no connection with any predisposition to criminal behaviour, does it not?" Dr. Waugh was silent. His mind refused to form words and his tongue was unable to speak. "Let us move on. When you refer to the defendant as being held in high regard for taking the life of Mr, Fenner, did this not suggest to you that the deceased man was perhaps not held in high regard. In fact is it not possible that he was totally loathed and despised by the inmates." Dr. Waugh's mouth hung slightly open and his mind froze. He could not get out of his mind the vision of that sneering, evil face and the jibes he had made that his then beloved had been 'screwing Wade for months' and that she had left as it had finally threatened to 'come out, so to speak.' The fact that he knew instinctively that the man was telling the truth did not get away from his feelings of outrage that this evil man had deliberately told him to make trouble between him and Helen. In fact, the two streams of anger converged in one churning turbulence of rising anger that made him hit that man right on the nose with all the force of his anger. The last image he had was of the bastard, slumped on the floor, blood trickling down from his nose and the evil smile parted his lips as he said, "Struck a chord, doctor?" Dr. Waugh mopped his brow as the horrible memories came back to him and that tearing feeling of loss ran through him again when he knew in that split second that his life was not going to be with that beautiful charismatic woman who had come along to rescue him from his loneliness, not after the way he had been betrayed before.  
  
"It is possible. Now I come to think of it, it is very possible that the inmates felt about Mr. Fenner in the way you indicate. I should have provided for that possibility." Mr. Neumann Mason-Alan's heart sunk as his key witness in which he had placed such hopes, was letting him down hand over fist.  
"In the brief period of time that you were acquainted, exactly what impression did you form of Mr. Fenner?" John's languid voice cut in with the lightning quick thrust of the duellist.  
"Damn the man," Jo muttered under her breath. "That's exactly the question I was going to ask." "Someone I knew described him at the time as a misogynist bastard. I would not say that that is an entirely inaccurate description of the man," Dr. Waugh suddenly spoke boldly, the links on the chains on his mind at last being broken apart by the repeated verbal blows on the anvil. "I would finally like to ask you how many times you interviewed the defendant to compile the report," Jo asked gently.  
"Only once," Dr. Waugh said shortly.  
"Is that usual in your experience? Was there any reason why you chose to base your report on just the one examination?" "I'll be absolutely frank. My preference and past experience is of not less than two sessions, possibly three but I was ordered to limit it to one as the CPS were pressing for an early trial and I was assured that they had every confidence in my work and they had every confidence in me. I agreed not without misgivings." "In other words, to put it in slang, they gave you a load of flannel," John's hard tones echoed round the court chamber and he fixed a penetrating gaze on Sir Ian and Lawrence James, sitting up in the top row of the gallery.  
"You do know, Dr. Waugh, that the defendant is someone who does not lightly place her trust in people and may be reluctant to confide in you on the basis of just the one session. That may explain why your report, though carried out with all the best intentions, only tells half the story." "I..I.. I …leave that for the court to decide," Stammered Dr Waugh for the first time in his life. He couldn't wait to get out of the witness box.  
"I have no more questions for the doctor," Finished Jo. Her mouth was dry and she felt drained after preparing to take on in cross-examination someone whom she regarded as a professional in his field as much as she was in hers. She had feared that she would have a rougher ride than she did and it was only his honesty that held him back. She could not in conscience give way to petty malicious glee and get a kick out of grinding the psychiatrist down into the dust.  
"Do you wish to re-examine the witness, Mr. Mason Alan?" At the emphatic shake of his head to Dr. Waugh's relief, John intoned the formula to declare close of play.  
"Court is adjourned."  
  
The women at the front of the gallery filed out with mixed emotions. They took comfort that Jo Mills had done so well in the exchanges so far but the clinical depiction of Lauren's chaotic and troubled state of mind collided violently with their memories of that period as they had lived through what Lauren was like. The exception was Babs but then again, the contrast between her blissful life and being plunged back into the darkness of Larkhall was hard on her spirit.  
Nikki was the last to walk down the flight of steps when she spotted Dr. Waugh. She would have thought that he would have made a rapid exit but the uncertain and wavering path that he trod betrayed the stress that he had been under. He was the last person that Nikki wanted to meet as old memories died not at all. Competing with her sudden uprush of anger was a burning curiosity to find out why he had acted as he did.  
"Dr. Waugh, did you really believe the report that you wrote?" His eyes focussed sightlessly until automatic thinking shaped the words that came wearily out of his mouth. "Well, I did when I wrote it but not when I was being cross-examined by the defence barrister." "You really hated Fenner, didn't you," Nikki asked quietly, her anger switched off in a second and real respect in her eyes. He had passed her test.  
"Yeah, just as much as the rest of you did. If you'll excuse me, I want to head off for home and get drunk. You're with Helen, aren't you." It was more of a flat statement than a question that Dr. Waugh finished up with. "Yeah, I am." "Tell Helen from me, no hard feelings. Everything that happens, happens for a reason even if you don't know it at the time." He smiled briefly and made his way out of the court, and was gone.  
Nikki let all feelings drain out of her body in her tiredness. She saw that the others had gone on ahead and chased after them.  
  
It was only in John's chambers that he could let loose his pent up fury at Neumann Mason-Alan. Fortunately, his rapid pacing back and forth in his chambers in a peculiar diagonal pattern took some of the anger out of his system. Regrettably for the waste paper basket, he took a kick at it and sent it flying.  
"Judge," protested Coope, "only Mrs. Channing gets you in this sort of a state.  
"I know," groaned John. "I thought that I only had that fatuous idiot Mason-Alan to deal with. This is going to be such fun," John sighed, casting his eyes to the heavens and reaching for the mug of tea Coope had placed on his desk. "could you ask Mrs. Mills to join me?" He asked after taking a mouthful. Neumann Mason-Alan he could deal with in court, but Jo was a different matter altogether. 


	17. 

Part Seventeen  
  
After listening to Thomas being questioned, Karen reached a conclusion, one that she had been mulling over since lunchtime. George had left soon after court was adjourned, saying that she had some work to catch up on after having been in court for two days. But Karen waited until she saw Jo emerge from court. She knew that what she was about to ask of Jo would almost certainly be refused, but Karen knew it was something she just had to ask. If she was going to finally lay her memories of Fenner to rest, this process had to begin with her knowing as much about his death as possible. "Jo, have you got a minute?" Karen asked, walking up to her. "Yes, of course," Jo replied, "What can I do for you?" "I need to ask a favour," Karen said slowly. "Something which I'm fairly sure you're going to say no to." They moved to sit down in one of the alcoves where solicitors usually talked to their clients. "Ask away," Jo invited. "Please can I see Fenner's forensic report?" "Karen, you know I can't let you do that," Jo replied slowly but firmly. "And you know that I wouldn't have asked if it wasn't something I thought I needed to do." "There are two considerations here," Jo said, "One being that I would be breaking the rules of client confidentiality, which I am not about to do unless I think it is absolutely necessary, and the second is that I don't know how good an idea it would be for you to read something like that." "I feel like it's the only way I can finally begin to get him out of my life." Jo looked thoughtful. They were then approached by Coope. "Mrs. Mills, the Judge would like to see you in chambers." "I wondered when I'd be summoned for my slap on the wrist," Jo said, getting to her feet. "If you wait here," She said to Karen, "I'll try to have an answer for you by the time I come down."  
  
When Coope had shown Jo into John's chambers, she departed after having been tactfully asked by John to leave them to it. "Sit down," John said when Coope had left, but Jo remained standing. "John, you summoned me here to give me a verbal slap on the wrist. So please just get on with it." "Okay," He said slowly, seeing that Jo was going to be as belligerent as George still often was. "Is there a satisfactory reason for the way you behaved in court this morning?" "I was having a bad day and you made it worse. Will that do?" "No, because treating both the opposition's witnesses and the court with total disdain just isn't like you, and I will not be made to feel superfluous, or backed in to a corner in my own court." "That's what this is really about, isn't it," She said with utter certainty. "You don't like the fact that you were wrong to allow the Professor's ridiculous and utterly unfounded assertion to stand yesterday, and even more so because I proved you wrong. You don't like it when someone else has the upper hand for a while, do you." John simply stared at her. Where had she gone, where was the Jo Mills he knew and loved? "Might I remind you that it is not anyone's place but mine to have the upper hand in my court," He said quietly, though with the threat of anger just below the surface. "Don't make me put you in a cell, Jo, because any more antics like this morning, and I will." "Fine," She said icily. "Warning received and understood." "Good," He said, walking slowly towards her. "Now that the official meeting's over, you can tell me what on earth's got in to you today." He stood in front of her but she made no move to touch him. "John, I'm really not in the mood for this," She said wearily. "Well then," He said, the words attempting to smooth her ruffled feathers. "Can I see you tonight? You never know, it might just make you relax." "No, John, you can't," She said, backing a little away from him. "Why not?" "Because I am finally beginning to see just why barristers are not supposed to sleep with the Judges they are before. You always do this, John; you always pull rank on me if I'm ever showing signs of making things even slightly difficult for you. But it's never an equal fight. You always have to have the upper hand in this relationship, in court and out of it. Ever since the day I first slept with you, you've used your seniority, whether that be pupil-master or judge, to keep me exactly where you want me. Even through all those years when I refused to get back in to your bed, you kept insinuating yourself in to my professional life because you knew I still loved you. If either one of us were in a different profession, you wouldn't be able to do this to me, at least not quite as much." "And do I do this with George?" He asked when he could finally get a word in. "Before you started sleeping with her again, yes you did. But then I doubt that even you could ever have the sexual upper hand with George, and before you say a word, that wasn't an insult to George but a realistic view of myself. I would just like, for once in my life, to feel your equal." "Jo," He tried to interrupt but she hadn't finished yet. "Do you know what's really quite odd about this situation? I never thought I'd be saying this, but even George treats me like an equal these days, so why can't you?" "Jo," He finally succeeded in stopping her in her rant. "If anyone has the upper hand in this relationship, it's you and George. It was you who first had the idea of tying me down to only the two of you. That's you, Jo, not anyone else." "Then perhaps you should ask yourself why," She said furiously, after which she turned, flung open the door and slammed it behind her.  
  
When Jo descended the stairs in to the foyer, Karen looked up to see that she had tears running freely down her cheeks. Getting up, she went over to her. "Are you all right?" "He makes me so angry!" Jo said in a mixture of tears and fury. "Do you know what," She added decisively. "I can't possibly make a worse mess of things than I already have today, so if seeing Fenner's forensic report is something you feel you need to do, then that's fine by me." "Jo," Karen said cautiously. "Don't just say yes to this because you know it would make him cross." "Every decision in my life doesn't have to revolve around John," Jo said, searching in her handbag for a tissue. "I know," Replied Karen gently. "But I don't want you to regret it." "If breaking client confidentiality in the name of closure is the worst thing I ever do, then I think I can live with it. But you'll have to come back with me to my office if you really want to see it. Firstly, because I don't want the fingerprints of any unauthorized person anywhere near the documentation for this case because I've had enough run ins with the professional conduct committee to last me a life time, and secondly, because I am not breaking my professional code of practice in the immediate vicinity of even one court officer." She had found a tissue by this time and wiped her eyes. "Thank you," Karen said, wondering if she would be thinking that after going through with her wish.  
  
As she followed Jo's tail-lights through the rain and the rush hour traffic, Karen couldn't help but feel a sense of fear-laden anticipation. Finding out the exact details of Fenner's death, and not just those necessary for the court case, was perhaps the most personal way she could ever have invaded his space. But might this just be why she was doing it? To have the last laugh, the last word? Finally, after too many tortured dreams and endless phases of self-doubt and self-recrimination, she would have won, and he would have lost. When she drew up beside Jo's car, she could see that Jo had taken the opportunity whilst sitting in too many traffic jams to repair the ravages to her face. Following Jo up the carpeted stairs to her office, Karen was forced to remember the first time she had come here, and knew that the sense of nervousness wasn't very different from that occasion. Jo's office was warm, the shelves crammed with books and box files, the cluttered desk and the case files piled in one of the visitors' chairs making the room look and feel lived in. Jo immediately moved to her desk and switched on the computer, waiting for the screen to light up and eventually typing in her password. Karen watched as she moved the mouse familiarly through her electronic workspace, opening folders, scrolling down file names and finally clicking on a Word document, which began to appear in tiny pixels on the screen. "Would you like a cup of tea?" She said to Karen, gesturing for her to take the swivel chair in front of the desk. "Yes please," Karen replied as she sat down, knowing that this was Jo's way of saying, what I don't see you read can't possibly hurt me. When Jo quietly left the room and closed the door, Karen began to read.  
  
"Name: James Fenner. Date of Discovery: 12/10/03. Approximate date of death: 05/10/03. Primary cause of Death: inhalation of soil in to the lungs resulting in suffocation. Manner of Death: homicide. Attending forensic Pathologist: Professor Sam Ryan.  
  
Attached to this report are photographs of every stage of the procedure, toxicology reports containing James Fenner's blood alcohol results plus any other substances found in his system, x-ray films, histology slides and a report on the bullet retrieved from his body.  
  
When Mr. Fenner's body was first presented to me, his initial x-ray showed a bullet to be lodged in his spine, just above the navel. I did not think that this injury would have been immediately life threatening, unless it had struck the iliac artery, and I was proved right on closer examination. Once Mr. Fenner had been unclothed, I could determine that this gunshot wound was not a contact injury, meaning that the shot was fired from some distance away. This was ascertained by the lack of gunshot residue on the surrounding skin, the lack of a muzzle mark on the skin, and the fact that the bullet had slowed down enough by the time it reached the body to lodge itself in the spine, rather than passing straight through. I would estimate that this bullet was not intended to cause maximum damage but only to incapacitate the victim. I make this assertion as if maximum injury were the intended outcome, either Mr. Fenner would have been shot in an alternative place, or a bullet such as the Smith and Wesson black tallon would have been used. The gunshot injury was proved not to be the cause of death on examination of the mouth and internal organs. There were particles of soil, matched to that found in the area where James Fenner's body was discovered, clinging to the insides of his mouth and throat. This initially indicated that he might have been suffocated.  
  
In order to conduct the internal examination, I performed a sterno-pubic incision on James Fenner. This looks exactly like a letter Y. It begins at each clavicle or collarbone, the two branches of the Y meeting at the sternum or breastbone, then descending to just above the genitals, making a slight detour around the naval, or in Mr. Fenner's case, around his abdominal gunshot wound.  
  
On opening the chest cavity, I first excised the heart. This was done by transection of the aorta, the vena cava, the pulmonary artery and pulmonary vein. James Fenner had mild coronary artery disease, which was possibly the result of a lifestyle consisting mainly of smoking, drinking and a protracted period of unhealthy living. The heart did show signs of severe strain, almost certainly caused at or before the time of death due to blood loss and a lack of oxygenated blood.  
  
Before proceeding to an in-depth examination of the lungs, I was able to verify that the laryngeal nerve was in tact, meaning that James Fenner would certainly have been able to shout for help and to plead with his killer any time up until he began to feel the effects of a lack of oxygen. The fact that he didn't succeed in attracting any attention to his predicament could suggest one of two things: either there was nobody in the vicinity who would have heard his cry for help, or that he knew his killer and assumed that he or she wouldn't go through with their suggested course of action.  
  
I then progressed to James Fenner's lungs, excising them as far up the trachea as possible to attempt to keep it in tact. There were many soil particles clinging to the interior of the trachea, the bronchioles and the superior alveoli or air sacs. This confirmed my diagnosis that James Fenner had died by suffocation, as a result of inhaling earth particles. For such a quantity of soil to be present in Mr. Fenner's lungs, it would have been necessary for him to have been submerged in a growing mound of earth. Once his brain began reacting to a severe lack of oxygen, he would have quickly become unconscious, but this would not have prevented his lungs from trying to breathe involuntarily. This can be illustrated by histological examination of the alveolar tissue. When the lungs are continuously trying to maintain a satisfactory oxygen level in a rapidly decreasing air supply, they will therefore breathe faster and faster to cope with the lack of oxygenated air. This causes the collapse of the alveolar framework, (both of ducts and air sacs), resulting in the overlap of the alveolar and eventually the pulmonary septa. This in turn resulted in the decrease of the space needed for the exchange between oxygenated and de-oxygenated air. This rapid change in pulmonary architecture would have meant that only de-oxygenated blood was reaching the heart through the pulmonary vein. Whether the severe pulmonary obstruction or the lack of oxygenated blood to reach the heart was the first thing to kill him, we can never be certain. Either way, once James Fenner was submerged in earth, almost certainly poured on to his face from above, he would have died within minutes.  
  
I then moved my examination to Mr. Fenner's gunshot wound. In doing so, I discovered a substantial amount of scar tissue from a previous injury, possibly from a stabbing or a major abdominal operation. The bullet had penetrated Mr. Fenner's body at the lower end of his abdominal scar, the extensive internal scar tissue almost certainly slowing the bullet down. The bullet was lodged in the spine at L5, in the superior bone of the lumbar sacral junction. Mr. Fenner would not have been able to feel any sensation below this point, which would have meant that he was unable to stand or walk, or move his lower body in any way. If, as I suspect, he was standing where he was eventually buried when he was shot, he would have been totally unable to drag himself out of the firing line. If Mr. Fenner had not been buried alive, then he would have eventually died from blood loss, though this could have taken anything up to a few hours, due to the fact that his wound did not hit any major veins or arteries. Except with the use of his arms, Mr. Fenner would have had no chance whatsoever of defending himself against his killer.  
  
Judging by the fact that James Fenner's fingerprints were present on the spade that was recovered, I would estimate that he was forced at gunpoint to dig his own grave, then to stand in the grave whilst he was shot. He then had to watch as earth was gradually heaped over his face. It must be made clear at this point that whoever killed James Fenner buried him extremely skillfully, and that he would not have been found for a considerable amount of time had it not been for the ingenuity of a very inquisitive Labrador. In considering this crime, going by the location, method and initial success in concealing Mr. Fenner's body, it would not be beyond the call of duty for me to suggest that Mr. Fenner did know the identity of his killer. Something, some reason made him do exactly what he was told on that journey to Epping Forest.  
  
Note on the firearm  
  
Mr. James Fenner was shot with a nine millimetre Remington cartridge, discharged from a Sig Sauer nine millimetre pistol. In the solving of homicide cases, this gun and this type of bullet are always useful, in that the cartridge case is always discharged along with the bullet, and in Mr. Fenner's case, his killer forgot to remove it from the scene. The firing pin of this type of pistol always leaves a very small scratch on the side of the cartridge case which, when compared with a suspect gun, can be matched with the same unique preciseness as a fingerprint. After a wide and detailed search, the gun was found together with the spade that was used to bury James Fenner. The firing pin of the Sig Sauer pistol was matched with the groove on the side of the cartridge case, stating without doubt that it was this gun that was used. Interestingly, whilst the spade still contained particles of soil, plus the fingerprints of Mr. Fenner and his killer, the gun had been expertly cleaned. The internal workings had been freshly lubricated with gun oil, and the external surfaces scrubbed with Hops9 solvent. This had clearly been done by someone who knows about guns and who is used to maintaining their own weapons on a regular basis. The gun also contained some identifying details of its own. Engraved just above the trigger, were the letters CJA. It must also be noted that the five remaining bullets had been removed from the gun before it was disposed of. To all intents and purposes, this gun, were it to be found in the hands of a licensed owner, would not appear to have been recently used. This was without doubt an attempt to mislead police officers and to conceal the perpetration of James Fenner's murder..."  
  
Karen continued reading, but all the essentials had been spelt out to her in the stark, all too vivid words of someone who had simply been doing their job. She was ashamed to feel tears on her face, to see in her reflection from the monitor that her eyes held only pain, only grief for the Fenner who had once said he loved her. It was funny, but that had been the one thing he'd ever said to her that inwardly she'd never doubted. He had believed that he hadn't raped her, that he could never do something like that to her. Even in his twisted, screwed up fashion he had loved her. But if she was grieving for the Fenner she had once loved, then where did that put her when it came to Yvonne, and what Yvonne's daughter had so ruthlessly done to him. She didn't know. All the feelings she had, plus all the feelings she knew she ought to have, were so mixed up in her head that she didn't know where one set of thoughts ended and the next began.  
  
Jo had taken a good deal longer than necessary to make two mugs of tea, knowing that Karen would need some space to do this. Jo still wasn't convinced that it was a good thing, but maybe Karen needed to be allowed to make a decision for herself for once where Fenner was concerned. But as she gently pushed open her office door, she could feel Karen's pain and confusion as if it was almost tangible. Putting the mugs down on the coffee table and softly closing the door, Jo walked over to the desk. Seeing that Karen couldn't possibly still see the screen through her tears, Jo switched the monitor off, removing the practical horrors of Fenner's death and returning it to a friendly, impersonal blank. Putting her arms gently round her, Jo held Karen to her, gently rubbing the slightly trembling shoulders, Karen's head softly nestled against Jo's body. After a while, Karen looked up. "I had to do it," She said, desperately wanting Jo to understand. "I know," Jo said softly, remembering what George had told her of Karen's flashback the day before, and realising that this had been Karen's attempt to take control of her memories of Fenner, to begin to exorcise them before they took over her psyche. "I'm not supposed to feel like this," Karen said, eventually detaching herself from Jo and reaching for the box of tissues on the desk. "I'm supposed to be relieved that he's no longer here, that he can never again do to me or anyone else the kind of thing he got away with for years. I'm supposed to be able to consign all my memories of Fenner to somewhere where they can't come back to haunt me, like the memory of the person I was when I lived with him." Jo simply stood and waited. "I was a complete cow when I loved and lived with Fenner," Karen added bitterly. "So was George before you got to know her," Jo found herself saying. "People change." They moved over to the two chairs under the window, between which was the coffee table that contained their mugs of tea and an ashtray. "Karen, one thing you must not do," Jo said as she lit a cigarette and handed it to Karen, after which she lit one for herself. "Is to blame yourself for anything you are feeling." "It's not quite that simple though, is it." "No, it's not, and I think this is only the beginning. Ever since that first day when I came to see Lauren, and she told me what she'd done to Fenner, I thought something like this might happen. It became blindingly obvious to me that you knew nothing of the real circumstances of his death, and even though I tried to persuade Yvonne to tell you, we reached the trial and you still didn't know. That's why I made sure there was someone in the public gallery who I could trust to deal with any emotional reaction you might have to hearing the details of how your once lover, because that's what he was, had died. Even now it feels odd to be able to say that I trust George, but with something like this, I do. But in the end, it wasn't the details of his death that caused you to relive something you thought you'd forgotten." "Did she tell you what did make me walk out of court?" "Yes. Have you thought about why it was that particular incident that you remembered?" "I didn't think about much else on Monday night, and I think it was because that was the start of Fenner wielding his influence over me. From that time until Virginia O'Kane was killed, I accepted every word he said as being gospel. I wouldn't listen to anyone who tried to vilify him. I remember the day after he assaulted Helen, she was trying to find out whether or not I was living with him. If I'd opened my eyes and ears for more than a second, I'd have picked up on the fact that for some reason, she was concerned for me. I loathe the person I was in those days, probably more than Fenner himself." "As I said, people do change, no one more so than George. Before the Merriman/Atkins trial, we didn't used to be able to be in the same room for as long as five minutes without verbally scratching each other's eyes out. It was easier for her to blame me for breaking up her marriage than to look at why John had gone looking elsewhere in the first place. But that trial did something to both of us. I got a bit too emotionally involved, partly because of her presence on the opposite bench and partly because of everything I learnt about you. George on the other hand was shown in no uncertain terms the lengths her then partner would go to in order to avoid bad publicity." "But how did you get from just about managing to be civil to each other, to entering in to this three-way relationship you have with John?" "George was going through a pretty rough time, and went looking for comfort in the arms of John, knowing that he never says no to a beautiful woman. She got the shock of her life, however, when she found herself feeling guilty for doing it, not because of John, but because of me." Karen's eyes widened. "She realised that she suddenly didn't want to lose the tentative friendship we were gradually building. But the thing that brought me and George close enough to thinking of each other in that way, was your case against Fenner. We'd suddenly found some common ground, something we both felt so strongly about that it allowed us to put aside all our monumental rows of the last seventeen years." "Well," Karen said slowly. "I'm glad it achieved something good." "What I'm trying to say to you is, nearly everything happens for a reason, including the re-emergence of things about yourself and about Fenner that you'd rather forget. All your brain is doing is telling you that it's time to bring everything out, re-examine it and finally put it to rest." "That sounds like something Meg would come out with," Karen said, referring to her psychiatrist friend Meg Richards, who she had suggested to Jo as an expert witness for Lauren's case. "We have talked at length about you," Jo admitted with a small smile. "You are bound to grieve for Fenner, even though you don't think you should. Just, try not to be afraid of it. The longer you put it off, the harder it will be to do when you eventually find yourself forced in to doing it. You're not unlike John when it comes to something like this. You don't deal with things as and when they occur, because you neither have the time nor the inclination to deal with them. But when they do eventually rear their ugly heads, the emotional reaction to it is far more devastating." "What did he say to upset you earlier?" Karen asked, feeling that it was about time the conversation moved away from herself and focussed on someone else. "Don't even get me started," Jo said, some of the earlier anger returning. "Jo, I think that's what close friendship is supposed to be about," Karen said gently. "He's always had the upper hand where I'm concerned," Jo said, seeing that Karen's offer of a listening ear was as well-meant as her own had been. "Every time I do something he doesn't like, whether it's in court or out of it, he pulls the old thing of his seniority on me, and because he is professionally superior to me, I always give in. John sees no problem in sleeping with a barrister who is before him, because he knows that professionally speaking, neither he nor I will take advantage of the situation. But he will quite happily use his professional position to get what he wants personally. He's probably told you this, but when I met him, he was my tutor and he saw no problem with having an affair with one of his students. In the relationship he has with me, he's always played the role of the tutor or the judge, always having the upper hand. Just for once, it would be nice to feel his equal." "Is he like this with George?" "It's different with George." Jo lit herself another cigarette, using the action to give her some much needed thinking time, though not enabling her to come up with any other way of saying what she wanted to say. "When it comes to bed," Jo said, looking slightly away from Karen and a slight blush touching her cheeks. "George has been and always will be his equal. In that respect, I am nothing like George. She has the same level of sexual skill and experience that he has. That's why restricting him to straying with George and only George has worked. She never stopped loving him, nor he her, but they both know that they could never again live together. So, he gets the security and commitment that he's always wanted from me, and the appearance of having a mistress with George, getting from her a kind of sex life he probably won't ever get from me. John needs to feel that he's got somewhere to run if one woman lets him down, so that if either of us ever did, he'd have the other. I can feel secure that he isn't going to go back to George, and that he will also not go away from me completely with a total stranger. Much as it might have been a novel idea to start with, it does work, more than any idea I've ever had concerning John. I would just occasionally like to feel his equal rather than always feeling both professionally and sexually inferior to him." "It sounds to me like he needs reminding of what his priorities are," Karen said, thinking that John really didn't know he was born. "Yes, he probably does," Sighed Jo, "I would just like him to realise that without my having to tell him. Is that too much to ask?" "For some men," Said Karen ruefully, "Yes it is. If I thought you'd consider it," Karen continued with a little smirk, "I'd suggest you had an affair with a woman, because that would definitely make him see that he had to start working at this relationship as much as you and George clearly do." Jo laughed. "That'd be the biggest shock of his life," She said, just trying to picture John's face. "Just tell him how you feel," Karen said, turning serious again. "Tell him why you feel inferior. If he's always the initiator, which knowing John I suspect he is, surprise him, show him that you're just as capable as he is at being in control. You never know, he might actually like someone else having the upper hand for a change." 


	18. 

Part Eighteen  
  
Denny's eyes had blinked open automatically in term for the early morning call. It was a habit of hers from when she was in a foster home and then in a children's home. You didn't know what bastard screw would come through the door when you were half asleep. It all went back to when she was a kid and she really thought that the man coming through the door was just being friendly, like you do when you are a kid. Even now, when everything from her tattoos, the way she dressed and acted was her version of visually displaying herself 'dyke' and 'not to be touched by a man' was her version of self protection. She just didn't take chances, as it wasn't safe to.  
Lauren was different because she was as bad as waking up in the morning as her mother had been and the reason was easy to understand. Her hardness threatened any screw who remotely crossed the line with a towering stormcloud of rage in a single look. Besides, she was an Atkins. Stories of her mother's time in Larkhall were embroidered into legend and passed down to new inmates and rumours as to who really killed Charlie still haunted the dark corridors and single cells of the vast honeycomb warren that was Larkhall. Lauren simply had to step into the shoes that were waiting for her. Even today, she was only a shade earlier and Denny finally saw her off with a couple of the screws and life at Larkhall went on much the same, with all the petty day to day routines.  
  
Hours later, she was playing a game of pool to kill time and to keep her thoughts occupied though, in reality, they had walked out of the gates with Lauren. As her ball clipped the other ball she was aiming at, a chorus rose up behind her announcing Lauren's return. The slim black woman dragged herself wearily into the canteen area and stopped, not knowing which way to go.  
"Hey, Lauren, how did it go, man?" Lauren's mouth twisted sideways into a grimace and she didn't answer.  
"I'll get you some tea," Denny offered graciously as the other woman's body dropped into a chair as if invisible strings holding her up had been suddenly slashed through. She was numb to any emotion and reached for a much overdue cigarette and lit up.  
"It's weird sitting in the dock and hearing everyone talking about you. It's as if I was lying out flat on a slab and everyone's was pointing at me and you can't move, you can't speak. The brief who's prosecuting me is a total dickbrain, talking about me as if I'm this psycho bitch that gets a kick out of killing and torturing people. I'm not like that, am I?" Lauren looked pleadingly at Denny.  
"You're talking about Shell Dockley, man," Denny's firm voice broke into Lauren's meandering streams of consciousness fuzzy edged voice. "She was an ex who could twist me round her little finger and make me do all the shit evil things for her. I know the difference. You just took out one evil bastard screw and no one's been upset since he's gone, except Bodybag and Di Barker, sad cows. It's just a drag that it's illegal." Denny's simple words of common sense started to blow away Lauren's dark clouds of self-accusation as her eyes focussed on Denny for the first time. Denny knew the signs, they all came back like that from court.  
  
"Just remember, Lauren, I've shared a cell with you all these months and if there was anything bad going down with you, I'd know by now. The worst thing I can say is that you're dead moody first thing in the morning, same as your mum but that ain't no crime." Lauren laughed freely at the utterly absurd bathos in Denny's words. She could be funny without even intending it, and knew much more than she ever thought of life around her. She was much better for her than Ritchie had ever been.  
"Jo Mills is doing her best for me, but she only makes me sound as if I'm a right head case instead of a cold evil killer. I know it's for the best, but……" "Do you really want to get banged up here for life as that's what you'll get if your brief doesn't say something smart to get you off the hook?" The expression on Denny's face pleaded with the other woman as much as her words for her to get a grip on herself.  
"I know, Denny, but….." "But it doesn't matter shit except for how much she can swing it with the jury. Don't be a twat, just for me. So how well did she do?" "Pretty good so far. She chewed up the other brief and she tied up Dr. Waugh in knots except that….." "What, man." "He ended up sort of agreeing with someone who called Fenner a misogynist bastard. Those were the words…I think." "He's on the other side, ain't he? …… That's weird, man." Denny's face looked blank with incomprehension as what Lauren said didn't click or make any sense. "So what about the judge?" "It seemed different last time. I was in the gallery cheering him on to nail that useless brother of mine and that evil tart Merriman for what they did wrong……" "So what? Did you rob your mum, help smuggle in a ton of explosives and let my bird Shaz get burnt to death? Could you have ever done anything as evil as that? A bastard like Fenner deserved to die. Anyway, that judge is the best, trust me." Denny started dancing about like an excitable little kid. It suddenly dawned on her that if Dr. Waugh had changed sides, it sounded like good news for Lauren.  
"How the hell do you know him? Next thing you're going to say is that the Queen makes a nice cup of tea 'cos you've been let out for the day to go to Buckingham Palace." "He came round here one day, didn't I tell you? Miss Betts left me with him to chat to for a bit. I told him about Shaz, even showed him the picture the Costas did of her. He was dead interested and a really nice bloke." Lauren let herself be led off back to her cell and lie down. She needed to crash out on her bunk.  
Nikki sat as still as a statue, perched upright as Jewel's opening lazily strummed, slack stringed guitar chords and smouldering keyboards hit that sombre, rock bottom register in her soul. Sometimes she needed to be alone and this was music to be alone with. It was at that point where reflective silence and a shadowed introversion took her to the point where she was oblivious of her surroundings. She didn't get the chance much these days to be this way with the loud raucous music of the club and the snatched time with Helen on opposite shifts. "Barcelona, where the winds all blew And the churches don't have windows but the graveyards do Me and my shadow are wrestling again Look out stranger, there's a dark cloud moving in But if you could hear the voice in my heart it would tell you I'm afraid I am alone." In her mind, she rode the trail with Jewel as that voice arched high up into the summer air in an impossible flight of words. It had hypnotised her from the very first time she heard it. That CD was the first she had bought when she got out of Larkhall and was let loose in HMV with more than her weekly spends in her pocket.  
  
"Won't somebody please hold me, release me Show me the meaning of mercy Let me loose Fly, let me fly, let me fly."  
Those words could have been sung to her in the depths of that narrow hard bunk separated from her beloved and craving for that mercy from the world just that once. It wasn't much to ask for. "Let me fly, let me fly I won't be held down, I won't be held back I will lead with my faith." Yes, that was what she had done all her life from when she left home and made her place in a world of her own since the world she was born into had rejected her. Without that faith, she was nothing. When that song came to an end, she clicked the 'replay' button on her remote control for that song to travel through her once again. The music always made her feel good about herself in a strange way. Once is never enough for a song that tells your life.  
  
"Hi Nikki. You've got a lot on your mind when you play that song." That sudden flashing smile of Nikki's that lightened her face and pulled her out of the strange depths of her thoughts back to the here and now. She waved goodbye to that old friend of hers, that special place in her mind, but she knew she would come back there some time in the future. It was a good friend to her and had been with her all her life.  
"Kind of. I ran into a guy who brought back memories, as well as some old friends, the old lags from Larkhall." "There is a difference?" "I'm not really sure. It was your ex, Dr. Waugh." Helen was curiously relieved after her quick 'once over' glance at Nikki. Her first words were a hair fine trigger to her question. Nikki's emotions were always written plainly on her face and, instead of a dark scowl, she was softly reflective. It was Helen who reacted fiercely to his name crossing their threshold. "How good did he feel about selling out his professional integrity that he was always talking about?" "Pretty shit," Came Nikki's even reply to Helen's contemptuous accusation. "He wasn't given an easy ride by Jo Mills as you might expect. I got the impression that he genuinely didn't see the weaknesses in his report till he was on the stand. The really weird thing was that he ended up quoting a certain someone who described Fenner as a misogynist bastard. He ended up hanging the bastard out to dry. Pretty strange for a prosecution witness." Helen had the strange sensation of standing in a huge echo gallery with her voice talking back to her. She must have spent years shouting her protests about Fenner to an unhearing world, which sponged it up and reduced her to nothingness. She had fought that battle long and hard, which she had lost and had walked away from. Now her words had been preserved in some time bubble and were framed in Thomas's self-assured educated accent and reverberated round the Old Bailey, on whose dome that ultimate symbol of justice, the balanced scales had tilted her way. It was true that Thomas knew what Fenner was like from what she had told him but after splitting up with him, he was out of her life forever for good or ill.  
  
"He said another thing, Helen. He said about you that there were no hard feelings. What did he mean by that?" Helen took a breath and paused on the brink as, in her mind, she was sitting opposite Thomas in their favourite restaurant, telling herself and him that 'I'm with you now.' Whatever was she doing there while she's got Nikki now.  
"I never told you about how Thomas and I split up. Fenner had been blabbing his mouth about the two of us and he confronted me. He didn't beat about the bush………." "Rather like me," Nikki couldn't help adding as clear memories of the man, untroubled by present entanglements, slipped through her mind. "He said that everytime we were getting close, it was as if he was hitting a brick wall……" "That was me." "He said that he had been betrayed before because the woman he was with wasn't honest but I couldn't even be honest with myself…." "That sounds like me talking at my most tactless." "And it was Thomas who, curiously enough, convinced me where my real feelings lay and that was with you, Nikki." After her previous deliberate lightness of tone, Nikki's mouth suddenly opened slightly with shock as the full implications sunk in. Her slim delicate fingers only partly concealed her feelings. So that evil bastard Fenner's parting gift to them had, in his twisted way, helped Helen and her to finally get back together. Only a few seconds, a sense of savage glee came to the rescue that of the evil things that he had done in his life, this rebounded to her advantage and Helen's. She hoped that wherever he was, his spirit could rot in hell and be tortured forever by the thought of their happiness. That light in Helen's large expressive eyes and her neatly cut bobbed hair swung as she turned her head and slipped her arms round Nikki's shoulders and their lips met in a deep kiss.  
"Welcome home," She whispered into Nikki's neck, minutes later.  
"You and me both, darling." 


	19. 

Part Nineteen  
  
On the Wednesday morning, they were joined in the gallery by Helen. Karen privately thought that after two days, they needed some new blood, someone new to infiltrate their little gathering. Helen had met Roisin some time ago through the fact that Yvonne and Nikki were friends, and she'd obviously known Barbara also through Nikki, but it was time for Helen to meet George, and Karen found herself wondering what Nikki might have told Helen about the new addition to the Atkins support group. It seemed to matter to Karen what all her friends thought of George, which was stupid. George was perfectly capable of standing up for herself, but it didn't stop Karen feeling slightly protective. "George," Nikki said when they all met in the foyer. "This is Helen, Helen Wade," She added, a smile of pure pride lighting up her face for a moment, showing George that whilst these two women might not be technically married, the fact that Helen had changed her name to Nikki's meant as much to both of them. "Though you might know me better as Helen Stewart," Helen added in her lilting Scottish burgh which appeared gentle though with a hidden strength not far underneath. "Oh, yes," George said, holding out her hand to shake Helen's, and remembering the way Helen had fitted in to the jigsaw of Fenner's crimes. "Nikki tells me you spent a day unofficially at Her Majesty's pleasure some time ago," Helen put in, trying both to make some sort of conversation and to put George, who clearly felt like the new girl of the class, at her ease. "I can see that I'm never going to live that down," George said ruefully. "What the bloody hell's she doing here?" Helen asked catching a sight of Di Barker walking off towards the room reserved for the prosecution's witnesses. "Whether she's doing it because I brought in Gina as principle officer instead of giving Di a promotion, or whether she's doing it to get some sort of twisted revenge on me for being alive instead of where Fenner is now, I couldn't tell you. But she's giving evidence for the prosecution." "Oh, there'll be a reason for it," Said Helen knowingly. They began walking up the wide marble stairs, Nikki, Roisin and Barbara in front, with Helen, George and Karen bringing up the rear. "Dominic nearly put in for an instant transfer when he found out he'd be working with her again." "How's he getting on?" Asked Helen, and George felt comfortable listening to the two women who had once had their profession in common and who could clearly never tire of discussing it. "Oh, he's fine," Said Karen with a smile. "That year or so in Greece really did something to him, took away his shyness. He even threatened the Julies with segregation last week." Helen laughed. "I was going to come yesterday," Helen said, lowering her voice so that only George and Karen could hear her. "But I didn't think I could stand the tension of Nikki and Thomas in the same place." "Well, you'll be pleased to know that she was very civil to him," Karen said equally quietly. "Thank god for that," Said Helen in sheer relief. "How did he get on?" "I shouldn't say it, as he's appearing for the other side," Replied Karen, "But he was pretty good." "His report didn't do him or the prosecution any favours though," Put in George. "Why?" Helen asked, clearly still interested in what he got up to. "He made a couple of very broad statements which Jo managed to pull to pieces and which forced him to get off the fence, fortunately landing on our side not theirs," Explained George. "Who's on this morning?" "The police officer who arrested Lauren," Replied Karen. "You'll remember him, Helen, the bloke who tried to pin Renee Williams' death on Shaz Wiley." "Not that shifty-looking bastard?" Helen asked in disgust. Then turning to George, she explained. "This lovely little representative of the Metropolitan police kept the entire prison on lock down for nearly a fortnight, over nothing more than a bloody nut allergy." "The very same," confirmed Karen. "Sounds as though he hasn't changed," Said George dryly. "Getting an Atkins convicted would no doubt result in his rise to chief." "You're learning," Said Nikki approvingly, having heard the tail end of the conversation as they moved in to the front bench of the gallery, their number now making a total of six for John to keep his beady eye on throughout the proceedings.  
  
"Detective Inspector Sullivan," Neumann Mason-Alan began once he'd got the policeman on the stand. "Please could you tell the court about the day you arrested Lauren Atkins? What you did when you called on her? What she said to you?" Sullivan tried and failed to look professional. "Lauren Atkins wasn't very pleased to see me," He replied, shooting a sneer over at the dock. "She took a while to open the door, possibly taking the time to check me and my colleague, Detective Sergeant Greer, out first." John felt it necessary to intervene. "Inspector, would you not consider this a wise move for a woman on her own, about to open her front door to two strangers?" Sullivan looked scornful. "This is an Atkins we're talking about My Lord. Before allowing me entry in to her house, she told me that she couldn't guarantee my safety with her Alsatian dog." Karen couldn't help emitting a small, quiet giggle, which brought a wide grin from Nikki who had also met Trigger and knew just how soft he was. "Lauren Atkins took my presence as an immediate threat, and used the threat of her dog's teeth to attempt to keep me and my colleague from questioning her." "Oh, honestly," Said Barbara in a stage whisper, which brought a raised eyebrow from George. "The Atkins dog is softer than that whippet of John's," Karen almost silently told her. "How did Lauren Atkins react to your questioning?" Asked Neumann Mason-Alan. "She was rude, belligerent and utterly refused to co-operate." "My Lord," Said Jo, rising to her feet. "This is a prejudicial statement against my client's character which cannot be proved. My client maintains that she did co-operate with the police when they visited her home, and that she made no attempt to resist their arrest." "Be careful to stick to the facts, Inspector," John warned. "My Lord," Sullivan insisted, "Might I remind you who we are talking about here?" "Not if you don't want to end up before me on a charge of contempt of court, no," John replied sternly. "My Lord, if I might be allowed to continue with the witness?" Mason-Alan tried to regain the reins. "By all means," John said blithely. "But you might choose to impress on your witness that he would do well to show some respect for his surroundings." "Detective Inspector Sullivan," Mason-Alan returned to his questioning. "Did Lauren Atkins show any inclination to be co-operative once you returned with her to the police station?" "Not in the least," Sullivan replied, seeing in the prosecuting barrister a man after his own heart. "She refused to tell us anything. Not one, single detail. Even when we offered her the advice of the duty solicitor, she refused to say a word." "What about when you presented her with the evidence of the gun, the spade and the empty cartridge case? Did this not provoke any reaction from her?" "No, not anything. Miss, Lauren, Atkins," Sullivan said, slowly spacing out the words, "Has obviously been well coached in how to deal with a visit from the law. I have had occasion to question her mother, Yvonne Atkins, and neither woman has ever given the police the time of day." "Well, if this is the way you discuss them in court," John intervened, "then I'm hardly surprised." Seeing that this witness would be nothing more to him than a lost cause, Neumann Mason-Alan sat down, leaving the way open for Jo who quickly moved in for the kill.  
  
"Detective Inspector Sullivan," Jo began, not giving him a moment to take a breath. "When you asked Lauren Atkins if she had ever heard of James Fenner, what did she say to you?" "She put on this fake, innocent expression that was supposed to fool me, and said, oh, wasn't he the prison officer who was murdered last October. Then she made the connection that he used to work on the wing where her mother had been incarcerated." "And does that response strike you as unco-operative?" "No, it strikes me as a pathetic attempt to fool me. One I might add that didn't work." "Now, whilst I will not waste the court's time," She quoted John's words of yesterday, "By attempting to prove that my client co-operated with you during her initial interview, she did agree to give you a full, fact-filled statement at a later date, 3L in your bundle, My Lord." "You call that little fabrication a full, fact-filled statement, do you?" Sullivan asked in amusement. "Of course," Said Jo without ranker, "Why, what would you call it?" "What I would call Lauren Atkins' police statement couldn't possibly be repeated in present company," Sullivan drawled with nothing but malice in his tone. "With that in mind," Jo continued, sounding amiable to only those who didn't know her. "Wouldn't it be fair to suggest that your attitude to my client was prejudiced from the start, and that your sole reason for taking on this case was because you had failed to pin another death on Yvonne Atkins? A death that I should point out for the court to be the result of a fatally allergic reaction to nuts?" "Listen dear," Sullivan said, openly snarling at Jo who remained thoroughly unmoved. "Your client," Sullivan almost spat out the word, "Is the last in a long line of criminals. Her father was one, her brother was one, and her mother, who I suspect is paying your fee, is one. To give Lauren Atkins her due, it would have been a miracle if she hadn't ended up becoming involved in violent crime." "Inspector, Yvonne Atkins was convicted of conspiracy to commit murder, not murder itself. Does that not suggest to you that if an Atkins were thinking of committing a murder, they would far rather pay someone else to do it for them? That is, if I am willing to go along with the assumption that my client is guilty, which of course I am not." "Now you're just playing with words, about all you defence barristers are good for." "Right, that will do," John almost roared. "Inspector, if you should ever have occasion to be before me again, I do hope you will conduct yourself with a lot more decorum, now get out." When Sullivan had retreated in high dudgeon, John adjourned the proceedings until after lunch.  
  
When they reached the foyer, George turned to Karen and said, "I'm afraid I can't be here this afternoon. I've got a couple of appointments I can't get out of." "You don't have to be here," Karen said quietly. "Yes, I do," George said decisively. "Quitting this case now would feel like missing the rest of the story. Besides," She said, lowering her voice to a seductive lull that hovered invitingly over Karen's senses. "Spending all my days in your company is allowing me to make up for lost time." Karen smiled that soft, soul-deep smile that a not so subtle piece of flirtation always provoked in her. "Then will you allow me to buy you dinner tonight?" Karen found herself asking without any prior thought. George grinned broadly but still kept her voice fairly quiet. "Do you know," She said with the wickedest little smirk. "That could almost have been said by John." "I was saying things like that long before I met him," Karen said with a laugh. "Oh, I'm sure you were," Drawled George with utter certainty. "And yes, dinner would be lovely." Agreeing to pick her up at seven thirty that evening, Karen watched as George walked confidently off towards her car. "You know, I think Nikki's right about you," An amused Scottish lilt said beside her. "Really," Karen said dryly but with a wide smile. Then, turning serious she said, "But please, I'd rather no one else knew about this for now, especially Yvonne. I have no idea where it's going, or even if it'll go anywhere, and now isn't the time to give Yvonne another piece of news she certainly isn't going to like." "You're secret is safe with me, or should I say us," Said Helen, privately thinking that if the look on George's face was anything to go by, then whatever it was certainly would be going somewhere, and that this might be the best thing for Karen, someone who wasn't even slightly connected to Larkhall or her job. Let's face it, Helen thought to herself, she knew all about the problems of mixing business with pleasure. A bit of pleasure that couldn't be described as even remotely associated with business was definitely what Karen needed. 


	20. 

Part Twenty  
  
Sitting in their places in the Gods, Sir Ian and Lawrence James were already starting to feel 'saddle sore' from prolonged sitting in the back row of the gallery and to wish that they were back in the comparative luxury of their offices at the LCD. This was their most abiding memory of the Atkins/Pilkinton trial and now they were going through the same painful process but at least this time around, the case must surely go in favour of the Crown. Even Deed couldn't be that perverse, could he?  
They were mildly surprised to see a striking looking black woman with long plaited hair and colourful, flowing robes walk down the aisle from the top of the gallery. Surprise turned into total bemusement when she took her place in the hecklers section of the gallery along the front row and started chatting to the well-dressed white middle class women. What on earth could she have in common with them?  
"The Lord will protect Lauren…..and a good barrister," They overheard her say in her decided Caribbean accent.  
"Don't worry, Crystal," the tall slim, short haired woman next to her answered in her educated accent. "She's got the best that there is going." The trial started promptly at two as everyone shuffled into their appointed places and the background chatter to fizzle out as John resumed the trial.  
On the witness stand, Di Barker took the Bible in her hand rather nervously. She had accompanied prisoners before on guard duty while she stood to the side of them. She had felt secure that questions would not be asked of her and that she watched the cross-examinations from a certain emotional detachment and distance. It was quite another matter to be in the witness stand. She knew what needed saying and how people reacted to her. Her brown curly hair framed her face, mask-like in its plain innocence and helped by her believable solid down to earth northern accent. However, she was determined to tell her version of the truth and her eyes flitted round the court somehow avoiding looking upwards too much.  
  
"Miss Barker, can you explain to the court what James Fenner was like, both professionally and personally." Neumann Mason-Alan was determined to let Miss Goody Two Shoes paint a glowing portrait of James Fenner and, judging from her conversations in advance, the man seemed to be a pillar of the Prison Service. It didn't matter greatly how much he personally believed so long as a convincing story could be told to win over the jury.  
"Jim Fenner was one of the finest prison officers that I've ever worked with," Di spoke in rugged, emotional tones with that especially convincing 'soul's awakening' look in her faraway eyes and an open smile. "He was the longest serving officer on G Wing and what he didn't know about looking after prisoners isn't worth knowing. He was always there to lend a helping hand to the new PO who's dead nervous and wondering if she's going to be able to cope." Selena stood to one side of Lauren on prisoner duty with a polite blank expression on her face. Inwardly she cringed at Di Barker, wondering how she could come out with all this self deluded rubbish. Helen and Karen both glared openly, knowing full well that his help was bought at the price of a stealthy and insidious corruption that oozed from him.  
"He had years of jailcraft behind him." The automatically uttered words from her memory bank, carefully placed there by the dead man with his grip on the living. "He was someone that you trusted, who you looked up to if there was a crisis. He made you believe in yourself when he was around. It sounds daft but I still miss him after all these months. The chair where he used to sit still in the prison officer's room looks as if he should be there." Karen and Helen both felt this murderous rage well up inside them, choking them from being able to shout it out in words. It was just as well as only the worst obscenities could possibly exorcise their feelings, The voice of Fenner spoke through this woman who sounded drugged or hypnotised as if someone had taken over her mind. Nikki, next to them, could see that their hands locked onto the rail as if they were round Fenner's throat. Karen was the angrier of the two as something in Di's manner reminded her of someone she knew only too well.  
"Hey, you two, take it easy," Nikki's quiet voice cut in. curiously, she was calmer than the other two, only because she had never worked with Fenner. To her, the absurdity of the evidence distanced itself from her emotionally. "Sit tight and see what happens when Jo Mills gets to rip that stupid bitch apart." It was only in her last few words that her own suppressed anger leaked through but focussed on the future.  
"Was there anything that James Fenner did that was outstanding, that really stood out?" "Yeah, come to think of it, there was. I remember that there was a bit of a mix up and a dangerous prisoner got to hold the Wing Governor, Karen Betts, hostage. Tessa Spall held a syringe of her HIV blood to Karen's face. In fact she's in the gallery up there, first row at the end."  
  
For the first time, Di Barker glanced up at Karen with a faint self-satisfied smile on her face. In a sickening moment those hated words of Fenner came back to her, spoken with that slow pace and his hypnotic stare. 'We've saved each other's lives. That's got to mean something.' Yes, he had acted in a thoroughly professional manner, you couldn't fault him, but there was always payback and the worst of it was that she never, never knew she was paying with the first tiny installment on her soul. True, she was redeemed but despite the man, not because of him.  
"Can you tell the court exactly what happened?" Neumann Mason-Alan asked in his unctuous tones.  
"He told us all what to do while he tried to calm Tessa down. When that didn't work and she tried to make a run for it taking Karen with her, he got hold of a firehose single-handed. The second that Tessa Spall came out of the building and was in the open, he let her have it with the hose. Turned down a medal, he did."  
  
"Did he really do that, Karen? I wasn't at Larkhall then," Helen whispered.  
"Yeah, he really did. The devil looks after his own." Karen venomously borrowed the words that Helen had spoken to her clean out of her unconscious. At the time she heard them she had disregarded them as of no particular significance and had forgotten them.  
  
"How did James Fenner get on with the prisoners in his care?" "Generally fine. Of course, every prison has its share of trouble makers…….." "……… So anyone not in his 'fan club' is a trouble maker, is she. Of course, manipulating Babs here against me to think that I was a sex crazed lesbian ready to leap on Babs come lockup doesn't count. Of course, Di Barker knows best, doesn't she." "She'll burn in hell. The Lord hears her bear false witness and he remembers. She will be cast down into hell for her sins," Crystal's somewhat louder voice followed Nikki's more softly spoken sarcasm. The problem was that Crystal was so used to preaching hellfire and damnation in a loud voice that sotto voce preaching was a contradiction in terms.  
  
Despite all their best efforts to keep quiet, the mutterings from the gallery smouldered away with greater intensity so as to cause a background grumbling sound to echo off the hard walls of the courtroom noticeable to John. Crystal's words could be heard loud and clear and were the last straw. Horrified glances were exchanged amongst the rest of the women. They wished they had tipped her off about John Deed.  
"I appreciate that visitors in the gallery have their opinions and are trying to be reasonably quiet. However the religious zeal of the last visitor, though suitable for 'Songs of Praise' on a Sunday is not suitable in a court of law. I see that she is new to the gallery and perhaps some of her friends will quietly inform her what I am prepared to do if I consider that anyone is acting in contempt of court, whatever form that contempt takes." "He means it, Crystal," Karen hissed at the other woman. "He'll have you down the block, no messing. He's as tough as anyone, including me." Helen was transfixed by the sheer force of personality that radiated from the man and respected the sheer effortless grip he had of the proceedings. She wished she had known him when she was a young, naïve Wing Governor and she could have borrowed a few lines off him. In turn, Nikki was equally impressed and couldn't help noticing his stylish command of the English language. Before she had been granted real justice from her two appeal court decisions, she had dismissed judges as arrogant pricks, sitting up in their thrones in their antique robes and blind to justice or reason. This guy was different.  
"Did James Fenner have any problems with prisoners in his care?" Neuman Mason-Alan asked Di of this paragon of virtue.  
"Well, in a prison with women locked up for years, it's only natural for some women to get familiar with male prison officers. But Jim, always had their best interests at heart and the women were comfortable with him and knew not to take advantage of him. That sort of thing does go on, you know." "And where were we, Karen, when Fenner was running g Wing, single handed?" "Oh, don't ask, after all, we're only Wing Governors," Karen's elaborate irony answered Helen's sheer hatred.  
"So if anything kicked off, it was all our own fault," Was Nikki's icy verdict.  
"Sure, and if a mother had problems in sleeping at night being separated from their kids, he'll help us out," Roisin's angry Irish accent rounded out the chorus of suppressed anger.  
  
"Miss Barker, what was your acquaintance with the defendant?" "Oh, I've seen her lots of times over the years from when she first started visiting her mum, Yvonne Atkins, in Larkhall and I was on prisoner duty. I used to see her sometimes, hanging round outside the gates as well." "Was that before or after the days when she visited her mother?" "I'm not sure but there might have been a few times when I saw her outside and I didn't see later," Di's questioning voice cleverly insinuated all sort of possibilities for the jury to believe in the same way that a tempting morsel floating on the water would cause a curious minded fish to swallow the well baited hook. Unfortunately, she was in the wrong place to play these games.  
"Miss Barker, you are a prison officer in the prison service and you ought to know better not to favour us with your speculations but to offer precise hard evidence. The court is not to be trifled with. I am asking you, yes or no, did you or did you not see the defendant on any other days apart from occasions when she visited her mother?" John's diamond hard tones and stony stare were suddenly turned in Di Barker's direction like a searchlight. Di's mouth was suddenly set in a tight, hard line and pulled slightly down at the corners. Her eyes glittered as anger flared up in her at the man who snatched out of her hands the prize which her carefully contrived words were reeling in. A coldly calculating side sensed that her act was slipping. She switched off her anger as if she was flicking a light switch and she manufactured the couple of teardrops to run discreetly down her cheeks.  
"I'm sorry, judge, I'm still very upset about Jim and the slightest cross word sets me off this way. This trial brings back memories that I want to forget." She doesn't ring true, thought Jo. Something's wrong.  
  
"Do you want a short break and a glass of water?" "No, no. I'd best carry on ………for Jim's sake," Di's reply timed the pause for maximum effect.  
"Can you tell the court specifically what you heard both the defendant and Yvonne Atkins say about James Fenner?" Di searched her mind thoughtfully for her memories and a slight smile spread across her face when a memory came back to her.  
"Well, there's one thing I can remember as clear as if I heard it the other day. It was when Jim Fenner was on duty when they were both there and Yvonne Atkins said 'Dockley should've sliced your dick off while she had the chance, Sir.' She really meant it." "Can you repeat what you said for the benefit of the court," Neumann Mason-Alan's smooth voice asked to make the most of this gem. "She said, 'Dockley should've sliced your dick off while she had the chance, Sir.'" "No further questions."  
  
Jo Mills couldn't wait to wade into the attack and the woman had foolishly reached out for a two edged dagger which could cut both ways.  
"Miss Barker, how long have you worked at Larkhall prison and, specifically, on G Wing?" "I've been ten years in the service and four years on G Wing after a transfer from H Wing." "Would it be true to say that you know pretty well what goes on in G Wing?" "Well, when you've been around a long time, you get to hear what goes on if you're doing your job." She preened herself and thought that she was getting her points over nicely so that the jury would believe her. "So therefore, Miss Barker, you will know exactly what incident that Yvonne Atkins was alluding to? Can you explain it for the benefit of the court." "Well, I'm not sure. It was some time ago. A lot goes on in a women's prison," She said in confusion as Jo had gently slid the knife in.  
"Come on, you have claimed perfect recall of a mere scrap of conversation. You are prevaricating. Was it not true that the allusion was to the incident when Mr. Fenner was stabbed, which item 2D in the bundle of evidence refers to." Jo's very expressive voice was laden with scorn at this pitiful attempt to dodge the issue. She wasn't having any of this.  
"Well, it's very complicated. There was a woman called Michelle Dockley whose personal officer was Jim Fenner. She was one of those women who wasn't the sort of woman she appeared to be on the surface. She was never any trouble to begin with and was 'top dog' on the wing." "Meaning?" "An expression that prisoners use to mean the woman who is in charge of the others. They got on well enough to begin with but they eventually had a falling out." "What caused that and in what way did that lead to the stabbing?" "I'm not sure. It may have been at a time when she had some sort of mental breakdown and had to be kept in solitary confinement once. She seemed to get better later on and, as a reward, she was allowed to help out with the most reliable trustworthy girls to serve drinks at a wedding anniversary for one of our long serving prison officers. Anyway, Jim was helping lock them up after the party last thing and Shell Dockley must have sneaked a broken bottle and stabbed him while they were both in her cell. It took us totally by surprise how much she really hated him. It was a terrible evening which I'll remember as long as I live……………….Anyway, that's what Yvonne Atkins was talking about. I hope I've made everything clear." "So it all happened quite out of the blue?" Di ought to have taken warning from the blinding white smile on Jo's face which was a precursor to a lightning fast verbal rapier thrust that verbally pinned the opponent to the back of the witness stand.  
"Yeah, that's the way it happened." "How many other prison officers have been attacked in the time you have been on G Wing?" "Well, I can't think off hand," Di's dazed voice feebly answered.  
"Come on, as a long standing prison officer, are you really going to say that your memory is that selective, both of what you would have seen or what you would have heard about?" Di swallowed and gazed blankly round, the courtroom going out of focus as her mind froze over in horror. For once in her life when her back was against the wall, her native survival instincts to battle her way out of a tight corner refused to function. The words that came were forced out of her mouth in a mumble. The front row of the gallery was one long grin from end to end while Sir Ian and Lawrence James's stony silence matched the increasingly stony feel of the bench. "None, as it happens." "For the benefit of the court, can you speak a little louder." The steel hard tones cut through her mental fog.  
"None." "So the only person who has ever been attacked in all that time was the one man who you describe as the outstanding officer on the wing, the friend of all the prisoners," Jo's sarcastic tones piled on the pressure.  
"It was just bad luck," Di shouted back angrily. "It could have happened to anyone." "Except that it never happened to you or anyone else except James Fenner," Came Jo's lightning retort. "Your evidence appears flimsy to say the least from beginning to end." I hope the bastard is somewhere looking down on her and seeing his reputation publicly cut to pieces. That thought, phrased differently, ran through the front row of the gallery as Fenner's reputation was put up on trial and found guilty in his absence. "I had a lot on my mind round then. I used to live with my disabled mum till I had to put her in care as she got too much for me. I was under a lot of stress at the time. The stabbing was not long after all that carry on. Jim Fenner helped me out to cope with my problems and whatever way you try to smear his reputation, I'll always stand up for him as he can't stand up for himself." A fresh thin trickle of tears ran down the lines of her face and her body hunched up. Jo felt a little uncomfortable despite her suspicions. She hadn't got the Brian Cantwell blood lust fox hunting mentality that would tear in regardless for the kill. She allowed her to have a period of grace.  
"Are you able to continue to give evidence, Miss Barker?" John called from somewhere well above her as an usher passed her a glass of water at which point Di nodded.  
"Let us turn to the defendant, Miss Barker. Did you directly hear her utter any threatening or aggressive words to the deceased?" Di looked vaguely round and her mouth opened slightly. Her mind was sluggish and for the life of her, it failed to conjure up any memory. She was too scared to fabricate any stories till she grabbed blindly at a passing train of thought.  
"No but she was bragging about killing Jim Fenner when she came to Larkhall as a prisoner. She made a joke about it to all the other women." "But you said earlier that, apart from a few troublemakers, he was popular with the prisoners. If what you say is true, then surely the defendant would have kept very quiet about what she had done." The front row of the public gallery had the greatest difficulty in bottling down their emotions but this time from a totally opposite direction. Left to themselves, they would have broken into uproarious cheering. "Miss Barker, I think I need not detain you any longer as there is nothing in your testimony that can possibly inspire any confidence in your status as a witness." Mr. Neumann Mason-Alan had sat as still as a carved ebony statue as Jo mills systematically picked apart the evidence of what he had thought of as his expert witness from Larkhall. She had seemed so eager and convincing when he had questioned her before the trial and thought she would be a natural in giving evidence. After all, she had been in court before in her professional capacity.  
"Do you wish to reexamine the witness, Mr. Mason-Alan?" He shook his head mutely to John's request. He would have to hope for better fortune later, especially as he could sense the two dark suited officials from the Lord Chancellor's Department sitting like threatening statues in the back of the gallery.  
Di Barker tottered out of the witness stand. She had had years of pulling the strings on people and was all the more traumatised by the way that that hated woman blew apart her carefully constructed story and left her hideously exposed. It was other women who were the most dangerous, after all. She would hate her all the more as she nursed her grudge against her but would never be able to do anything about it. That was what made her more angry than anything. 


	21. 

Part Twenty One  
  
From the top of the staircase, Crystal stared scornfully down at the tousle haired woman making her uncertain way across the large tiles of the foyer.  
"So Miss Barker is still at Larkhall? You want to watch your back, Miss Betts. I know all about her, you is lied to and deceived by that forked tongue of hers." "As a snake in the grass, I always thought she's hardly in the same league as Dockley or Fenner. She's a stupid cow but no more than that. Her version of life at Larkhall has just got to be the best work of fiction I've ever come across." Nikki's disjointed answer failed to sum Di up as much as she wished but it covered up for Karen's silence as she tried to make sense of what Di Barker was playing at. She refused to think too closely of the way she might have appeared to others while she was under Fenner's spell and was not too eager to pass judgement on Di. Surely Crystal was being her usual simplistic self?  
"She's not that bad," she answered slowly at last. "Sure, she's as thick as thieves with Sylvia now where at one time she drew the line at Sylvia's wonderfully enlightened 'lock them up, Alcatraz style' approach…………." Helen could now smile as Karen's voice tailed off after making her sarcastic jibe at Sylvia. Time had healed some of the deep wounds of her first year as Wing Governor. "…………but she's kind hearted, deep down, even if her taste in men is very strange." "Only because she's desperate for It," cut in Nikki.  
Helen said nothing either as disconnected fragments of that rather harmless looking mixed up PO floated past in her imagination.  
"She was your personal officer once, Nikki, as I remember." "Yeah, she was for a bit, but I never had much to do with her. I'd got over my martyr complex by then thanks to Helen…" and here she smiled, still grateful to Helen after all these years…….."and my life was back on track so I really didn't need her. We went our separate ways when Helen started her lifer's group." "When I came back to Larkhall, I found out all about Miss Di Barker. She was all sweetness and honey like the apple Satan offered to Eve," Crystal declaimed. "We'd better find a quiet room to talk and let Crystal tell us what she knows," Came Nikki's practical advice.  
"So long as we don't get accidentally locked up in this place," Helen's native caution warned. The disbelieving looks the others exchanged showed them that George didn't hold the monopoly of putting her foot in it.  
  
"Are you seriously meaning to tell me that Di Barker deliberately mixed up the drugs test to split you and Josh up?" Helen's shocked, angry tones could be heard the other side of the door.  
"Josh forced that lying woman to tell the truth after she came round to our flat to take him out line dancing. Yeah, some line dancing, the way she was dressed." "There must be some kind of a logical explanation," Helen's wishful thinking played off against Crystal's cynicism.  
"Are you saying that as one time Wing Governor of Larkhall or as psychologist? Think about it, Helen. If you had never met Di Barker before and you saw her on the witness stand, just how much would you trust her? 'Fenner and Dockley had a falling out' she said. She said nothing on the stand about him kicking the shit out of Dockley and nothing to you at the time as to why she mixed up the drugs tests." Helen remembered as if it was yesterday, Di's painful confession that looking after her disabled mother kept her up half the night and sensed her loathing of the life she was forced to live. As Acting Governing Governor, she told herself, she had a duty to be whiter than white and not let her natural sympathy show too much in her face and her voice. She had to go by the book and this incident had to go down on her personnel file, as it was only Charlotte Middleton's intervention that brought it to light. Now for the first time, she realised that she deserved to be sacked on the spot for abusing her position of trust for personal gain. That was as bad as Fenner. She ran the tip of her tongue round her lips to moisten them and then nodded her head at the point of decision.  
"So she swapped the drugs test results for you and Charlotte Middleton and, just to cover her back, did the same for Shaz Wiley and Buki Lester," Her slow, stretched out syllables thought aloud.  
"So when she shagged Mark Waddle in the toilets when Mark was going out with Gina Rossi, that was Di all over. Mark was not one for exactly sticking to the straight and narrow at that time but it was less Mark's doing than I thought," Came Karen's contribution. "It seems as if Di's been operating behind the scenes more than I ever imagined," Came that uniquely expressive Scottish accent. "We need to push on from this as there is an end in sight somewhere. I feel it."  
  
It was half an hour later when Karen led the way to a room where Jo was quietly working. She knew the rambling layout of the Old Bailey far better than the others by now as this was her second major trial she had been involved with and it had become second nature to her over the last few months to come here to see John.  
"I'll leave you to it as there isn't anything more I can contribute." Jo gestured to the three women to take a seat and Nikki acted as spokesman as usual.  
"We've been putting our heads together and we've found out that there is a lot about Di Barker which it's taken us all to piece together and she is up to her neck in it in trying to paint the best possible picture of Fenner. If she is allowed to get away with it, then Fenner is a plaster saint, Lauren Atkins is some kind of dangerous criminal and she goes down for life." "Go on," Came the prompt answer. Half way through the week, she was tired and she needed all the evening there was to mentally prepare for the next day. The enormous task of taking her major witness through the labyrinthine journey of the life of Lauren Atkins. Instinct told her that time spent with these three women would be time well spent, especially with this concise formulation.  
"For a start, what's your impression of Di Barker?" "She told the court less than half of what she knew," Jo said shortly. "And what she did say was a load of……….Anyway, we're here to tell you the other half of what we know," Came Nikki's restrained reply.  
"That woman is a liar and deceiver. There is something really weird about her and while I was at Larkhall, she made out that she was my best friend. All the time, she tried to split me up from Josh Mitchell, my partner and father of my children." "That doesn't help me that much, I'm afraid." "Even to the extent of deliberately switching the results of a random drugs test for Crystal and the other three women in her cell?" Jo was brought up short as the banal character from some everyday soap now took on a darker hue of criminality and fraud, thanks to Helen's slow, deliberately chosen words.  
"My partner, Josh Mitchell who was a Prison Officer looked up to me and trusted me as a godfearing, clean living Christian woman who believes that drugs are the work of the devil. I tested positive thanks to her and I nearly lost him." "Drugs tests are strictly controlled and supervised," Added Helen. "I would have sworn blind as Karen did to Crystal that the test could not possibly be wrong.  
Di Barker broke up another couple at Larkhall, so that she could get off with a prison officer that she fancied. We heard that from Karen." "This still doesn't link her to Fenner though this shows her in a totally new light." "When I had her up in my office about the drugs test, I questioned her as to how she could possibly have made such a mistake. That was what I thought it was at the time. I ought to explain that the tests are on a urine sample which are sent away to be tested in a laboratory. Some of Di's home background started to come out and she explained that she was under pressure and made a slip up. I had no reason to disbelieve her. She used to live at home with her disabled mother. The words she said, and I quote her words as they don't sound very nice are 'All my life is a stinking piss test. I spend half the night running upstairs and downstairs for my mum.' I gave her a written warning, which went on to her file but I felt at the time that she was perfectly genuine. Now I know different." "I went on a hunger strike to prove my innocence and still that woman kept quiet. The other prisoner called Charlotte Middleton who was tested with me. She told the truth out loud and said that she should have tested positive, not negative. She told Di Barker when she was testing us. She even paid for the retest." Jo turned white as a sheet when the impact of that hit home. It hit her hard that she had assumed that prison was one of the lowliest places in society, an underworld where dog ate dog. It now felt purer than the world some of the well-heeled people who she met in her walk of life trod. It made her feel humble and a bit ashamed of the unconscious baggage of ideas she carried around at the back of her mind for all her earnest liberalism. "I bet you would never have thought that a con can have more morality than a screw?" Nikki's slightly hard tone and sharp expression enquired. "Where does that take us now?" Jo asked, gaining trust that the three women would chip away between them and steer the conversation home to its conclusion, wherever it lay.  
"It was soon after that incident when Di's mother was taken into care. I know now from Karen that she and Fenner saw her looking pretty shaken up one evening and he drove her home. It was that night that, in her words 'Fenner helped her out to cope with her problems.' The bastard always wants payback. I wouldn't be surprised if there was something that he helped cover up." Helen took up the tale in a style that she was at home with in its structured fashion.  
"You admit that this is speculation. I'm playing devil's advocate as if you were in a witness stand as I need something which ties up and can be substantiated." "Well, try this for size, Jo," Nikki concluded. "Helen and I had started our relationship while I was still an inmate and Helen, a prison officer. That was kept secret, as otherwise Helen would have been sacked for it. Both Helen and I hated Fenner's guts from day one. Helen finally got enough on the bastard that would stick. He had been getting a regular cut for running a string of brothels for a prisoner who owned them. Helen finally forced Fenner to hand in his resignation but gave him time to explain all this to Karen first as they were living together at the time. In the meantime, Fenner turned the place upside down and, unfortunately, found evidence of when I broke out of prison and we spent our one night together at Helen's flat. We'd both been foolish to keep souvenirs of that night, my bus ticket together with a previously autographed book as a present from Helen. She kept the nurses coat in her office that I wore that night. Fenner confronted Helen with everything and she resigned on the spot. This was right before my appeal court case which got me my freedom. You may have heard about the case?" Jo Mills was frozen to the spot at the bald recitation of facts. Nikki got it absolutely right even to her hesitant supposition understating how well known the case was. That was a case that she and John often talked about and was a landmark case in their chambers. "So where does Di Barker fit in with this?" "When my cell was turned over, Fenner came clomping in with his big boots and Di Barker was right there with him as if they were joined at the hip. I was outside exchanging insults with him while she rifled through my cell and must have found my things, which he sprung on Helen later as evidence. Right after that, the two of them turned over Babs' cell. She kept a diary of her life at Larkhall and must have thought it was worth a shot to go after that and, sure enough, turned over the chapel and found it there, complete with her account of my breakout. Coincidence? That thing doesn't happen, certainly not in Larkhall. Is that evidence enough for you?" "The bastard knew exactly where the coat was in my office and went straight towards the locker. I thought right away that he must have spotted it earlier but I now bet you a pound to a penny that Di did the dirty work for him in looking round the room earlier on. I don't think that is supposition, is it? Not where payback is concerned." Jo had been gradually breathing in all the time she was listening, and that triumphant 'eureka' feeling lit her up from inside with that immensely satisfying feeling as Nikki and Helen came to the crescendo. The threads of a case which were tantalisingly out of her reach were suddenly drawn together and, together, made an unbreakable net. Right then, she resolved to herself that come what may, Di Barker would be dragged back to the witness box. She shook them all by the hand warmly and a huge smile spread across her face.  
When she was finally left on her own and was gathering up her papers, she was sharp and alert and knew she could safely drift off to a dreamless sleep and be fighting fit for the next day when Lauren Atkins came to take the stand. 


	22. 

Part Twenty Two  
  
As Karen drove towards the address George had given her, she found herself doing two things. The first was to realise that George lived only a few streets away from Yvonne, this telling Karen that George's house wouldn't be lacking in either size or style. All the houses were very similar in this area, very spacious, inside and out, as well as being incredibly expensive. The second was to switch on the car CD player, and to smile at the tentative stab of irony in the first line of the first song. It couldn't help but strike her as odd when she heard the words: "If I'm not over you, by the time I get to Georgia..." She knew that the singer was undoubtedly referring to Georgia the place, but Karen found herself contemplating the words in terms of George the woman. To put it bluntly, if Karen wasn't over Yvonne by the time she got to George, tonight would be a total disaster. But the words, over Yvonne, weren't exactly appropriate, they just didn't describe the situation at all. Karen knew that a part of her would always love Yvonne, but that she wasn't actually in love with Yvonne any more. She and Yvonne had been denied both the time and the space to allow their relationship to develop, leaving them both stranded in limbo, each doing their best to pick up the pieces and emotionally move on. Karen had tried to accomplish this by immediately jumping into bed with John, using an incredibly satisfying one-night-stand to give herself some breathing space. Yvonne had achieved at least a temporary measure of breathing space by shooting off to Spain straight after a fairly miserable Christmas. Neither attempt had really worked because they had all then been plunged unceremoniously in to preparing for Lauren's trial. Karen knew that in concentrating on her job and very little else for the last year, she had managed to move on, and whilst she knew it was perhaps a little brutal to think like this, that's how it was. As far as she and George and this night were concerned, it mattered that Karen had moved on from her brief relationship with Yvonne, and that she was now emotionally ready to look for something new. Karen was all too aware that this was without doubt the first time George had contemplated going on a date, for want of a better word, with another woman. This had been borne out by George's extremely pretty blush at the utterance of her primary reason for being at court. This meant that if Karen made any move on George, and this was by no means a certainty, she would have to tread very, very carefully, giving George all the room in the world to retreat.  
  
George on the other hand had been as tense as hell all afternoon. She'd dealt with two clients in her usual, professional manner, but with only half her mind on the job. Once she'd dispensed with her clients, she kept flashing a stupid grin at herself in the mirror on her office wall, then immediately asking herself what the hell she thought she was doing, going out on what could pass for a date, with a woman! Georgia Channing might like to try something new once in a while, but this was going just a bit too far. But she couldn't quite overcome the sense of tingling anticipation that crept along her nerve endings, leaving her as keyed up as the fourteen year old she'd once been, about to lose her virginity and wondering if she would look any different afterwards. Finally, after staring fruitlessly at her computer screen, she switched it off, drove home, and lay in a scented bath for half an hour. George was perfectly aware of how good she could look, but this time was different. Would a woman look at her in a different way? She wasn't sure. Standing in front of the full-length mirror on the outside of her wardrobe door, she examined every inch of her body that she could see, eventually coming to the conclusion that yes, good was certainly something of an understatement. Her hipbones were still slightly too prominent, but she knew herself well enough to know that this would probably never change. She slid her well-manicured hands over her silky, soft skin, tracing the curve of her hips, the span of her waist, and the heavy, ripe swell of her breasts. They might be small in comparison to Karen's, but they were right for her. They felt heavy in her hands, and even at forty-eight, she smiled to herself, they were still relatively firm. Was this what it would be like to touch another woman, she thought, circling her nipples between finger and thumb. For the first time in her life, George found herself nervous at the thought of possibly sleeping with someone, and couldn't help wondering if she would really be able to pull this off. Finally deciding that it was time to dress, she selected a charcoal grey trouser suit and a white silk blouse, knowing that it would allow her to retain her professional persona, but would at the same time give an impression of inner strength, inner poise. Not entirely believing this little piece of received wisdom, George applied her makeup and went downstairs to wait for Karen.  
  
When Karen arrived, she walked up the steps and rang the doorbell. When George appeared and opened the door, they both took a moment to assess the other. Karen ran a practiced eye over the exquisite charcoal grey suit, seeing that it clung in all the right places, accentuating her small, pointed breasts and showing off the fact that most of her height was in her incredibly shapely legs. George, on being presented with a Karen not in one of her usual, professional power suits, thought that if she'd found Karen attractive before, now she was positively stunning. Her tall, slim frame, with the longest legs George had ever seen on a woman, was encased in a beautifully clinging dress in a rich burgundy, made of a supple, silky material that clung lightly to Karen's high, full breasts but which skimmed over her hips so as not to emphasise them. The rich red wine of Karen's dress was threaded through with various shades of this sultry, sexy colour, giving George the brief utterly wild thought that Karen looked as if she was ready to get drunk in more ways than one tonight. George couldn't for the life of her remember what they talked about in the car, just that whatever they did talk about seemed to make her relax by the time they reached the restaurant. Karen was very aware of George's almost palpable nervousness, feeling her eyes as if they were branding irons, travelling from her strong, slender hands on the steering wheel, to her long, slim legs that stretched forward to reach the pedals and back to her face. George picked up a CD cover that was lying on the dashboard, the case to the disc that was playing in the car stereo. "Carolyn Dawn Johnson," She read. "I've never heard of her." "She's almost country without actually being country," Said Karen. "Perfect for waking me up on the way to work." "She's good," Observed George after listening to the music for a few minutes.  
  
When they reached the restaurant, George definitely seemed to relax, perhaps on recognising a situation in which she knew exactly how to behave. As they were shown to the table Karen had booked for them earlier, George was forced to admit to herself that Karen definitely had taste when it came to restaurants. George ordered a glass of the driest Martini they had with lots of ice, and Karen ordered a glass of her favourite scotch. They talked about anything that wasn't either Lauren's case, or what they themselves were actually doing, until the waitress appeared to take their order for food. "I'll have the grilled Brie with cranberries to start," Said George. "Followed by the sole. Karen took a moment or two longer to peruse her menu, and George suddenly realised that Karen was taking this opportunity to size up the waitress. But Karen soon decided on crab-filled filo parcels followed by duck. "You're as outrageous as John," George said in an undertone once the waitress had gone. "Sorry," Karen said, not looking particularly apologetic. Then she grinned. "It really threw John the first time he saw me do that." George laughed. "He's not used to having competition from a woman. You should have seen his face on the day he lost his bet about you and Yvonne. It was priceless." "So I was right," Said Karen with a broad smile. "I remember thinking at the time that we were being watched. Poor John," She said on a laugh. "Yes, witnessing him discovering his first sexual anomaly was certainly a sight to behold. At the time, he made me and Jo both promise that we'd never shatter his illusions and do the same thing." "So, what made you consider breaking your promise?" Karen asked, finally reaching the heart of the matter. George took a sip of her drink, trying to marshal her thoughts. "You made me challenge my own assumptions about a lot of things," She began, hoping this was coming out the way she wanted it too. "When I heard about the kind of cross-examination Brian Cantwell had put you through, I found myself really despising one of my own profession. I hadn't seen you in action on the witness stand, so I naturally assumed you'd be something of a push over. But you weren't," She said quickly, not wanting Karen to take any offence at the bare, unvarnished truth. "When I questioned you, I knew I'd found an equal. You fought back, giving the rest of the people in court about as little thought as I did. You didn't care what you said to me, even though you were in court. Then, when you came to see me that first time about the case against Fenner, you put the way I'd tried to brow beat you in court aside, so that we could start again. It's not often someone does that with me, because I usually use it as an opportunity to stick the knife in. Even my total lack of sensitivity and sheer abundance of crass comments didn't frighten you off. I don't try to be like that, it's just how I am, but in an odd sort of way you seemed to prefer it." Karen didn't reply immediately because their starters arrived. As George reached to pick up her fork, Karen briefly touched her hand. "Believe it or not," She said with a soft smile. "You weren't insensitive or crass, you simply didn't walk on eggshells around me, which too many other people did. The way you looked at that case was so fresh, so devoid of false hope that it gave me the reality check I needed." "And then I go and totally ruin my facade of professionalism by holding the court in contempt," George said with a grin. "John really wasn't pleased with me that day." "He was more worried about you than angry with you," Karen said gently. "He really didn't know what had got in to you, or what he could do about it." "I was going through one of my phases of going a bit off the rails at the time," George explained evasively, thinking that this was the understatement of the century. Karen was again reminded of George's look of fear when told on her visit to Larkhall that all inmates were required to go through a psychiatric assessment. "That visit to Larkhall really opened your eyes, didn't it," Said Karen. "Yes, and it worked. Every time I know I'm in danger of forgetting my place in John's court, I think about the size of the Julies' cell and immediately bite my tongue." They ate for a while in silence. "That second time I came to see you," Karen eventually added, "I wanted to tell you about Fenner so much. I'm told the need to confess is incredibly strong." "Yes, I know," George said gently. "If I hadn't been so immersed in everything going on in my own head at the time, I'd have asked a lot more questions." "John told me about what happened with Neil Haughton," Karen said slowly. "Oh," George said dully, "I thought he might. I sometimes think that got to him more than it did to me." "The night I," Karen searched for the right way to say it. "Slept with John?" George tried. "Yes," Karen agreed. "He talked a lot about you. That was when he told me about Neil." "Just to satisfy my curiosity," said George dryly. "When was this?" "The Friday after you gave me the third degree." "Good god," Said George in half laughter half disgust. "He doesn't waste time, does he." "No," Agreed Karen, "But then neither do I." The heat had suddenly been turned up a few notches. "Yes, I can see that," Drawled George seductively. "The way you fought neck and neck with me the day after Fenner's body was found," She said contemplatively. "That was one of the sexiest things I've ever seen. You gave back just as good as you were getting from me. I think John felt like an umpire and Jo like a spare part. There's nothing more erotic than really sparring with someone, seeing what they're really made of. But then I remember once saying to John that fighting was a form of foreplay." "If the situation hadn't been so serious," Replied Karen, "I'd have enjoyed it. Trying my hand at keeping up with someone used to verbally tying anyone in knots, it allowed me to take out some of the stress of the previous week on you. Until you started getting too close, it was a kind of release." "I'm sorry I made you feel as vulnerable as you did," George said, finally able to do what she'd tried to do with the e-mail she'd sent to Karen fifteen months before. "I know," Said Karen with a soft smile. "And having got to know John over the last year, I know that your warning was absolutely justified. It wasn't necessary in my case, because at the time I couldn't have become emotionally attached to anyone if I'd tried, but it was appreciated." "I couldn't resist the opportunity of seeing you again," George found herself saying. "It was certainly a pleasant surprise to see you," Admitted Karen. "Had I not been in the process of attempting to form the case against Fenner, trying to keep myself out of prison and finishing with Yvonne, I wouldn't have waited fifteen months before asking you out for dinner." "Well, if it's any consolation," replied George. "October 2003 wouldn't have been the right time for me either. You weren't the only one trying to deal with a certain amount of guilt, though mine wasn't the legal kind or the unfounded kind." George suddenly stopped, thinking she'd said too much. "Tell me something," Karen said, seeing that George desperately needed a lighter topic of conversation. "Just how did you find out about me and John?" George's face coloured. "You really don't want to know," she said, slightly flustered. "The more you blush," teased Karen, "The more intrigued I become." "John once let his guard down long enough to fall in to the trap of not having an explanation as to how he knew about my warning you off." Karen simply raised an eyebrow, telling George in no uncertain terms to get on with it and finish the story. "I can't believe I'm telling you this," George said in half amazement half disgust. "One night when I was in bed with John, I persuaded him to tell me about you, about when he slept with you." Karen's eyebrows soared. "That's a complement if ever I heard one," she said, a broad smile lighting up her face. "And was it worth it?" She couldn't help asking which made George laugh. "Yes, it was," she drawled. "It was incredible." Just then, their main courses arrived. Karen found herself watching George's beautiful, skilful hands delicately manipulating her cutlery to remove the sole from the bone. "Have I managed to chip my nail varnish or something?" George asked dryly, observing Karen's gaze on her. "Because whilst staring at my hands might be adding to your imagination, it won't help you to eat." Karen grinned sheepishly and began eating the wonderfully tender and juicy meat that she would never attempt to cook herself in a million years. After a little while of companionable silence, George said, "Tell me about Yvonne." After finishing a mouthful of mange tout, Karen obliged. "It's funny, but the first time I got physically close to Yvonne was in a fight. It was when she was accused of Virginia O'kane's murder and she tried to abscond. Me and Fenner caught her trying to get over the wall. She gave me the biggest shiner I think I've ever had. Other than that, we didn't really have cause to come into close contact with each other until I started seeing Ritchie, other than the odd little skirmish." "I bet that wasn't an enjoyable discussion," said George dryly. "No," Karen said with a rueful grin. "I think her words were, I ought to scratch your bloody eyes out. Then, Snowball set fire to the library and killed Shaz Wiley. Then Ritchie got shot, and I had to break the news to her that he'd never walk again. I took her to see him in hospital, and I broke every rule in the book by taking her for a drink or three afterwards." "Is that when it started?" "No, no, I'm no Helen Stewart. That was probably the first time I looked at Yvonne in that way, but it took another year before the attraction was reciprocated." "Another year?" George said, trying to work this out. "So you and Yvonne started being more than friends around the time of the trial?" "The very middle of the trial to be exact. It's one of the things that Lauren is using as an extenuating circumstance. So, yet again, all my officers are going to be privy to far too many details about my personal life. But then what's new?" "This always happens to you, doesn't it?" "Every bloody time," Karen said bitterly. "So, as soon as I'd given Lauren's name to Jo, I knew I had to end whatever semblance of a relationship there was between me and Yvonne. I couldn't go on sleeping with her knowing that I'd just landed her daughter behind bars. So far, Yvonne doesn't know it was me, and it needs to stay that way." "Was she your first?" "Yes. That was a first for both of us," Karen said with a soft smile. "I'd always previously worked under a look but don't touch policy." "Yes, so have I. John didn't even know. He dragged that out of me the night after I spent that day at Larkhall. Sometimes he just doesn't know when not to pursue something until he gets an answer. I had wanted to keep it from him, have just one little thing about myself that he didn't know. But it wasn't to be." In slightly touching on the last really bad time she'd had, George suddenly found her appetite had gone. "Do you mind if I smoke?" she said because Karen was still eating. "No, of course not," Karen said, seeing that something had got to George, something had intruded on her enjoyment of this evening. "George, what happened to provoke Jo's slightly bizarre suggestion?" After lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag, George opened and shut her mouth a few times, totally stuck as to how to answer such a question. "I'm sorry," Karen said gently, "Forget I asked." Karen put her knife and fork together and lit her own cigarette. "John isn't the only one who sometimes asks too many questions," she said, trying to put George at her ease. George put a hand out and gently took one of Karen's. "Much as it amazes me to say it, I would like to tell you. But not here." "You don't have to," Said Karen, "I just wondered." "I think it might actually do me good to tell you. But don't let John or Jo hear me say that or they'll both think they're having some success with me at last." Not having the slightest idea of what George was talking about, Karen simply let it pass. Neither of them feeling remotely like a sweet, Karen asked for the bill and they left soon after. In the car, some of George's tension seemed to have returned, though Karen thought this was due to whatever George was about to tell her.  
  
When they re-entered her house, George said she'd make some coffee and told Karen to look around. Karen found that she couldn't fail to be impressed. It wasn't just the paintings and the piano, but the way everything was so classy, so stylish yet really quite understated. "You know," She said to George, suddenly remembering, "You don't live very far from Yvonne." George appeared holding two mugs of fresh Brazilian. "I might have known Yvonne Atkins would live somewhere like this," She said, putting them down on the coffee table in front of the sofa. "Who plays?" Karen asked, getting the feeling that the piano wasn't a recent acquisition. "I do, now and then," George said as she move to put some soft music on. "Daddy bought it for me as a wedding present when I got married to John. I think it was his way of making sure I didn't stop playing." Karen smiled when George said the word Daddy, hearing the immensely fond affection George clearly had for her father. They sat, one at each end of the sofa, talking, smoking, George gradually allowing herself to relax now that she was on her home territory. She wanted to tell Karen at least part of her story, knowing that it might almost make them quits. She knew perhaps far too much about Karen for Karen's liking, and maybe it was only fair to redress the balance. When George got to her feet and began walking round her lounge, picking things up and putting them down, Karen realised that she was working up to explaining what she'd said in the restaurant. George's eyes were like an open book to Karen, their large and seemingly endless depths appearing to hold many unanswered questions, many secrets at their centre. They became slightly narrowed in concentration, her brows knitted in a slight frown. "Whatever it is," Karen said, "I'm not going to bite, you know." George laughed, some of the tension leaving her. "And if it's that difficult for you to tell me," Karen said, her tone becoming gentler. "Then don't." George had come to rest near the fireplace, her face slightly in shadow, which was obviously her intention. "I occasionally go through phases of anorexia," She said, knowing that the fact that she'd actually put a name to it of her own accord meant that she was definitely making progress. "Oh, I see," Karen said quietly. "Do you?" George asked, moving back over to the sofa. But before she sat down, Karen reached out, took her hand and gently pulled George down to sit beside her. "Why were you so afraid of telling me?" She asked, imprisoning George's hands in her own. "I didn't want to give you any reason to go off me before this, whatever it is, even got off the ground." Putting her right arm round George, holding her not casually, not possessively, but providing comfort without pressure, Karen said, "Let's not forget that you are well aware of more of my skeletons than I care to count." "I know, I just, this is so new to me," She finished inadequately. "Not just the whole female thing, but letting someone in of my own free will. It's just going to take a bit of getting used to. Letting my guard down, it's not how I do things, or at least it didn't used to be." "Until I did a deal with Denny, and started putting that case together against Fenner, I used to think like that. Even after that bloody trial, even after everything Ritchie said in court for whichever of my officers happened to be there to hear, I still used to think that I could keep up the tough bitch persona and still survive. Only it doesn't quite work like that." "You didn't seem surprised," George observed. "Not much surprises me these days," Said Karen, thinking that after years of dealing with both patients and prison inmates, she didn't think anything could surprise her ever again. "When you appeared in the gallery on Monday, I thought you looked different from the last time I'd seen you. I thought my memory had just altered what you looked like, but you were different, weren't you." "Just a bit," George said ruefully. "I suppose it must have been a week or so after you slept with John, when I fainted in court. He wasn't amused to say the least when he discovered why. He'd known about my little addiction since a few months after our daughter was born, but he was naive enough to assume I'd grown out of it." "I don't think you ever grow out of something like that. You can learn to deal with it, but it never really goes away." George simply stared at her. Here was someone who understood, not from her own experience of it, but nevertheless, someone to whom she didn't have to provide explanations. Karen hadn't even attempted to ask why George felt it necessary to starve herself sometimes, she'd just accepted it. "Does Jo know about this?" Karen asked, thinking that with the close relationship George had with both John and to some extent Jo, she would be hard put not to. "Jo drove me home after I fainted in court, so yes she does. That isn't a conversation I'd like to repeat any time soon," George said with a slight shudder. But again, Karen didn't ask why, for which George was exceedingly grateful. "I remember the day after, John cajoled me in to standing on the scales. I hadn't seen him look quite so shocked or angry in a very long time." Since the previous bout, Karen internally translated. "I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd slapped me when he realised I weighed only five stone ten." "I suspect even John can be pushed to the limits of his control," Karen said dryly, in an attempt to cover up her shock at what George had said. But her reaction hadn't gone unnoticed. Whilst neither Karen's face nor her voice had revealed her inward wince at how thin George had allowed herself to become, her arm had reflexively tightened, just for a moment. George strove to reassure her. "It's got to be really bad for me to get that thin," She said, "Most of the time I'm okay." About as okay as I am after a night filled with dreams of Fenner, Karen thought.  
  
They sat there for a good while longer, the hands of the clock on the mantelpiece creeping towards ten thirty. They had drifted away from discussing anything difficult for either of them, and George was still within the cuckooning warmth of Karen's arm. She decided that she really could come to enjoy this closeness too much. "Do you know what I've remembered about you most over the last year?" She asked. "I dread to think," Karen said with a grin. George smiled. "The day I came to Larkhall, when you whisked me out of the way of Alison McKenzie's fists. The feel of having your arms around me." Karen laughed softly. "John was very cross with me for not keeping you out of harm's way." "He always overreacts," George said in exasperation. "Only because he loves you," Karen said with a soft smile. "This is going to get very complicated, isn't it," She said slightly regretfully. "I have no idea where this is going, and neither do you," Said Karen, turning George's face towards her. "So don't think about that now." As she looked in to George's endless blue eyes, Karen could almost see the cogs turning in George's brain. It was as if she could see the intangible force of courage being summoned up in all its glory. It therefore didn't surprise her in the least when George leaned slightly closer, gently pressing her soft, full lips on Karen's. George had no idea what had made her do it, what had given her that final boost of sheer guts, but she was glad she had. The silky pliability of Karen's lips amazed her. Both women had previously known they were excellent kissers, but now privately thought they'd met their match in the other. George found her left arm going round Karen's waist as if of its own accord, as though she needed something to hold on to, to prevent her from drowning in pure feeling. When they eventually came up for air, Karen smiled. "I don't know what made me do that," George said, looking utterly shell-shocked. "Do you wish you hadn't?" Karen asked, knowing what the answer would be. "Not on your life," George said with total certainty, thinking that there really were some things in this world that she would never get enough of. They sat together for a good while longer, occasionally talking, mostly kissing, George possibly trying to make up for all the years she had looked but not touched. "I could quite easily get hooked on this," George said after a while. "Well now, I never would have thought you'd be so easily pleased," Karen said teasingly. "Enjoy it while it lasts," George said dryly. Then, a little while later, she said tentatively, "Would you like to stay?" Karen examined her face thoughtfully. "Do you want me too?" She said, turning the question back on George, because it was George who might be about to take that step in to the unknown, not her. Now it was George's turn for contemplation. "I do and I don't," she said eventually. "Well then, I won't," Karen said, giving her a reassuring smile. "It's something you should be absolutely one hundred percent sure about." George frowned. "This isn't like me," She said in self-disgust. "Calm down," Karen said gently. "It's not a problem." George did relax slightly, but certainly not to the extent that she had been before. She was incredibly grateful to Karen for being so understanding, but she inwardly cursed herself for being so fucking feeble! When Karen eventually left, she put her arms round George as they stood on the doorstep, George having to stretch up to kiss her goodnight. "You're going to have to stop wearing high heels," George said with a smile. Finally detaching herself, Karen walked to her car. "I wouldn't have missed tonight for anything," She said, the car key poised to unlock the door. George smiled broadly in the glow of the security light above her head. "No, me neither," She replied, wishing she could have allowed Karen to stay. As she watched Karen drive away, George withdrew inside and closed the front door. She had loved every minute of this evening, but now she felt angry, frustrated and pathetic. Georgia Channing didn't ever back out of anything, and she certainly didn't back out of sleeping with someone. Had one woman managed to change all that? Walking back in to the lounge, she saw that it was only just after eleven. It had felt like a lifetime, being sat so close to Karen, but it had only been a matter of an hour or so. Pouring herself a glass of wine from an already opened bottle in the fridge, she walked upstairs, put on some soft music in her bedroom and removed all her clothes and every scrap of makeup. She thought she might just explode with all the sexual tension that was currently thrumming along her nerves, making her feel like she could sail in to orbit single handed. Taking a swig of the Frascati, and leaving the glass on the dressing-table, George walked in to the bathroom and turned on the shower.  
  
John had been restless all evening. Jo wasn't speaking to him, and he had absolutely no idea why she was bringing up their relationship of all things. He couldn't think of anything specific he'd done in the last couple of weeks that might upset her, but he had long ago learnt that with women, you never knew until they spelled it out. Jo would sort herself out in her own time, not anyone else's. He hated it when Jo was cross with him, but he couldn't do anything about it when he didn't know what the problem was. But this didn't stop him worrying about her. It really wasn't like Jo to allow her emotions in to court, and that was exactly what she had been doing on Tuesday. It was as if the case had become her own personal battle, to secure the verdict she wanted at any cost. John was then reminded of the last time Jo had been like this. The Diana Hulsey case had affected her in a similar way. Why oh why did Jo manage to become far too emotionally involved with her cases. He hated being at odds with her, but there really wasn't anything he could do. The ball was in her court, not his. But he needed some soft, gentle female company tonight. He needed to feel that at least one of the women in his life wasn't angry with him. He had been going through the evidence Jo was likely to introduce tomorrow with the opening of her case, but by eleven o'clock he'd had enough. He wanted to put Lauren Atkins and all her unfortunate circumstances out of his mind, and focus his energy on doing the thing he did best. On an impulse, he thought he'd simply drive over and surprise George, assuming in his usual slightly arrogant manner that she would be pleased to see him. When he brought his car to a stop in her driveway, he could see a light on in her bedroom, meaning that she was probably on her way to bed but not asleep. He let himself quietly in to the house. George had never asked him to return Neil's key to her, sometimes liking the fact that he could just let himself in. As he walked along the hall, he sniffed. He could have sworn he could smell a different perfume to that which George had always worn ever since he'd known her. But blended with the aroma of cigarette smoke he couldn't be certain. Seeing that she certainly wasn't anywhere down here, he walked upstairs. When he reached the top, he became aware of the sound of the shower running in the en suite bathroom adjoining George's bedroom. There was some soft music playing, that and the noise of the shower having covered the sound of the front door. As he moved in to the bedroom, the song that was playing reached its end, and in the space between tracks, John heard the unmistakable sound of a gasp that George only ever uttered when she was aroused. His eyes widened when he realised that his thoroughly wicked, beautiful little minx was indulging in a little bit of self pleasure. This was just too hard for him to resist. Walking with the stealth and silence of a cat, he slowly approached the open bathroom door. As he crept closer, he could just make out her shape through the steam.  
  
This had been George's only answer, to alleviate both her anger and frustration with a little erotic fantasy. As she let the warm, caressing droplets run over her skin, she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. If she thought hard enough, the drops of water might almost be kisses, feather-light as only a woman's could be. She massaged the shower gel in to her skin, fondling her breasts, teasing her nipples to an almost painful hardness. Is this what Karen's hands would have felt like on her if she'd stayed? Keeping her left hand moving on her breast, she moved her right down between her legs. Her clitoris seemed extra sensitive tonight, possibly from all the fruitless hours of nervous anticipation. As her fingers moved so familiarly over her own body, her head was full of all the things Karen might have done to her. Had her eyes been open, she would have seen John standing staring at her, his pupils dilated with lust as he watched her wandering hands. But some feeling, some sixth sense told her that she was being watched. Snapping her eyes open and whipping her hand from between her legs, she stared right back at him. "John!" She said in mortified outrage. "What the hell are you doing here?" Slowly coming back to his senses, he found that for the first time in his life, he really didn't have anything to say. He had absolutely no excuse for having intruded on her privacy in such a way, and if he had been in the habit of blushing, he'd have been scarlet by now. "Well," George said, seeing that he didn't know what to say. "If you're staying, make yourself useful and get out of those utterly transparent clothes." This was accompanied by a gesture to the evidence of his arousal which was currently far too visible for even an attempt at modesty. Taking her at her word, and feeling that she'd landed him back on familiar ground, he returned to the bedroom, took a sip of her glass of wine, and swiftly removed his clothes.  
  
When George emerged from the shower, she saw that he'd turned back the duvet and lay waiting for her. Smirking wickedly, she started drying her hair, making him wait as long as possible as punishment for watching her. She was standing sideways on, unconsciously giving him yet more of the show. Every time she reached up to brush her hair, her right breast jerked. He began to wonder if she was doing this on purpose just to tease him. When she eventually dropped the hairdryer back in the drawer and the brush back on the dressing-table, she approached the bed. When she was lying along his side with an arm across him, she said, "So, tell me why you felt it necessary to do something so deliciously naughty?" "I think you were the one doing that, not me," He said, finding the feel of her soft, warm curves almost more than he could stand. Slipping a leg between his, so that she was virtually draped over him, she pressed her thigh against his rock hard shaft. "You liked that little display, didn't you," She said unnecessarily. His kissing her with an incredible amount of passion was answer enough for her. Leading his left hand to her breast, she showed him exactly how she wanted it tonight, but qualified her actions with, "Don't even think about being remotely gentle with me tonight, because I'm utterly bloody furious and as an outlet for my anger, you might just do." "Why so cross?" He asked, trying to take her at her word. "None of your bloody business," She said between clenched teeth, it suddenly dawning on her that if he'd arrived half an hour earlier, Karen would still have been here. "I was only asking," He said mildly, seeing that she needed no further provocation of any kind tonight. It didn't take her long to need John inside her, her intense self-disgust making her think that an orgasm was the only way she could release some of her pent up anger. but even as he moved inside her, she knew this was not where she wanted to be. Sure, she wanted to be in this bed, but not with John. She almost laughed when she thought of what would have happened had John appeared and caught her and Karen in bed together. But it would have been a pretty mirthless laugh. She inwardly cursed herself again and again for not having the guts to sleep with Karen, because that's all it had been. She, Georgia Channing who had never been afraid of trying anything sexual, had been frightened off of sleeping with a woman because she didn't know if she would be good enough.  
  
When John became aware of the tears in her eyes, he swiftly withdrew from her, her distress immediately removing any desire he had previously felt. "I'm sorry," She said, feeling all the worse because she hadn't been able to satisfy him. "Where were you?" He asked softly, knowing that she had momentarily drifted away from what she'd actually been doing. When she didn't answer, he simply held her, not having the faintest idea what had upset her. Then he took a stab in the dark. "Who were you thinking about when you were in the shower?" "I can't tell you," She said, looking briefly frightened at the prospect. "Why," He asked with a smile. "do I know them?" "Yes, you do," She said, "Which is precisely why you're not getting any more details out of me. I went out for dinner with someone tonight, someone who I've been wanting to sleep with for a long time now. Yet when it came down to it I couldn't go through with it." "I hope whoever it was didn't attempt to pressure you," He said sternly. "No, of course not," She said defensively. "I just feel so ridiculous. When have I ever bottled out of sleeping with anyone. Never." "And I suppose my appearance didn't exactly help," He said regretfully. "Actually, it did," She said, the bitterness creeping in to her tone. "I'm just sorry I couldn't do this with you either." As he kissed away her tears, John couldn't help but be curious. "I hope he was nice to you," He said, feeling that old familiar protectiveness that had always reared its ugly head whenever she'd gone out with anyone else, even in the days when they'd been barely speaking to each other, only communicating because of Charlie. George smiled at the irony. "You could say that," She said evasively, wondering just what his reaction would be if he knew it was Karen she'd been out with, not a man but a woman. 


	23. 

Part Twenty Three  
  
Karen had to admit to being slightly nervous of being in court on the Thursday morning, because she knew that Lauren would be on the stand, and that lots of unwelcome things could come out. This would almost certainly involve the discussion of Karen's relationship with Yvonne, which would no doubt be the topic of conversation in the PO's room before the end of the day. Karen was not looking forward to the time when Jo would question Lauren as to her exact course of action on the day of Fenner's death. When she arrived in the public gallery, Helen and Nikki were there waiting for her, the others not having arrived yet. "So," Said Helen in greeting. "How did it go?" "Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies," Karen said with a wink. "Good then," Nikki interpreted. "You could say so," Karen replied, though determined not to give them any details. Roisin arrive soon after followed by Barbara. But when Karen caught a waft of a very familiar perfume, a perfume she'd had very close to her last night, she turned her head to see George walking towards them. "Hello," George said, sitting down between Karen and Nikki. "How are you this morning?" Karen asked quietly. George didn't immediately know what to say to this. She felt cheap for trying to sleep with John after saying no to Karen, and she felt ridiculous for not having been able to go through with it with John after all. "I'm sorry about last night," She said equally quietly, briefly touching Karen's hand. "You've got absolutely nothing to be sorry for," Karen said gently but firmly. Karen looked closely at the faint shadows under George's eyes, seeing that she hadn't slept particularly well last night. "Don't lose sleep over it," She added. Nikki had made an effort to engage Roisin in conversation, but this hadn't stopped her from overhearing this little exchange between Karen and George. Soon after this, Crystal arrived, sitting down on the other side of Karen. "I thought I was going to be late," She said. "Daniel isn't sleeping very well and we all overslept this morning." "How old is he now?" Karen asked with a smile, remembering when Ross had given her far too many sleepless nights. "Nearly seven months," Said Crystal Proudly. "Josh weren't too happy about me leaving him to cope with Zandra and little Daniel, but it'll do him good." Karen laughed, and then remembered that George and Crystal hadn't met. "George," She said. "This is Crystal Gordon, and Crystal, this is George Channing. Crystal's partner used to be one of my prison officers." "And I used to be one of her inmates," Crystal added. "Oh, I see," Said George. "Hey Crystal, just try and remember to be quiet today," Said Nikki, grinning over at her. "We forgot to tell Crystal about the Judge's warning about audience participation," Nikki added for George's benefit. "Yeah, well, the jury needed to know what a lying bitch Miss Barker was," Crystal said with no shame whatsoever. "Do you mind," Karen said mildly. "I've got to work with her after this." "I thought the Judge was going to put me in a cell," Said Crystal, almost proud of her outburst. "Anything to keep him on his toes," George said, liking this new addition to the ranks more and more. "How long can you stay?" Karen asked. "Only till lunchtime," Said Crystal regretfully. "Josh is working this afternoon. He wanted to catch up on some sleep this morning but he's got no chance. With Zandra being nearly three, and Daniel nearly seven months, he's got his hands full. He reckons I'm better at looking after them than he is, but he loves it really." Karen smiled broadly. But George's thoughts had strayed to Charlie, and the many, many times she'd had it thrust upon her just how much better at parenting John was than her. Briefly looking at George, Nikki caught a split second of a frown marring George's very pretty face, but she couldn't for the life of her figure out why.  
  
When Lauren had repeated the oath from the card, Jo moved to switch on the overhead projector. "If I might have your leave, My Lord," She said, showing the bench some courtesy for the first time that week. "I would like to illustrate my client's defence as I believe this will make it easier for the jury to understand." "By all means, Mrs. Mills, though before you begin, is there a satisfactory explanation as to why you have a chessboard complete with about half the pieces on the bench in front of you?" "Purely for personal reference, My Lord." At these words, George leaned forward so that she could see what John was talking about. Sure enough, Jo did have a chessboard on the defence's end of the bench, but containing the weirdest game of chess George had ever seen. The sheet of acetate that Jo put under the light source was divided up in to a grid, with the squares arranged ten columns across and six rows deep. As Jo began to question Lauren, she gradually filled in the grid as follows:  
JusticeAtkins Family Values Karen BettsCharlie's GunCharlie Atkins James FennerYvonne's love for her childrenYvonne Atkins CorruptionRitchie AtkinsSnowball MerrimanLetter to Yvonne Lauren Atkins' MindLauren AtkinsLetter to Lauren Cassie TylerDaniella Blood  
  
First of all, Jo wrote Justice in the top left-hand corner and Atkins Family Values in the top right-hand corner. "Miss Atkins," She began. "Please could you explain to the court, your father's family values, and in particular, his view of justice?" "Charlie Atkins thought that because he could use a gun, he could do anything. To him, justice meant achieving what he wanted, what he thought should happen. If this meant killing off a rival, he did it. If it meant nobbling the jury, then he did that too. He saw the law as something to be bent and manipulated, as something to be used when it suited him and something to be avoided when it prevented him from achieving a goal. Gun laws and a man's right to life didn't mean anything to Charlie Atkins." "Miss Atkins," John intervened. "Why do you refer to your father as Charlie Atkins?" "Because he made me in to what I am," Lauren said succinctly. "And I can't ever forgive him for that. "My Lord, if I might continue," Jo said, thinking that if he'd already started on his own questioning of her witness, today was going to be a very long day. "Please could you describe the type of influence Charlie Atkins had over his wife and his family?" "If Charlie Atkins wanted something done, you did it. Before Ritchie left, dad was proud of his family. Mum had given him two children, one of each. But he made every decision, every choice when it came to where we went to school, where we went on holiday, and what he taught us of his way of life. We always did what he told us to do, even mum. You didn't ever disobey Charlie Atkins. Ritchie tried that once, but never again." Lauren stopped, as if realising she'd said too much too soon. "Did your father ever threaten his wife or his children?" "Charlie Atkins lived by threats. Ritchie left because dad threatened to nail him to the warehouse floor. That's the kind of guy he was. He once told me that if I ever betrayed the Atkins name like Ritchie had, it'd be the last thing I'd do." "What form would these threats take?" "Mostly they were just verbal, to me and Ritchie anyway. He was all mouth, Charlie Atkins, all talk and no action. He told us that if we ever told anyone at school about the things he did, he would be sent to prison and we'd lose everything we had. Let's face it, you don't mess with someone who has a pretty large arsenal at their disposal, do you." At this point, Jo wrote the words, Charlie Atkins, and Charlie Atkins' Gun, in to their allotted spaces on the grid. "Miss Atkins," John said, again breaking in on Jo's concentration. "Did your father ever threaten your mother?" "Yes, sir," Lauren said, briefly looking over at him. "He threatened her more than he did anyone else." "I will get to this, My Lord," Jo added, wondering if she would be wanting to wring John's neck before they were through. "Miss Atkins," She continued. "How old were you when your father started teaching you to shoot?" "I was twelve," Lauren replied. At the murmur of voices from the public gallery, Lauren realised that she might just have landed her mother with a few difficult questions to answer when her turn came. "Was this something your mother agreed to?" "Of course not," Said Lauren derisively. "But disagreeing with Charlie Atkins wasn't something anyone did more than once. Ask yourselves," She said, briefly looking over at the jury and immediately commanding their attention. "Would any of you be happy about your children being taught to shoot at the age of twelve?" "Miss Atkins, I must ask you not to address the jury in this manner," John said though with only a hint of warning. "I'm sorry, sir," Lauren replied, knowing that she would take over what Jo was there to do if she wasn't careful. "What happened when your mother disagreed to your father's intention to teach you and your brother to shoot?" "This happened the first time, when dad wanted to teach Ritchie to shoot," Lauren said, knowing her mum would kill her for telling this to a court. "Ritchie was twelve and I was eight. I remember mum and dad arguing. It wasn't something they often did in front of us, because both of them wanted to keep their rows away from me and Ritchie." George briefly found herself thinking of the many times she and John had waited until Charlie was asleep before beginning their arguments. "Mum said that she didn't want Ritchie going bad just like his father. She said that Ritchie was just a child, and that he was far too young to be thinking about following in anyone's footsteps and especially not that kind. Dad said that it was never too early to teach his children how to look after themselves. I remember," She said, her voice slightly faltering. "He said, "They've got to learn what it means to be an Atkins, Yvie." That's what he used to call her, Yvie, and he wanted both of his children to fulfill their role in the Atkins family." "What did he do to your mother when she challenged him?" John asked quietly. "My Lord, is this really relevant?" Neumann Mason-Alan asked after standing up. "Sit down and shut up," John said curtly. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't think it was relevant." "My mum wouldn't like me to tell that to a court, sir," Lauren said, remembering what Denny had said, and seeing that this man was doing his damnedest to get at the truth. "Well, your mother isn't here to stop you," John said persuasively. "And I wish to know." "I don't know exactly what happened," Lauren replied. "Dad told us to take the dog for a walk, which we did." Tears rose to her eyes as she could remember every little detail of that day, even though it was seventeen years ago. "When we came back," She continued. "Dad was on his own in the lounge, reading the paper and smoking." The tears were now raining down her cheeks. "When I went upstairs to find her, there was blood on the banister. Mum, was in their bedroom, looking at herself in the mirror. Her face was covered in bruises, and her nose had been bleeding. She moved really stiffly, like as if a couple of her ribs were cracked. When she saw me, she said that she didn't want me to see her like that." There was silence as Lauren attempted to dry her tears, and Karen found herself reflecting on the odd occasions when Yvonne had stumbled in to the territory of talking about her marriage to Charlie, and of how she'd always changed the subject as soon as possible. Now she knew why. When Lauren had wiped her eyes with some tissues Jo had handed to her, John said, "Did this ever happen again?" "Just once, that I know of," Lauren replied. "The night Ritchie left. Mum had to support Charlie because she knew what might happen to her and her children if she didn't. Charlie would have beaten mum up if she'd stood up to him about Ritchie, yet that's what he did to her anyway. His son, his pride and joy had betrayed him. What you need to understand about Charlie Atkins is that nothing was ever his fault. So, because what Ritchie did couldn't possibly have anything to do with the way dad had brought us up, it had to be mum's fault." "How did your mother usually act towards you and your brother?" Jo asked, walking over to write Yvonne Atkins in to the grid. "When dad was there, he kind of took over, took all the limelight. But when he wasn't, she was just like a normal mum. She loved me and Ritchie, and even after everything I've put her through, I know she still loves me. She risked Charlie Atkins' fists because she loved her children and didn't want us growing up like our father, and she believed Ritchie's story when he came back and visited her in Larkhall because she still loved him. Ritchie had been the cause of another beating from Charlie, but that didn't stop her from loving her son." Still being stood by the projector, Jo wrote the words, Yvonne's Love for Her Children, as a connection between Yvonne and what would come next. "How did your father treat you after your brother left?" "He made me his protégé. He taught me everything he knew, everything he'd previously taught Ritchie. He treated me like the son he didn't have. He took me in to the family business, made me in to what he'd always wanted Ritchie to be." "How did he treat your mother after Ritchie left?" John asked. "For quite a long time, she couldn't do anything right in his eyes. He blamed her for Ritchie's betrayal." Jo filled in Ritchie's and Lauren's names on the grid, showing how both Charlie's threats and Yvonne's love had ended up with Ritchie and Lauren being in their current situations. "How did your father react to your mother's imprisonment?" Jo asked. "He seemed shocked, angry, even more determined to get past the law. He went to visit her as often as I did." "Might I remind you that you are under oath, Miss Atkins," John intoned, having seen a slight shift in her facial expression, a sure sign that a witness was bending the truth. "Please could you explain to the court what you were made responsible for once your father was put on remand?" Jo asked, ignoring John. "I had to look after the family business, sort out all the business deals dad had screwed up. Charlie Atkins was a dinosaur when it came to dealing with anyone, from drug smugglers to the law. Mum always hated most of what Charlie did for a living, usually refusing to have anything to do with it. But when they were both inside, I had to carry on, keep it going till either one of them got out." "What did you feel when your mother told you that she would be giving evidence at your father's trial?" "I was angry with her. Dad had given her nothing but grief for too much of her life, and I thought it was time for her to make a clean break. She told me that more went on in a marriage than I knew, and that I couldn't change the fact that he was her husband and my father. I tried telling her about everything he'd been up too while she was inside, but all she could say was, "He says he's sorry." Charlie used to say he was sorry after he'd beaten her up, but somehow she thought this time would be different. Charlie made mum emotionally reliant on him, made it so that even after everything he'd put her through, she still loved him and still needed him in her life." There was a short silence as the court and everyone in it took in all that Lauren had said. John was surprised to find himself deeply pitying Yvonne Atkins. He wasn't used to feeling anything but contempt for someone who'd lived a life of crime but this time he was. He felt pity for her, and deep loathing and disgust for the man who had beaten his wife for not wanting her children to grow up to be criminals. "What did you feel when your father was killed?" "Relieved," Lauren said succinctly. "No more could he hurt my mum, no more could he treat her like something he'd scraped off the bottom of his shoe. Mum deserved to have the rest of her life free from fear, free from pain. But all I've done is to give her more of the same." Lauren sounded so defeated that John thought it was time to adjourn. Looking up at the old clock whose hands were edging towards twelve thirty, he said, "I think this might be a convenient moment." As the court rose collectively to its feet, they all knew that this was only the interval in a complex and horrific play, which would continue that afternoon with possibly far more frightening revelations to come.  
  
They were all fairly silent as they left the public gallery, none of them knowing what to say. When Yvonne and Cassie joined them in the foyer, Yvonne got the distinct feeling that they all knew something, something about her that she wouldn't have wanted them to know. "How did it go?" Yvonne asked Karen. "Fine so far," Karen said, keeping her voice as normal as possible. "Apart from Lauren trying to address the jury, she was fine." Yvonne smiled. But before she could reply, John appeared walking alongside Jo. "I thought I'd come and be formally introduced to my principle hecklers," He said in greeting. This seemed to break the ice. "We've all been fairly quiet so far," Replied Karen. "Especially George," She added with a wink. "There's time for good intentions to break down, I'm sure," He said with a wry smile. "Though I have to admit to being impressed at your level of self-control, Ms Channing." "Well, My Lord," She said dryly. "Your will to me is law and all that." Recognising this as a slightly altered line from Haydn's Creation, Barbara laughed. "I'm glad to hear it, Ms Channing," Said John, not in the least fooled by George's innocent expression. "This is Crystal Gordon," Karen began. "To whom we forgot to impart your warning." "I'm sorry, Sir," Crystal said, not looking entirely apologetic. "And Roisin Connor, Barbara Mills, Helen Wade and Nikki Wade." At this last name John's eyes widened. "Yeah, I'm that Nikki Wade," Nikki said, correctly interpreting his expression. "Then I must congratulate you on your recent appeal. I'd have given my right arm to have been on the bench," John said, holding out his hand, which Nikki shook. "And Cassie Tyler," Continued Karen. "I remember you from last time," John said, giving Cassie a broad smile. "That's me," Said Cassie with a hint of satisfaction. "Always the one with the biggest mouth." "And you know Yvonne Atkins," Karen said, wondering how John would act towards her after what they'd just heard in court. "Yes, of course," John said quietly, looking anew at this woman whom he'd only previously thought of as someone Karen had briefly had a relationship with, someone he could well remember who had been prepared to support Karen as far as possible with the case against Fenner. Apart from the last day of Ritchie's trial when he'd seen a split second hint of pain in her eyes, he'd always thought of Yvonne Atkins as strong, possibly one of the strongest women he'd ever come in to contact with. But half of this was her way of not letting anyone find out what Charlie Atkins had put her through year after year. When John looked straight in to Yvonne's eyes, he knew he'd totally failed to keep some of his reaction to Lauren's story out of his expression. Yvonne looked right back at him, though she was well aware that he was looking at her differently from how he had in the past. Just what had Lauren said in court this morning.  
  
When they reconvened at two o'clock, Jo continued right from where she'd left off. "What was your initial feeling when your brother returned to this country and made contact with your mother?" "I didn't trust him. He'd betrayed us, and I thought he'd just come back to have a share in dad's money. But mum fell for it. He sent her some flowers, told her he loved her and she believed him. Atkins men have always had a way of making people believe every word they say." "How did you feel when you heard that your brother had been shot?" "I was confused," Replied Lauren. "Part of me thought he deserved it after trying to fit mum up for Snowball's bomb, and the rest of me was furious that he'd been shot and not Snowball Merriman or Karen Betts. At the time, I thought it was Karen Betts' fault that Ritchie had been shot, because Snowball had used her to get out of Larkhall. I hated Karen for falling in to Ritchie's trap, for being so easily seduced by the same Atkins charm that Charlie always used on mum. Part of me despised Ritchie for having saved her life." In the gallery, George took in a breath to respond to this, but Karen put a calming hand over one of George's. "It's nothing I haven't heard before," She said very quietly so that only George could hear. With Crystal having left at lunchtime, George was now seated on the end, with Karen next to her, followed by Nikki, Helen, Roisin and Barbara. "As you were in the public gallery throughout the whole of your brother's and Snowball Merriman's trial, did you feel angry during this time, or did you feel some sympathy for what your brother was going through?" "Ritchie made his bed, so he had to lie in it. He was a bit like dad in that he could talk his way out of anything." "You can say that again," Murmured Karen. "But Ritchie was weak. He'd let himself be taken in by one of Snowball's sob stories. She had him wound round her little finger, and yet that's exactly what he did to Karen. Everything would have gone all right for Ritchie if he hadn't ended up feeling more for her than he'd meant too. Funny how easy it is for people to fall under her spell." "Thank you very much," Karen said dryly. "Please confine yourself to facts, Miss Atkins," John intoned. "I couldn't decide whether Ritchie deserved to be where he was," Lauren said, trying to regain her former calm composure. "Or whether I should feel sorry for him. Mum was standing for the prosecution against her own son, probably one of the hardest things she's ever had to do, and I suppose all the support I had it in me to give went to her." "During the course of your brother's trial, did you learn anything you hadn't previously known?" "Yeah, probably too much. When Karen Betts was on the stand, it came out that she'd been raped by Fenner." George felt Karen inwardly flinch at the word raped. "I asked mum about it and she said it was true." John could see that there was a lot more that Lauren was holding back, but he didn't press her on it. "When did you first become aware of the relationship between your mother and Karen Betts, and how did this make you feel?" "Doesn't mince her words, does she," Said Karen dryly. "Ever since mum had got out of prison, she and Karen had become really good friends. But I think the first time I realised they were sleeping together was on the weekend in the middle of Ritchie's trial." Jo moved forward and wrote Karen Betts in to the grid. "Mum didn't tell me as such, it was just obvious." "Exactly how did you become aware of this?" John asked. "So much for friendly loyalty," Said Karen quietly, shooting a glare in John's direction. "I'd been out on the Saturday night," Lauren continued. "Both mum and Karen had been at home when I left, and when I got back on the Sunday morning, Karen was gone. I went in to my mum's bedroom to borrow some hairspray and the bed was unmade on both sides. I can't really explain it, I just knew." Remembering their game of spin the bottle that had preceded this, Karen couldn't help blushing. "We've all made tits of ourselves," Said Nikki reassuringly. "And we'll all do it again, so don't worry about it." "And even I've been guilty of not tidying up afterwards," Said George, receiving a smile in return from Karen. "How did you feel about this turn of events?" Jo persisted. "It was quite a shock," Lauren replied. "I used to think Atkins women just didn't do that. But like Ritchie said in his letter to me, mum never was a real Atkins, she only married one. I know I shouldn't have said it, but I remember asking her if a lack of decent dick had turned her in to an instant dyke." There was a collective wince from the front row of the gallery. "Charming," George said a little too loudly. "I didn't want Karen to get her claws in to mum like she had with Ritchie. I thought she was nothing but trouble." When Karen took an enraged breath to respond, George put out a hand to stop her. "What was your initial reaction to your brother's conviction and custodial sentence?" Jo asked, desperately wanting Lauren to get off the topic of Karen and away from resentful recrimination, as she added Snowball Merriman in to the grid. "I didn't really know what to think. I knew he deserved it. Let's face it, what he did helped Snowball Merriman kill someone, someone who he didn't even know. But I think I was just numb." "Now, please would you describe to the court the evening on which your brother killed himself, and what both yours and your mother's reactions were to receiving this news?" Lauren took a deep breath and the court went silent. "We were at home, sitting in the garden. Me, mum, Karen, Cassie and Roisin. Karen got a call on her mobile. It was Grayling, to tell her that Snowball had killed herself and that Ritchie had too. I might have hated everything about Karen that night, but I don't envy her having to tell us that Ritchie had killed himself. I was so angry. I couldn't understand how Ritchie could have done that to his own mother. Mum was stunned. She was holding a glass of wine when Karen told us, and she squeezed it so hard it shattered and cut her. Mum didn't say a word. I opened a bottle of vodka and started drinking. Karen had to go to Larkhall because of Snowball, but when she came back, I took out all my anger on her." Lauren began to look a little guilty. "I told Karen it was her fault that Ritchie had killed himself." When George again looked like she might be about to argue, Karen said, "Don't. It's really not worth it." "I think Karen was just a convenient target for my anger. I told her that if she'd been shot instead of Ritchie, Ritchie wouldn't have killed himself and mum wouldn't be going through the worst night of her life. To give Karen her due, she didn't try to argue with me, she just let me get it out of my system. I think that's because she knew I was plastered and knew that there was no point trying to reason with me." As Lauren took a moment to recover herself, Roisin stood up and began squeezing past them along the row. "I'm sorry," She said as she moved passed Karen. "I've got to pick the kids up from school." Jo took this opportunity to write, Lauren Atkins' Mind and Cassie Tyler, on the grid. Jo then moved to the evidence bench and picked up a document enclosed in a protective transparent cover. "Now would you tell the court about the letter you received from your brother? 3F in your bundle, My Lord." Before Lauren could reply, John held up a hand. "Were you planning to ask your client to read the letter, Mrs. Mills?" "I wasn't planning to, My Lord, but I'm sure Miss Atkins will do so if you wish." "I'm much obliged, Mrs. Mills." "I got this letter the day after Ritchie killed himself," Lauren said. "Mum went to the prison to formally identify him and was given all his belongings which included two letters, one for me and one for mum." Jo wrote the existence of these two documents in to the grid. "This is the letter I got from Ritchie," Lauren added, taking the enclosed sheet of paper from Jo. "Dear Lauren,  
  
You're probably more furious with me than Mum is right now. But you know me, I don't do a hard life. I never have, and now I never will. You probably think all this is my own fault, and yeah, I suppose most of it is. But that's another thing isn't it, us, the Atkins family, we don't do blame. Only, it ain't quite worked out like that. I can't ask Mum for what I need you to do, because she won't do it. She never was a real Atkins, only in name. But you and me, Lauren, we've got Charlie Atkins' blood in us all the way. Lauren, I need you to get rid of Fenner for me. Don't throw this away until you've read what I have to say. You were there through the whole of the trial like Mum was, so you heard that stupid wanker of a barrister we had first, trying to pull Karen Betts' evidence to shreds because of what I think he was told by Fenner. Lauren, Fenner did rape Karen, I know he did. You don't sleep with as many women as I have, without knowing when something just isn't right. Lauren, a bit of me loved her. I know that's not how it was supposed to be, but I did, probably still do. She didn't deserve what I did to her. But I can't put any of that right now. This is why I'm asking you to get Fenner out of the picture for good. I can't put right the things I've done, but if you'll do this one thing for me, I can take away one of the worst things that's ever happened to her. You know that Fenner deserves a dose of the Atkins justice as well as I do. Please do this for me, Lauren, please. Don't tell Mum I've asked you. She's stayed on the straight and narrow since she got out, and we both know she won't be in favour of doing what's right. But you're still my sister, and you weren't Charlie Atkins' protégé for nothing. The best shooter in the East End is my little sister.  
  
I'm proud of you Sis,  
  
Ritchie." There was a long, awful pause after Lauren finished reading the letter. George had grinned broadly when Lauren had read out Ritchie's description of Brian Cantwell, but she was now forced to accept that what Karen had said on Monday just might be true. Ritchie had in his own twisted way wanted to atone for his sins, or at least some of them. George hadn't spent too much time with Ritchie Atkins when she'd been defending him, but the conversations she'd had with him had told her in no uncertain terms that part of him really had loved Karen. "Please could you explain to the court why you chose to act on your brother's wishes?" Jo asked quietly. "Just that, because they were his last wishes. No matter what Ritchie might have said and done over the years, he was still my brother, still part of my family. Perhaps the only good thing Charlie Atkins taught me was to value my family. He taught me that family means everything. Ritchie's letter put a lot of things in perspective for me. He knew he'd done wrong, and he wanted to put some of it right. I'm not sure why, but a bit of him really did love Karen. He got in way too deep, and he wanted to put things right with her. Maybe part of me felt guilty for not having supported Ritchie during his trial, maybe part of me felt guilty for the way I'd accused Karen of being the cause of Ritchie killing himself. I think why I killed Fenner was a combination of the two, but mostly because it was what Ritchie had asked me to do. My brother's dying wish was for me to get rid of one of the most loathsome individuals I've ever met. I wasn't going to deny my brother his last wish." "Did the reasoning behind your stalking of James Fenner have any effect on how you did this?" "Possibly. For those few weeks between when Ritchie died and when I killed Fenner, Ritchie's last wish was the only thing I could think about. It occupied every bit of my time. It was the first thing I thought about when I woke up in the morning, and the last thing I thought about before I went to sleep. I was so focussed that even Charlie would have been proud of me." "Whilst you were carrying out the initial stages of your brother's last wish, do you think you were following in your father's footsteps?" To everyone's horror, Lauren smiled, a wide, hard, soul deep smile. "Yeah, I think I was," She said, and her tone of voice and facial expression left everybody in no doubt that she couldn't possibly be entirely sane. "My dad taught me to shoot, he taught me to never miss, and he taught me to kill people. He taught me how to follow someone and never be seen. He taught me how to cherish my weapons more than I did a lover. He taught me how to cover my tracks. The eleventh commandment, thou shalt not be found out, that was dad's motto. When I stalked Fenner, I kept thinking, this is what dad would do, or this is what dad would tell me to do. I was Charlie Atkins' protégé and it was my duty to live up to that." Lauren had adopted a slightly different tone of voice when talking about Charlie, and her switch between despising Charlie and loving her dad showed everyone present just how ingrained Charlie Atkins' values were in her mind. Whilst Lauren had been speaking, Jo added, James Fenner and corruption in to the grid. "Is this why you chose to use your father's gun?" "Yes. Charlie taught me to shoot with that gun, and it seemed fitting to commit my first and last murder with his weapon." "Precisely how much do you remember of the day James Fenner died?" "Only bits and pieces. I don't remember how I got to his house, or how we got to Epping Forest, but I remember telling him that there were six bullets in my gun and that if necessary, I would use all of them on him with pleasure." Karen briefly found herself remembering the day on which Snowball had taken her hostage, saying something very similar to get her co-operation. "He was so sure of himself," Lauren continued. "He told me that he wasn't going anywhere because he had the football to watch on telly." "Did he recognise you?" "Yeah, straight away. He looked terrified when he heard the central locking on the car doors, as if he'd never put the fear of God in to anyone by the slamming of a cell door." Helen was reminded of the night Nikki had escaped and she had used the same trick on her. "He was very good, did exactly what he was told, made it quite easy for me really. He was so angry when he realised I'd been stalking him for weeks. He doesn't like someone else having the upper hand. But then maybe that's why he liked forcing himself on defenseless women." Turning her gaze momentarily away from Lauren, George could see Karen gripping the rail in front of her with both hands. Reaching forward, George gently but persistently detached Karen's fingers from the metal bar and held on to the right hand whilst Nikki took the left. Karen couldn't take her eyes off Lauren. She was almost transfixed by the gradually emerging story. "I told him to walk ahead of me which he did. Fenner wasn't going to argue with an Atkins and a loaded gun. We walked to the spot I'd previously decided on. I stood and watched while he dug his own grave. He kept asking me questions, bloody stupid questions that weren't going to get him anywhere. He wanted to know why I was doing this to him. I asked him if he could remember the night he raped Karen. I asked him if he could remember the way he'd lied to her, probably lied to everyone he'd ever known. I taunted him. I gave him a big long list of the reasons why he was going to die. I think I was saying everything Ritchie would have said to him if he'd been able to do it himself. I reminded Fenner of how he'd threatened Karen during Ritchie's trial, threatened to blacken her name if she didn't cover up for the cock up he'd made with Snowball. I told him that if it weren't for him, Ritchie might still be alive now. I don't think Fenner had ever been that frightened, except perhaps on the night Dockley stabbed him." Having a gentle hold on Karen's hand with her right, Nikki found her left being taken by Helen, both women remembering the times they'd been fooled by Fenner, and how in their different ways they'd fought to save Fenner on the night of Sylvia's party. Lauren's voice began to falter, as if she couldn't quite bear to relive and describe the things she'd been capable of on that fateful day. "I told him to stand in the grave he'd dug for himself. I shot him where I did, because I wanted him to be as helpless as Ritchie had been before he died. I wanted Fenner to know what it was like to not be able to move unless someone else helped him, only he didn't have anyone to help him. I let some of the earth land on his face and he screamed. I kept pouring the earth over his face. He tried to move but he couldn't." "What was the last thing he said to you?" "The last thing I heard him cry out, was Karen's name." Karen recoiled as if she'd been slapped. Her face had gone completely white, her hands grasping at George's and Nikki's to keep herself from making any sound. "What were your feelings on completing your task?" "I felt high, as if I'd had one hell of a hit of coke. I remember, as I walked through the trees back to my car, I threw the spade in the air a few times and caught it. I kept thinking that dad would be so proud of me, totally forgetting that he wasn't around any more to be proud of me. I don't really remember how I got home or what I did when I got there." "What do you most regret about your actions involving James Fenner?" "I regret the pain and worry I've put my mum through. She had enough of that with my dad, and she didn't deserve the same from me. Mum said to me once that the name Atkins didn't automatically mean bad any more. I just wish that she was right. I remember once telling my mum that if she was a real Atkins, she'd be proud of me, but that was my dad talking not me." After an almost endless pause, Jo said in to the silence, "No further questions, My Lord." After taking a moment to marshal his thoughts, John said, "Before the court adjourns, Mrs. Mills, would you be so good as to hand me your chessboard for a moment?" Wondering why on earth he should want to see it, Jo picked it up, walked up to the Judge's bench and put it down in front of him. Taking a moment to study it, John was at first bemused by her arrangement, until he aligned it with the grid on the overhead projector. He then realised that Jo had used the black king to represent Charlie Atkins, the black queen Yvonne, the white queen Karen, the white king Fenner, and that Lauren herself was represented by a knight. Everything else Jo had added to the grid was there in one shape or another, and John was forced to admit that it was an ingenious way of having a reference point that wasn't immediately obvious to the opposition. Handing it back to her, he said, "Court will reconvene at ten in the morning." 


	24. Part Twenty Four

Part Twenty Four  
  
The room was small and cramped, akin to the servants quarters in comparison to the huge dining room of a stately mansion which was the ancient and high majesty of law of the Old Bailey. Cassie's small frame and strong presence absorbed Yvonne's attention, focussed it in on her and cancelled out the room with her real solid dependability and a caring heart behind that brash exterior. Yvonne needed, more than anything else, a sympathetic presence and Cassie fitted the bill perfectly.  
"Lauren's been on the stand and I know that she's going to 'fess up to everything in her life, for being an Atkins, for being my daughter and doing what she did. It scares me to death." "Yvonne, Jo Mills is the best brief you could ever find and, instead of nailing that evil cow Merriman, she'll fight like hell to defend Lauren. The judge is a really good guy, one of the best and this is me, Cassie Tyler talking." Cassie's large blue eyes looked deeply into Yvonne's watery eyes. Her choked tones could not be remotely camouflaged by her normal hard confident exterior but she smiled faintly at the little joke at the end. "I know that you want to fight Lauren's battle for her or to somehow be there for her. That's what being a mum is all about. You know you can't or shouldn't do it but that doesn't stop you wanting to protect your own from all the shit there is in the world. I get secretly worried if Michael or Niamh get picked on at school….because of me and Roisin being who we are. They aren't at secondary school yet but the time may come. It's so far, so good but sometimes I worry for their future….." A shadow crept over Cassie's sunshine features as if from an overcast cloud. Her real maternal feelings came closest to the surface for the children that had happened into her life like a miracle. Who else but a nurturer would know what a mother goes through? Cassie was painfully aware how her empathy fell short as at least her children hadn't reached the perilous rapids of teenage years but were still moving in the calmer waters of childhood.  
"Your kids are younger, Cassie. They are innocent at that age. You feel that nothing can spoil them. You don't find out till later what went wrong and you could have stopped it but didn't." Yvonne's face was rigid and remote and suddenly, tears forced themselves out from underneath her tight shut eyelids that wanted to conceal her grief and fears. Visions of 'her little angel' with wide open smiling eyes and Lauren's bright laughing face and innocent smile were so real in her mind's eye. Invisibly the deliverance of two soft arms gently folded themselves round her to her huge relief. She was conscious that they belonged to Cassie as her voice soothed her and comforted her. Time passed in their forgotten part of the world before Yvonne moved away and could trust herself to speak. "You've got to trust in Lauren's strength, brains and quick thinking. You know she gets that from you and somehow she'll pull the rabbit out of the hat. If it was the other way round, I know what you would say to me, don't you? Look at it logically. You've got twelve men and women of a jury who only know the name of Atkins from the diet that's in the magazines. It's not like you're always on the front page of OK magazine like Posh and Becks - I really hate that pair after all, what is there for me? Just don't keep thinking that you're guilty before you even start." Yvonne laughed even while the last trace of a tear ran down her cheek as Cassie's unique mixture of humour and common sense finally got through to her.  
"We've got the judge going for us, I know that he's a human being and dead straight. He will make a difference to what's said and done. He'll keep that prat of a prosecuting barrister in line for a start. I haven't known any caring men - men haven't exactly figured much in my life - but he's one of the good ones." "It'll take a bleeding miracle for anyone to dig Lauren out of this hole," Yvonne said unthinkingly. "Well, miracles do happen, on, Yvonne, I think they've finished." The faint creak of doors swinging back and echoing footsteps shuffling their way out was the prelude for the first of the crowd to pour out of the court among whom was Lauren, looking straight ahead with a prison officer either side of her.  
  
For once, she wasn't in the mood for a verbal sparring match with Bodybag but let herself be led limply along back to the large black car and be sat, handcuffed between Selena and Bodybag. A kaleidoscope of images of streetlife flashed dizzyingly past her as she was driven away.  
"Don't get your hopes up too high, Atkins. Your sort are bound to end up in prison sooner or later." "Why don't you just give her a break?" Selena's soothing voice brushed up against Bodybag's tetchiness. "Or at least let someone else take over on prison escort duty." "Hummph," Bodybag's grunt and pursed lips closed off the conversation. She had a mule-like genius in being awkward for awkward's sake and refusing to get involved in any solution to an argument. Others were there to put up with her. Lauren shrank into herself in an introspective gloom. It shut her in as effectively as iron bars did and carried her on through the journey and into the familiar claustrophobia and the certain routine of her prison life.  
  
Bodybag and Selena made an ill assorted pair with only the prison uniform and a desire for a nice cup of tea in common. Happily, Beverly Tull, complete with flapping ears for random gossip, was pouring out a mug of tea or two. They were both parched.  
"How's Lauren Atkins getting on today?" Dominic asked out of kindly interest after Bev finally left the room.  
"Better than she'll be tomorrow when the prosecution barrister gets to work on her. they'll tear her to pieces," Bodybag gloated openly. "I'd love to be on prisoner escort tomorrow." "That will be for me to decide, Sylvia," Gina's carrying voice broke through the Heat magazine she was holding up high. "You're really looking forward to caring for Lauren Atkins for a ten to fifteen year stretch right up to when you retire. Never mind, the rest of us will be going strong by then." Colin grinned at Dominic's joking reply, which made Bodybag go red in the face. Before Dominic came to Larkhall, he had felt harassed as Di Barker, Fenner and Bodybag had ruled the roost. "This dump has gone to the dogs. What this place needs is proper experience and there's too little of it. You need years on this job to get to know what you are doing and you know what you're talking about," She moaned apparently of noone in particular but in reality everyone knew who she was venting her spleen on. "Experience of becoming a racist and a bigot?" "And how long does it take to get experience round here?" chimed in Selena a fraction after Paula's quiet retort.  
"No use bitching about the trial or each other. Besides, I've been told that, as an older man, the judge is dead tasty. Perhaps I ought to check him out tomorrow for myself." "You've not changed, Gina, since you came to G Wing." "I don't think you'd be disappointed, Gina." After Selena's non-answer to Bodybag, the desultory conversation that had spluttered like a badly lit firework finally fizzled out leaving into a chilly silence. "How long is Di Barker off the wing, Gina?" "Too long," grumped Bodybag. "It's only temporary, they say. One day the powers that be will tell her that as she's settled down so well, they've made the move permanent. It's a plot, you mark my words." A collective sigh ran round the room. They could easily handle Bodybag while she was on her own, as she was stupid and ineffective. When Di Barker was around, her narrow minded but highly devious, manipulative ways set them on edge and made them permanently wary of every little thing. They were gradually letting down their collective guard and realising how wearing it had been before Di moved off the wing. They egged each other on to bitch about everything that didn't suit them and sniped at any hint of disagreement.  
"I won't be sorry to see the back of Di Barker. She messed things up between me and my fella and I lost my baby thanks to her," Gina proclaimed loudly.  
"You never know, she may want to stay on H wing permanently. She came from there in the first place and might catch up with old friends. We won't stand in her way out of this wing after all," Dominic's annoyingly reasonable tone of voice was belied by his faint grin and sent a spasm of fear running up and down Bodybag's spine. "Now then, Dominic, you shouldn't mock your fellow officers. Don't give me that 'butter wouldn't melt in your mouth' look. It's the quiet ones you have to watch." Gina's broad grin gave off that sexual allure which was her very unconventional but highly effective way of handling the bickering that went on.  
"It's not like the old days. Everyone stuck together and had the right ideas." "Turn the record off, Sylv, before someone comes along and breaks it for you." "I'm perfectly entitled to my views," Huffed and puffed Sylvia. "Or do we all have to be 'politically correct' these days?" "You got it, Sylv." "It's all very well for you, Dominic McAllister to swan in and out of Larkhall as it pleases you but some of us have dedicated years of our lives to the service. Some of us have standards we believe in." "You mean, people like Jim Fenner running to the Governing Governor whenever something didn't suit him. Or take the way that a Wing Governor like Helen Stewart had her life made a misery. She really believed in trying to get the best out of prisoners and you and Jim Fenner ganged up on her and stabbed her in the back all the time. Spare me the memories." Dominic rolled up the copy of the Daily Mirror he had been reading and flung it down on the table in disgust. "Your problem, Sylvia, is that you've never got over not having someone around that you can moan about." "And, while we're talking about you, do you really have to speculate about everyone's sex life? What's missing in your life that you have to go on about it?" Bodybag's mouth stayed frozen open in an 'O' shape and she flushed with embarrassment as first Dominic and then Selena laid into her. These upstart young kids who had the nerve to disagree with one of the longest serving prison officers on G wing. Now that poor Jim was no longer around, she had thought that his mantle would fall naturally on her shoulders and she would be the one to uphold the old ways. You didn't need to talk about them except in an understood aside. As her Bobby first told her when she started, you watched your back, all prisoners were cons, if they misbehaved you simply banged them up and there was none of that namby pamby liberal eyewash. In her head, there was a faintly echoing chorus of voices of prison officers, long since retired who were impotent to help her right now. The 'good old days' were just out of reach. Then, the nostalgic haze in front of her eyes vanished as her world suddenly sharpened cruelly and the critical faces of the interloping newcomers sat in the chairs where the ghostly presence of her old friends once sat. They had taken over her world and they had all the youthful energy and drive on their side. The trouble was that she was getting old and tired and she hadn't got the strength to fight them. Her only form of resistance was in being too old and set in her ways to accept change in her life but, then again, had she ever really been willing to accept change? When she grew up, she had been equipped with an inexhaustible supply of homilies and platitudes by her mother, which she had absorbed without questioning. If only the world had stayed the same way as when she had grown up, she would be comfortable enough in it.  
"You should try and fit in, Sylv. The good old days were never as good as they made out. You shouldn't treat prisoners like crap like some of us used to. Nikki Wade was fine once you gave it to her straight and didn't piss her about. The trouble with you is that you bring half your problems on yourself." Gina spoke more gently to Bodybag to invite her to clear away the obstacles that she had barricaded round herself. But she would never do that as her pride got in her way. 


	25. Part Twenty Five

Part Twenty Five  
  
Karen sat stunned as the gallery emptied around her. "Are you all right?" Helen asked as she moved passed her. "Fine," Karen replied, but they could all see that she wasn't. Seeing that George was staying with Karen, the three of them walked up the steps and away. When the court was empty, George simply waited. She had absolutely no idea what might be going through Karen's head, or how to help her. But Karen eventually answered the second question for her. "I'd better go and see how Lauren is after that," She said, finally seeming to come out of her inner contemplation. "Not right now you're not," George said firmly but quietly. They were still for a while longer until Karen broke the silence. "Do you know something," She said bitterly. "The one story he never changed was that he loved me. Every bloody time something happened, like him being caught with Maxi's knickers, or after Dockley alleged he was trying to rape her on the night he was stabbed, every time he used the old line of, you know I love you, don't you Karen. Jesus," She suddenly said in disgust. "I knew he'd beaten up Shell Dockley, I remember telling him that when his suspension was lifted. I knew he'd done that to her and I still ended up sleeping with him a few months later. He even came out with that after the night you and Jo were trying to prosecute him for." "You can't actually say it, can you," George said in realisation. "I loathe the word rape," Karen said matter-of-factly. "It's a very ugly word, but it just isn't big enough to describe what it actually means. So no, I never know how to describe what Fenner did." "Do you think he really did love you?" "Yes, I've no doubt about that. Fenner had a way of detaching himself from everything he'd done that he wouldn't really like to admit to. He didn't want to think himself capable of assaulting anyone in whatever form, so he would simply block it from his mind, making him able to deny any resulting accusations with total plausibility. The night Fenner, raped me," she said, recoiling from her own words. "He said that the one regret he had was that he'd lost me. From what Lauren said today, it sounds like he regretted that right to the end. I really wish I didn't know that. It's almost as if he was determined to keep just a bit of me for ever, and I hate to say it, but he's probably achieved his goal because that isn't something I'm ever likely to forget." "When did you first know about Ritchie's letter to Lauren?" George asked. "The day after Fenner was killed," Karen replied. "On the day I came to your office, on the day I almost told you everything. Lauren was right in what she said to me that day. She said that I didn't want to know how, just why." "And how did the why make you feel?" "I don't think I knew what to feel. For the whole of that week it was all I could do to keep it to myself. John came to see me on the Thursday, supposedly to find out how your day's punishment had gone. But you know John, he only needs the slightest excuse to begin a conquest. I was so scared of seeing him. Hiding what I knew from you was difficult, but I knew that hiding anything from John would be all but impossible. Everything was fine, until he asked how it was going, working with Fenner and constructing a case against him." "Yes, I can see how that must have been awkward." "I felt so guilty for betraying everything the three of you were doing for me." "Darling, listen to me," George said firmly, the term of endearment coming to her as naturally as Karen's name. "There wasn't anything else you could have done. If you had told me or John, you'd have very likely landed yourself and Yvonne and Lauren behind bars, and that wouldn't have helped anyone. You didn't ask Ritchie Atkins to write that letter and you didn't ask Lauren to follow it through. Just because Fenner realised too late what he'd lost, does not make you guilty of anything. You had absolutely no idea that Lauren was going to do what she did. James Fenner's murder is not your fault, and blaming yourself for not being able to prevent it won't do you or anyone else any good. Lauren got herself in to this mess, and you couldn't have done anything to stop her." After a moment's silence, Karen said, "I'm sorry. I think you got more than you bargained for by being here this week, didn't you." "Apart from the obvious, I'm glad I was. When you get to know someone, you take the rough with the smooth. It just so happens that this is one of the roughest weeks you've probably ever had. That doesn't make me regret being here in the slightest." A little while later when they got up to go, George started up the steps ahead of Karen, but when she was standing on the first step, Karen turned George to face her. "Thank you," She said, putting her arms round George. "I don't know if I could have dealt with this without you." "Yes, you could," George said as she returned the hug. "I don't think you're aware of it, but you're far stronger than anyone I know, even John, and I used to think his emotional armour was made of steal." Standing so close, and with George slightly higher than normal, it seemed only natural for her to gently place her lips on Karen's. It seemed far longer since they'd done this than only the previous night, but it was something they both knew they needed. Eventually detaching her lips from Karen's and looking slightly flushed, George said, "Are you busy tomorrow evening?" "I doubt it," Said Karen with a small smile, suddenly remembering just what tomorrow was. "Then can I return the offer of dinner?" "I expect so," Replied Karen, giving George one last kiss. As they walked up the rest of the steps towards the door at the back of the gallery, they both knew that they wanted to get to know the other far better than they already did, innermost skeletons and all.  
  
As soon as Jo emerged from court, Yvonne came up to her. "Have you got a minute?" She asked. "Because I think we need to talk." Thinking she just might know what was coming, Jo led the way back to the witness room where Yvonne and Cassie had spent the last four days waiting for their turn to go on the stand. When Jo had closed the door, she moved over to the window, pushing up the old wooden sash and digging for her cigarettes. "I thought we couldn't smoke in here," Yvonne said joining her. "Tough," Jo said succinctly. "Judging by the conversation I think we're about to have, nicotine is essential." "Precisely what did Lauren come out with in court today, that made everyone, including the judge, look at me oddly at lunchtime?" Yvonne asked as she lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out of the open window. "Lauren alluded to something when I first spoke to her a year ago, something that I didn't probe into too deeply, because it was entirely your business and I knew that if either of you thought it was important to Lauren's defence, you'd have told me. So, I wasn't expecting her to tell the story she did in court today." "Jo, you've got me really worried now," Yvonne said firmly. "Just tell me what she said." "Lauren told the court about the argument you had with Charlie when he started teaching Ritchie to shoot." Yvonne strove to keep her face as blank as possible, but Jo didn't miss the brief flash of pain and humiliation. "I wish she hadn't done that," Yvonne said eventually. "I know," Jo said gently. "And I know that if you'd had a choice about this, that you wouldn't have wanted anyone to know about that. But it really isn't a reflection on you or anything you did or didn't do." "Jesus," Said Yvonne in disgust. "You really are bloody naive at times. Have you got any idea how a jury will react to what Charlie did to me and the way he insisted on bringing up his children? They'll see that Lauren didn't have any alternative but to turn out like she has. Charlie insisted on bringing his children up in a culture of violence, and I couldn't do a bloody thing about it. About the only thing Lauren does have in her defence is that she had a rotten mother who totally failed to keep her on the straight and narrow." "Yvonne," Jo said, trying to calm her down. "You have done everything possible to help your daughter, and it is absolutely not your fault that she has ended up where she is." Tears were raining down Yvonne's cheeks by this time and she was having great difficulty in preventing herself from completely letting go. But on taking a breath to disagree with Jo, she was interrupted by the door quietly opening behind them. "Actually, I quite agree," John said quietly as he entered the room, having heard Jo's words as he approached. Both women turned to face him, combined looks of annoyance and irritation on their faces, telling him in no uncertain terms that they would both rather not have been disturbed. "Mrs. Atkins," John said, walking over to them, but Yvonne held up a hand. "Yvonne'll do," She said, trying to stem her flow of tears. "I don't especially like being reminded that I was once married to that bastard." "After what I heard in court today," John replied amiably. "I'm not surprised." "Why did you have to pursue that?" Yvonne asked, turning back to Jo. "Why did you have to let her say that to all and sundry?" "To give Jo credit," John put in before Jo could answer. "It was I who persisted in getting to the truth. Your daughter didn't want to tell the court about what your husband did to you. I think her words were, my mother wouldn't like me to tell that to a court. But I insisted." "Why?" Yvonne asked in quite a small voice. "Because the jury needed to know," John insisted gently. "But how can knowing what Charlie did whenever things didn't go his way help the jury to make their decision?" "It will help them to see why it was impossible for you to do more than you did to keep your children away from crime." "Yvonne," Jo suddenly said, remembering something from her conversation with Yvonne a year ago. "Do you remember what you said to me on the day you asked me to defend Lauren? You told me that once you marry someone like Charlie Atkins, you're in for life, and that the only way you get out is in a coffin." John winced. "Sounds like something I'd come out with," Yvonne said with a rueful smile. "I want you to tell that to the jury," Jo said quietly. "Now that, I can see the point of," Yvonne replied. "I just wish Lauren hadn't said what she did today, that's all." "It isn't your fault that Charlie Atkins treated you the way he did," John said firmly but gently. "I do hope that isn't pity I can see in your eyes, Judge," Yvonne said, unconsciously adopting the name Coope always gave him. "Not entirely," John said, thinking that it was more sympathy than pity but knowing she wouldn't like it. "Well, I don't want to see it," Yvonne said firmly. "I should have tried harder to stop Charlie raising his children the way he did, and I suppose the way both Ritchie and Lauren turned out is the result." "You cannot blame yourself for where your children have ended up," John insisted. "Oh, and you'd say that if it was your daughter in this mess, would you?" "George routinely blames my liberal attitude of bringing up our daughter for why she has occasionally taken the law in to her own hands, but I don't agree. We can only do our best for our children, no more, no less. What they do as a result is up to them, and if they end up on the wrong side of the law because of their actions, we do everything possible to help them, which is exactly what you've been doing ever since this happened." Yvonne was touched. She'd always known there was something different about this judge, ever since he'd been prepared to allow her to see her son on the day of his sentencing, and by the way he'd supported Karen both before and after Fenner's death. But here he was, talking to her about the highs and lows of parenting of all things. Laying a hand on Yvonne's shoulder, John briefly rubbed it, in an attempt to offer some sort of comfort for what she was going through. After a moment's silence, John fixed Jo with a mocking frown and said, "The thing that attracted me to your discussion, Mrs. Mills, was your clear disobedience of the no smoking rule which I know you are aware of in this building." "And as I said to Yvonne when she very kindly reminded me of it," Said Jo, also trying to lighten the communal mood. "Tough." "I'd like to see you say that to Lawrence James," John said with a laugh. "He's not one of those two pathetic little wankers who were in the gallery at Ritchie's trial, is he?" "A perfect description," John said with a smile. "though I really shouldn't be seen to be encouraging the use of such vocabulary when discussing the circuit administrator." When they left the witness room not long after, they met George and Karen in the foyer. "Are you all right?" Karen asked in concern. "I probably look about as well as you do," Yvonne said, taking in Karen's still pale expression. As Yvonne and Karen moved off together, clearly in search of a large scotch, the other three stood watching them. "Was Karen all right?" Jo asked. "She will be," Said George, wondering if her deeper involvement with Karen showed. Putting an arm around each of them, John said, "Can I have the pleasure of someone's company tonight? Preferably both of you?" "Forget it," Said George firmly, remembering the debacle of last night. "And I'm still not speaking to you after Tuesday," Jo said, though the little smile, combined with a wink that she gave George, told both of them she didn't really mean it. "You know," Said George in pretended disgust. "That's not the first time you've suggested having both our company at once." "It'd be fun," John said cajolingly. "Not a chance," Jo said firmly. "I'm not that way inclined." As they all walked out towards their cars, and Jo and John continued fondly bickering, George wondered what her blossoming fling with Karen would do to this three-way thing she had going with Jo and John. Above all, just how would Jo react to knowing that George definitely was that way inclined. 


	26. Part Twenty Six

Part Twenty Six  
  
Lauren's nerves were strung wire taut as she was escorted into the old bailey and took her place in the witness box.  
"Don't let that bastard pull you down, man." Denny's shining, trusting eyes and wide smile proclaimed her faith in her and did her best to reassure her. "You'll be fine once you get going. You're stronger than I am." I wish I had her confidence in me, she thought to herself. She can't see how scared I really am as she's thinking of me in the same way as mum, and I'm not her. While she took her place, these words of comfort felt painfully far away and hollow. She glanced up at the friendly faces in the gallery who were more tangible support. Who was that young man with that familiar smile, dressed in his habitual leather jacket and black trousers? She knew him from somewhere, her mind made the woozy half connection…..  
  
"But you're still my sister, and you weren't Charlie Atkins' protégé for nothing. The best shooter in the East End is my little sister." Those faint words were breathed across the empty space in those familiar tones, which she could not get out of her head. "But I don't want to be an Atkins, Ritchie," her voice answered him back. It cut through the still air and a row of bemused faces stared back at her in uncomprehending confusion. A spasm of panic ran through her like leaping fire as she fought for control.  
Karen's head abruptly turned ninety degrees to look sideways through George's body. For a split second, she too believed that Ritchie was present, being sure that he sat at the end of the row of women in the gallery. A young man was smiling at her with all his charms and of those men in her past and it was very real.  
"Whenever you are ready, Miss Atkins," John's sonorous voice from somewhere far above steadied her seesawing self-confidence with a sure and steady grip. At the same minute, John's very real voice unlocked her from her own mental prison cell. She ran her hand through a lock of hair to the side of her head and felt weak and clammy. Her own past had tried to briefly reclaim her before it faded and it was gone. George missed nothing of this and she squeezed Karen's hand as the real concern in her eyes failed to lock hold with Karen's distant stare. It was only after she drew breath that Karen felt slightly foolish and that next to her was her real world.  
  
Without any preamble, Neumann Mason-Alan launched into his attack.  
"Miss Atkins, how many times did your father smack you?" "Smacking? He lifted his hand to hit me but mum stepped in the way…." Lauren's sudden rush of words after her dazed first response barged her way through to partly refute Neumann Mason-Alan's crude reductionist approach. It fuelled to fury Karen, George and Roisin who, in common, knew the whole ghastly difference between Charlie Atkins' discipline and the way the average loving mother would react when driven to distraction. "No buts, Miss Atkins. So a reasonable person could conclude from that that your father, as a family man, was very sparing in his exercise of discipline and, within the narrow confines of the family setting, was no more physically aggressive to you than any other parent." "Objection, my lord," Jo stood up straight away. "The counsel for the prosecution is not so much attempting to lead the witness, as hijacking her testimony." "I agree. I direct the jury to totally disregard the last statement as so shall I in my deliberations." "I apologise, my lord. Let me put it a different way. From what you have said, would you say that from the one occasion when your father disciplined you, can you really say that he was more severe than any other parent?" "No, that's not true," Burst out Lauren. "Your direct testimony indicates otherwise. I leave it to the jury to decide." Neumann Mason-Alan smiled smugly.  
Jo seethed in silent anger. She might have known that an insensitive clod like him would pursue that line of argument. She hoped to god that the jury would see matters the same way.  
"We shall pass on to another matter. How old were you when you were first taught to shoot?" "Twelve," Came the sullen reply.  
"And how did you feel when your father first taught you to shoot?" A glazed expression passed over Lauren's face to Nikki's horrified and heartfelt sympathy. Her mouth slightly opened but her voice refused to speak. Her mind had gone blank.  
"Miss Atkins, you must answer the question." Neumann Mason-Alan was secretly overjoyed that the daughter of the notorious Eastend gangland family was starting to crack. It fuelled him on to keep pushing at her.  
"Are you well, Miss Atkins?" came that lifesaving, almost paternal voice. "Do you want a glass of water or a short break?" She nodded vigorously and a grateful smile slowly spread across her face giving her a curiously childlike appearance. A glass of water was placed in her hand by an usher and she swallowed a mouthful. Her arms rested against the rail and she stared at her feet for a few moments. Her two curtains of hair fell across her face for a few moments until her strength returned to her.  
"We have heard much in testimony about how you came to brutally murder James Fenner in cold blood…….." "Mr. Mason-Alan, it is incumbent upon you to prove to my satisfaction that you can sustain a line of questioning that does not transgress what I expect of a council in my court of law. Believe me, you shall most certainly see the inside of a remand cell if you continue to push your luck."  
  
George nodded approvingly of John's strong, masterful manner in court which, for once, wasn't directed at her. Only a cheap blundering fool like Neumann Mason-Alan could come out with such a crass, unfeeling outrageous line of questioning and expect to get away with it. Nikki judicially appraised the firmness of John's grip on the court and hand it to the guy. His very real compassion which fuelled his blistering anger spoke of someone after her own heart. On the other hand, Mr. Neumann Mason-Alan could hear the clanging cell door slam and he swallowed and sweated as John's eyes burnt with anger and contempt as much as his stinging words had done. "I am sorry, my lord, if I have offended you……Miss Atkins, I shall turn to a different matter. Can you tell me the name of the dog that Detective Inspector Sullivan referred to in evidence previously submitted when he came to arrest you." "His name is Trigger." "Ah, and might I ask you where the name came from? It strikes me as a very unusual name for a dog." "It was Charlie's choice. He got it from watching 'Only Fools and Horses' on TV. Where else did you think it came from." A ripple of laughter ran round the gallery as the absurdity of the scene before their eyes took away from the repressed anger that had been building up inside them. Most of them marvelled at Lauren's quick wittedness and smiled at the way that the truth was rather stretched. John's eyes and slightly amused smile glanced up at them as it appealed to his own impish sense of humour. If she had been crudely disrespectful, he would have taken her to task. He always had a weakness for style. "A dangerous name for a dangerous dog as DI Sullivan testified. Your explanation sounds rather implausible, does it not?" "Trigger? That dog's as stupid as the average policeman, and he's totally soft and harmless and that's why I miss him." Helen's full throated laugh led the chorus which cracked through the air for a few seconds before she fell into a coughing fit as she tried to restrain herself as did the others. It was ironical that the more disreputable part of the gallery comprised one wing governor, a one time acting governing governor, a club owner, a queen's council, a vicar's wife and a mother, all long used to setting a good example. Down in the court, Jo Mills grinned as Lauren Atkins was making a bigger fool of Neumann Mason-Alan than nature made him and Lauren Atkins was starting to hold her own.  
"The court has heard a variety of testimony, all telling the same story, about the way you approached the taking ……of James Fenner's life…" It was something that needed to be done."… "Lauren Atkins does not, in my professional opinion, feel a single ounce of guilt for what she has done", your brother's testimony that "you weren't Charlie Atkins' protégé for nothing. The best shooter in the East End is my little sister." DI Sullivan testifying that you "told him that you couldn't guarantee my safety with your Alsatian dog." the ample evidence that you single-mindedly stalked James Fenner over a prolonged period of time before taking his life. And finally, in your own words, you told the court how you deliberately set out single-handedly to abduct an experienced prison officer and deliberately set out to kill him. It all tells the same story. Can you deny this?" Lauren seemed to shrink inside herself as the barrister, with practiced theatrics, gradually wound himself up with synthetic anger.  
"Only, I wasn't myself when I did it." "Well, let the court see how you did do it, My lord, have I your permission to remove exhibit 1B, the gun that killed James Fenner, from its plastic bag?" At the nod of assent from John, the usher placed the gun in Lauren's hand, which wanted to shrink away from the slightest touch of a weapon, which she was all too familiar with. This lump of metal was something that, since then, had formed no part of her life. It caused a really chill feeling of fear to run round the gallery. Nikki was frozen with horror as a nightmare vision seared its way through her mind as if she were in the witness box and the broken glass bottle with which she had killed DS Gossard was to be placed into her own hand. George looked sideways and felt inexpressible sympathy for the way that Helen comforted Nikki with all the strength of her heart as she had comforted Karen. "Now, Miss Atkins, I assure you that the gun is not loaded, but can you demonstrate for the court, exactly what you did with the gun at the moment that you shot James Fenner." Lauren hesitated as her fingers tentatively touched the gun and seemed to extend themselves round it. The audience was expecting the gun to shake in the grip of such a nervous highly-strung woman but, curiously, her arm was steady and her eyes cold and hard. The aura emanating from her could be felt of cold rage. She lifted it and pointed the gun in a perfect line from her shoulder, down the length of her arm and the line of her gun pointed, not at Fenner's stomach, but directly at the head of the man who was facing her. She turned automatically sideways on and anyone with the slightest idea of body language could see that an assassin was in the witness box.  
"Now, Miss Atkins, aim the gun at my stomach, not my head. That wasn't how James Fenner was killed." The barrister spoke with a slightly shaking voice. He had long dealt with the circumstances of murder but this was the first time he had been on the receiving end, even in pretence.  
Lauren was stock still and her arm stayed utterly rigid. She made no outward response, even when the question was repeated. Roisin was utterly horrified that within that many-sided woman that she and Cassie knew and loved, this side of Lauren had come to the surface. She longed to rush over and fold her in her arms but the majesty of the law forbade her. Someone help her please, the massed thoughts screamed out.  
"Miss Atkins, can you describe just exactly who you are looking at?" John's melodious voice spoke at his gentlest.  
"Miss Atkins, who is in front of you? Please, I want to help you." He again spoke with all the power of his voice, shortening his sentences. Other times, his voice was a musical instrument, which he used consciously to entice a young and attractive woman into bed. On this occasion, only his voice and his alone could seep through the nightmare walls of Lauren's mind that had locked her in. He knew instinctively that he had to talk her down and the trial came second.  
"Charlie," came the slurred response.  
"You mean your father?" "You can call him that if you want," Came the icy response. "Where are you right now, Lauren?" "I'm in my mum's back garden." "How old are you?" John asked to Neumann Mason-Alan's bemusement. It was obvious where she was and how old she was. The women in the gallery were on emotional tenterhooks as thank God, the one man with the power had all the wisdom in the world that they respected.  
"I'm thirteen. Mum's out. I wish she would come home as it's my birthday treat today." A curiously childlike voice, higher in the register, spoke through the body of the slim woman. "Is there anyone with you, Lauren?" "Dad. He's teaching me something all Atkins kids have to learn," Intoned the words of Charlie in her childlike pitch of voice while her gun was trained on Neumann Mason-Alan's head. He was visibly sweating even though he knew that there was no bullet in the gun as he felt himself taken hostage.  
"What is your father telling you to do next?" John's melodious voice asked. Inwardly, he was horrified as, there but for fortune, his own Charlie might be that tortured woman.  
"He want's me to shoot Fenner." There was a loud click as she pressed the trigger. In an instant horrified moment, she could hear Fenner scream as she shot him in the stomach. She dropped the gun as if it were red hot and slumped sideways in the witness stand.  
"For God's sake, someone get help," John shouted in a state of real horrified compassion. "Court is adjourned." There was a total melee as Gina and Dominic rushed to help Lauren while the women in the gallery looked on helplessly in anguish. John put his head in his hands while tears ran down Jo's face. 


	27. Part Twenty Seven

Part Twenty Seven  
  
When they all filed out of court, Roisin had tears running down her face and George and Nikki simply looked shell-shocked. When they reached the outside, Karen lit Roisin a cigarette and gave it to her with a slightly shaking hand. "Will she be all right?" Roisin asked, trying to stifle her tears. "I don't know," Karen was forced to answer. Barbara put a comforting arm round Roisin's shoulders, for a moment playing the mother she'd never actually been. "She'll be looked after when she gets back to Larkhall," Barbara said gently. "Oh, what, like I was?" Asked Roisin in disgust. "I hope your officers take better care of Lauren than they ever did of me," She added, shooting a momentarily venomous glance in Karen's direction. "Don't do this, Roisin," Barbara pleaded. "You remember what happened to me?" Roisin asked Karen. "Yes, I do," Karen replied regretfully, remembering the tormented mother whose only answer had been to blot it all out with any narcotic substance she could lay her hands on. "It was Cassie who got me off the heroin, not anyone who worked on your bloody wing. Just please, don't let Lauren end up like that." George was slightly stunned on hearing that this pretty, vivacious mother of two had once been addicted to heroin, but she just about managed to keep her astonishment out of her face. Cassie soon appeared, catching the tail-end of Roisin's words. "Come on, Babe," She said cajolingly. "Karen will do her best for Lauren, like all of us are." "I'm sorry," Roisin said, looking aghast at the words that had poured from her moments earlier. "Come on," Said Cassie, taking Roisin's hand. "I'll take you home. We're not wanted again until Monday." As they walked towards their car, Nikki said, "Don't take what she said too much to heart." "True though, isn't it," Said Karen bitterly. "Me and my officers achieved absolutely sod all with Roisin. Cassie virtually did our job for us." "Karen will you listen to yourself for a minute," Helen said emphatically. "You know as well as I do that sometimes there's very little you can do. You remember Zandra, I lost count of the amount of times Dominic persuaded her to go in to detox, and every bloody time she gave up on it and us. The only thing that made her give up was when she had her baby, and because of the bloody system, she lost him as well." "And what was even more ridiculous about Zandra," Put in Barbara scornfully. "Was that when she did need drugs, when she was diagnosed with a brain tumour, she couldn't get them for love nor money. The only chance she had of not suffering day in day out was for Crystal to get some decent painkillers smuggled in." Nikki briefly smiled. "Yeah, and you growing cannabis in with the tomato plants." "Did you really?" Karen asked, a nervous grin breaking through. "Now I've heard everything," Said George, thinking that never again would she be surprised by anything she was told by these women. Middle-class, Mrs. Middle England herself growing cannabis so that an inmate with a brain tumour could have some decent pain relief. They were then approached by Dominic, jogging towards them from around the other side of the building. "Karen," He said, loping up the steps. "We've got a problem." "What's new eh, Dominic?" Helen asked, which brought a smile to his boyish features. "Helen," He said, "How're you doing?" "I hear you're keeping Sylvia in line these days," Helen said with a broad smile. "When she lets me," Dominic said ruefully. "But Sylvia's what we need to talk about," He said, turning to Karen. "Gina's with Lauren, and Yvonne's with her at the moment. The defence barrister came and found her as soon as they got out of court." "Is Lauren all right?" Asked Karen. "She will be. But we've got a problem back at the wing. Selena's on duty with Paula and Sylvia, but Sylvia's just gone off sick." "Any special reason?" Karen asked knowingly. "It is her niece's wedding this weekend," Dominic added with the faintest hint of a smile. "Bloody Sylvia!" Karen exclaimed. "Old Bodybag on the skive again," Said Nikki with a laugh. "If I had the time," Karen said meaningfully. "I'd give her a written warning. It's not the first time she's done this." "Why don't you just sack her?" Asked Nikki without preamble. "Because I don't want the POA on my back for unfair dismissal." Karen turned back to Dominic. "Sylvia was supposed to be on duty tomorrow, wasn't she?" "Yeah, with Collin. But who's going to do the night shift?" Then, seeing the look on Karen's face, he said, "I don't believe this. You've had three out of four of my weekends already this month," But it was said in the sort of friendly resignation that told Karen he didn't hold her personally responsible. "Take Lauren back to Larkhall now, then you and Gina go home and get some sleep and be back for ten tonight. Tell Paula to go home and that she'll be working the day shift with Collin this weekend." "But that'll mean Selena's on her own till ten tonight." "Then yours truly will have to step in, won't I? You're not the only one missing out on things they'd rather be doing, Dominic," Karen said, with a sideways look at George. "But Selena's got to go at eight, she told me when I spoke to her just now." "Well then, they'll have to have lock up early. I think I can manage two hours single handed if the entire wing's already locked up. But be even five minutes late and I'll wipe the floor with you." Flashing Karen a wide smile, Dominic retreated inside to make arrangements for transporting Lauren back to Larkhall. "Friday night on G wing all on your own," Said Nikki in amazement. "Are you mad?" "Almost certainly," Replied Karen tartly. "My level of insanity is without doubt Sylvia's fault." Then Yvonne appeared. "How's Lauren?" Karen asked her. Yvonne lit a much-needed cigarette. "I think she's all right now. But I wish I was going back with her. Gina's all right but I don't trust her to look after Lauren." "Well, Gina won't be," Said Karen, "I will." "Well, I know I don't need to tell you how to do your job," Said Yvonne looking slightly more at ease. "But will you put Lauren on fifteen minute watch. I don't trust her not to do something stupid, and I'm not putting the responsibility for keeping her out of harm's way on Denny." "Don't worry," Said Karen, knowing how feeble it sounded. "I'll make sure someone keeps an eye on her, probably me." "Thanks, sweetheart," Yvonne said, giving Karen a quick kiss on the cheek. When Yvonne, Barbara, Nikki and Helen had walked away towards their cars, Karen said, "I'm sorry, but as you heard, I'm not going to be able to see you this evening." "And it sounds as though you could do with a break from that place," George said, slipping her hand in to Karen's and giving it a quick squeeze. "Sylvia ought to be the one getting the break," Said Karen furiously. "Preferably to her nose." "Now that really would get you some action from her union," George said with a laugh. Then turning serious, she said, "As mental as it sounds, would you like some company during your two hour solo stint this evening?" Karen stared at her totally gobsmacked. "Are you serious?" She said. "Perfectly," George replied. "Grayling will have my guts for garters if he finds out." "So don't tell him," Was George's clipped reply. Karen's smile broadened. "I do hope you know what you've let yourself in for," She said, taking a quick look round to make sure they weren't being observed and giving George a quick kiss on the mouth. "It can't be any worse than my last visit," George said, making the fatal of all errors to assume that a Friday night on G wing couldn't possibly be anything other than mundane.  
  
They began lock up at seven thirty that evening, half an hour earlier than usual. Karen had tried to spend some time with Lauren during the afternoon, but with only her and Selena on duty, this hadn't been as successful as she would have liked. The inmates weren't happy at being banged up half an hour early, but Karen promised them they could have an extra half-hour at association tomorrow. "But Miss, it's a Friday," Julie J protested. "Which is exactly why Sylvia's gone on the skive," Karen told them without a second thought. "So this is Bodybag's fault?" Denny wanted to make sure. "Well and truly," Said Karen, not feeling the slightest bit of remorse that Sylvia would be in for a lot of flack when she did return. Once all the inmates were finally behind their doors, Karen and Selena breathed a sigh of relief. "Am I glad that's over," Karen said as they retreated to the officers' room. "They aren't happy with being banged up early," Selena said ruefully. "They'll get over it," Said Karen matter-of-factly. "Let them take it out on Sylvia when she gets back on Monday." "Are you going to be all right on your own for two hours?" Selena asked in genuine concern. "I won't be," Said Karen, "Someone is coming to keep me company." She couldn't help smiling as she said this. Selena's eyes widened. "Oh," She said knowingly. "That sort of company." "Who knows," Karen replied. "Is it only Lauren Atkins who's on fifteen minute watch?" "Yes," Said Selena, turning serious. "Darlene's still down the block till tomorrow, so you shouldn't have any problems with her." Just then, the phone rang. "G wing," Karen said as she answered. It was Ken at the gate-lodge. "I've got someone here for you Ma'am," He said. "Says her name's George Channing." "Give me two minutes, Ken, and I'll be right down," Karen said, dropping the receiver back in its cradle and walking towards the door. "I won't be long," She said over her shoulder to Selina who was filling in the report book.  
  
George had a feeling of anticipation as she drove towards Larkhall. What the hell was she doing in volunteering to spend two hours on G wing? But having offered, there was no way that she was going to back out now. As she drew up in front of the gate-lodge, she was reminded of how her handbag had been searched last time she'd been here. Blushing slightly at the contents she knew it now held, she left it safely in her car. Not for anything in the world was she about to have anyone discover that she had concealed a toothbrush and a spare pair of knickers in one of its many pockets in the hope that she might be able to go through with what she had avoided on Wednesday. When Karen appeared, she looked calm, collected and not at all frazzled. "Don't let the number one see you looking like that," Said Ken with a grin when he saw her. "Or he'll think you can run G wing single handed all the time." "Well, it's about time he tried it," Karen said as she walked up to George. "Are you ready for this?" She asked in lieu of a more affectionate greeting. "Because the natives are very restless tonight." "When did I ever refuse a challenge?" George asked with a wide smile as they walked through the first set of gates. "We need to make a slight detour," Karen said as they made their way towards her office rather than directly to the wing. "I've run out of cigarettes, and if need be, I will resort to bribery and corruption to keep them quiet tonight." "That seems to be a common addiction with nearly everyone I've met this week." "If they don't when they first arrive, they very soon start," Said Karen matter-of-factly. "All except Barbara. I think she only resisted it out of sheer stubbornness." As Karen let them in to her office and switched on the light, George grinned. "This might be a stupid question," She said, her grin becoming broader. "But is there a vaguely sensible reason why you've got a water pistol displayed to perfection on the top of your filing cabinet?" Karen laughed. "Not long after your imposed visit, Denny somehow got this smuggled in, very likely with the help of Yvonne. Halloween that year was Sylvia's idea of hell. When she's becoming particularly infuriating, I do occasionally allow it to find its way back on to the wing." "So after her performance today it'll be back on the wing some time next week then?" "Good idea," Karen said, retrieving a couple of packets of cigarettes from her desk drawer and picking up the water pistol. "I'll give it to Denny some time tonight." As they walked towards the wing, they could hear the unmistakable sounds of the women calling to each other, giving declarations of love, shouting words of consolation to each other or exchanging insults. As Karen opened and then relocked the final gate leading on to G wing, George felt a sincere rush of gratitude that this time, Alison McKenzie was well and truly locked behind a cell door somewhere. When they walked in to the officers' room, Selena looked up. "George Channing, Selena Geeson," Karen said, introducing them. "I see Sylvia's in line for another dose of mayhem," Selena said, nodding at the water pistol, which Karen put down on the coffee table. "She couldn't have chosen a worse time to leave us in the lurch," Said Karen in disgust. "If this could find its way in to either the Julies' or Denny's cell some time over the weekend, it might just teach her a lesson when she comes back on Monday." "There's one other thing you might want to check on," Said Selena. "I think Al McKenzie's dealing again. When I went to check on Lauren Atkins just now, Al was shouting to Denny to send up the swinger, and Al's been acting far too pleased with life ever since Darlene was sent down the block. I think she might have got hold of whatever Darlene had stashed." "Oh, bloody marvelous," Karen said raising her eyes to the ceiling. "Otherwise, all's quiet, or at least as quiet as it ever is on a Friday night." "Well, wherever you're off to, I'm sure it'll be more fun than here." As they watched Selena walk out of the office and heard her go through the first set of gates, Karen said, "So, that's a Friday night on G wing for you, all fairly run of the mill." George came towards her, seeing that whilst Karen might be making light of it on the surface, the strain of having to do several peoples jobs was getting to her. George didn't need to say anything, she just put her arms round Karen and kissed her. "Do you have any idea how much I've needed that all day?" Karen said when they eventually broke apart. "About as much as I have," Said George with a smile. "I need to check on Lauren," Said Karen, glancing at the clock. "She's on fifteen minute watch. Only one tonight, thank god." As they walked across the wing, George said, "How was Lauren when she got back here?" "Quiet, didn't really want to talk to anyone. Thomas gave her something to make her sleep, so checking on her every fifteen minutes is probably just a formality, but it still has to be done." They reached the door of Denny and Lauren's cell, and Karen gestured for George to stay where she was. On opening the door, Karen was greeted to the sight of Denny leaning out of the cell window, trying to throw the swinger up on to the upper landing. At the sound of the door opening, Denny looked round. "Hand it over," Karen said without any preamble. "Hand what over, Miss?" Denny asked, trying to look as innocent as possible. "The swinger," Karen said firmly. "Now," She added in the tone that only Shell had ever ignored. Denny reluctantly drew it in through the tiny window and handed it over. "Who was this going up to?" Denny didn't answer. "Alison McKenzie by any chance?" "Miss," Denny complained, "She only wanted to borrow it. She wasn't sending anything down to me." "Is she dealing?" "Miss, I ain't no grass, you know that." "Do you want to spend the weekend down the block?" "No." "Then start talking." "Al wound Darlene up so that she'd end up down the block, and then Al nicked her stash." "So why involve you?" "I'm king of the swing, innit," Said Denny almost proudly. "Well not tonight you're not," Karen said, tucking the makeshift swinger under her arm. "How long's Lauren been asleep?" She asked, looking over at where the black hair fell over the pillow as Lauren slept soundly in the bottom bunk. "For about half an hour. The doc gave her something to make her sleep." "I'll see you later," Karen said as she closed the cell door behind her. "Why are drugs such a problem?" George asked as they crossed the empty association area. "Mainly because we can no longer internally search the inmates, thank god. But it means that it's far too easy for them to smuggle drugs in on admission." George stayed quiet until they were back in the office and Karen had put the kettle on for some coffee. "What happened to Roisin?" She asked, lighting a cigarette. "A mother kept separated from her children because her husband refused to bring them to see her, almost forced to confront her sexuality because she was sharing a cell with her lover, couldn't handle it and blotted out the pain with whatever she could lay her hands on." "Is that why a lot of the women end up on drugs?" "It's a common enough factor, but a substantial amount of them are already addicted when they come in here, and getting them to even contemplate the idea of going through detox is probably one of the hardest jobs we do." They sat talking, smoking and drinking their coffee, Karen slipping out twice more to check on Lauren, at eight fifteen and eight thirty. On her second visit she took the water pistol with her, leaving it with Denny and asking her to leave using it until Sylvia was back.  
  
But at about twenty to nine, the sky fell in. When the alarm began bleeping in the officers' room, Karen looked at the screen, which displayed the cell from which the call was coming from. Flicking the alarm off, Karen could hear the unmistakable sound of Tina crying out for anyone to help. There was no mistaking Tina's words, even from this distance. "Miss! Miss!" She was calling, "It's Buki, she's cut up again." "Oh, Buki, no!" Karen groaned in fear of what she might have to deal with, and her being the only officer on the wing. "What?" Asked George, not at first taking in the sheer enormity of what had happened. Grabbing an overall from the back of the door and shrugging in to it, Karen grabbed the first aid box and made for the door. "If I'm not very much mistaken," She said to George over her shoulder. "Buki Lester's chosen this of all nights to take a razor to herself again." Looking aghast, George followed her as she sprinted across the wing, simultaneously trying to keep hold of the first aid box and pull on a pair of surgical gloves. Reaching the door to the four-bed dorm, she dropped the first aid box on the floor and unwrapped a second pair of surgical gloves. "Why two pairs?" George asked, appearing next to her. "Because I can't remember what Buki's HIV status is," Karen said as she unlocked the door. Standing on the threshhold, she surveyed the scene. Buki was lying on the top bunk on the left, her arms on top of the bedclothes, and a stream of blood was spurting in an arc up at the ceiling and across the wall. Its steady, rhythmical beat told Karen that Buki had this time hit an artery. "Jesus Christ," She said quietly. Then, thrusting out an arm to prevent George from getting any closer, she moved to stand next to the bunk beds and clamped a hand over the gash in Buki's left wrist. Looking back at George she said, "Go back to the office, ring Dr. Waugh and tell him to get down here. Tell him Buki Lester's cut up again, but badly this time. Tell him he's going to need to deal with her here because I don't think she can be moved before something's done about her wrist, and tell him to bring a defibrillator just in case, and when you've done that, find Buki Lester's file because we'll need to know her blood group and HIV status." It was only after saying all this that Karen noticed Tina, standing in the corner of the cell, crying her eyes out and just staring at the blood still coming, though much slower, from Buki's arm. "And get her out of here," Karen said, gesturing to Tina. Moving forward and taking Tina's arm, George led her out of the cell and back to the office.  
  
Once there, she ran her eyes down the list of extension numbers pinned to the wall above the phone, and rang Thomas, telling him that Karen Betts required his presence on G wing, and filling him in as to everything Karen had asked her to tell him. Thomas didn't recognise the cultured, clearly upper-class voice but he paid it no mind as he said he was on his way. Tina was sitting in one of the armchairs, her tears gradually decreasing. George tugged at the top drawer of the filing cabinet, but it was locked. Hoping Tina would be all right for a moment, George ran back across the wing, now finding out why high heels weren't a recommended part of the dress code, and poked her head round the door of the four-bed dorm. "Dr. Waugh's on his way," She said, seeing that Karen was trying to wrap a sheet around the wound in Buki's arm as a temporary measure. "But I can't find the file without the keys to the filing cabinet." Unclipping the keys from her belt, Karen threw them to George who caught them and left. Back in the office, she unlocked the filing cabinet and began flipping through the files. Atkins, Blood, Buxton, Cake, Johnston, then finally she hit on Lester. Quickly finding the information she was after, she walked out of the office, only to see Thomas Waugh accompanied by a couple of nurses unlocking the gate on to the wing. Walking up to her, Thomas said, "Is Buki still in the four bed dorm?" "Yes," Replied George. "And can you tell Karen that Buki's blood group is A- and that her HIV status is recorded as negative." Thomas gave her a brief smile and made his way toward the open cell door.  
  
When George returned to the office, Tina was helping herself to the box of tissues on the coffee table. "Will Buki be all right?" She asked, believing that George had all the answers. "I don't know," Said George truthfully. "Buki's done this loads of times before," Said Tina, wrapping her dressing-gown more tightly round herself. "But it ain't ever been this bad." "Would you like a cup of tea?" George asked, feeling as useless as it's possible to feel. She didn't know the first thing about comforting anyone. "Yes please," Tina said, liking this beautiful woman who she'd never seen before. "What's your name?" "George," Said George, filling the kettle and hunting for teabags. "I'm Tina." "Yes, I know," Said George, remembering the last time she'd seen Tina, on the last day she'd visited Larkhall. "You're Maxi Purvis's sister, aren't you." "Yeah, that's right," Said Tina, a slight frown of concentration knitting her brows. "Hang on," She said, "I have seen you before. Ain't you the barrister who defended Snowball, the one Al tried to start a fight with?" George stood perfectly still, the bottle of milk poised in mid air. "Yes, that's right," She said, wondering just what can of worms this might open. "Don't worry," Tina said, seeing George's look of slight trepidation. "I ain't going to finish what Al started. I'm not really the fighting type. Al just likes any excuse to take her anger out on someone. It was stupid her doing that because you defended Snowball. I remember the Julies telling her at the time that we all have to do things we don't like to make a living sometimes. Let's face it, the Julies wouldn't have worked in one of Virginia's knocking shops if they didn't have to, now would they." Tina didn't seem to expect an answer, and George began to wonder if Tina's constant chatter was a sign of delayed shock or whether this was normal for her. Putting a steaming mug of tea down in front of her, George offered her a cigarette. "Thanks," Tina said with something approaching a smile. "How did you know about Maxi?" She asked after taking a long drag. "She cropped up in a case I was working on for a time," George said evasively. "When you said Virginia," She continued, trying to draw Tina away from discussing her sister. "Did you mean Virginia O'Kane?" Tina allowed a soft smile to touch her face. "Yeah. Virginia was beautiful, nowhere near as beautiful as you are, but lovely. But she lied to all of us, and that ain't something that gets forgiven very easily in here. She was in a wheelchair when she first came here, but then we found out that there was nothing wrong with her. She did it to get a lighter sentence. Then Al and Maxi killed her, and that split me and Maxi up for good. Virginia might have lied to everyone, but she didn't deserve to die, and not like that. Only I left it too late didn't I. I only decided to make things up with Maxi when she was already dead. Maxi killed herself, and I just don't want Buki to do the same," She said, her face crumpling once more in to tears. "You don't know she will," George said, putting a hand over Tina's and giving it a squeeze. "Ever since Maxi died, in here's all the family I've got," Said Tina, grabbing another handful of tissues from the box. "So if you think they're going to leave you, it's like there might one day be no one left." "What about your parents?" George asked tentatively. "When I went to Maxi's funeral, my dad said he didn't want anything more to do with me. I think he thought it was my fault that Maxi had killed herself. Maxi was the beautiful one, the clever one, and I was the fat and stupid one. He never used to come to visit me, just Maxi, and I know he wishes I was dead instead of her. I ain't seen him since she died." George really didn't know what to say. A combined feeling of anger and pain rose up in her for how this clearly vulnerable young girl had been treated by her father and by the system. Glancing over at the clock, she saw that the hands were pointing to nine o'clock. This reminded her of something. "Will you be all right, just for a few minutes?" She asked. "I've got to check on someone." "Lauren?" Tina asked. "Yeah, I'm okay." "Don't move," George said gently but firmly. "Or Karen, Miss Betts, will have me demoted."  
  
Picking up the bunch of keys, George walked across the wing, and stopped outside the door to Denny and Lauren's cell. Sending up a silent prayer that nothing terrible was about to happen to her, she fitted the key in the lock and opened the door. Lauren still looked to be sound asleep, but Denny was sitting up in the corner of the top bunk reading a magazine. When the door opened, Denny looked over, expecting to see Karen, but was confronted by the most beautiful blond she'd ever seen. "I've come to check on Lauren," George said, moving in to the cell. "She's still zonked out, innit," Denny said. "What's going on with Buki?" "I don't know if I'm supposed to tell you," George said, immediately giving the game away that she wasn't any bona fide prison officer though Denny had managed to work this out from the lack of uniform. Denny took a moment to look this fancy piece up and down, thinking she'd seen her somewhere before. That was it, she was the one who'd been here that day when Al started kicking off. "Has Buki been cutting up again?" Denny asked. "I think so," George said evasively. "Jesus," Said Denny in disgust. "She'll have no friggin arms left if she ain't careful. Is that why you're filling in for the Gov?" George smiled. "Yes. What are you reading?" She asked, gesturing to the magazine. "Anything I can get my hands on," Replied Denny. "I'm trying to learn to read proper, innit, doing a course for learning what they call basic skills. Only I run out of stuff to practice on and we're not allowed up to the library again till Monday." "I think I saw a newspaper in the office," Said George. "Will that do you?" "Yeah, cheers, man," Said Denny with a wide smile. As George retreated through the door and made to close it, Denny said, "Oy, posh bitch," And when George poked her head round the door, Denny said, "You're all right, man." As George walked across the wing she couldn't help but smile. That was probably the most genuine compliment she'd received in a long time.  
  
When George re-entered the office, she saw that Tina was calmly eating her way through a packet of chocolate fingers. Finishing the one she was eating, Tina said, "They're only Bodybag's, Miss Betts wouldn't mind." Rolling her eyes, George began filling in the report book on Lauren's nine o'clock visit. Noticing that both Karen and Selena had simply added their initials after doing the same thing, she found herself appending the letters GC at the end of her note. When the time came for her to do the next fifteen-minute check on Lauren, George picked up the newspaper she'd seen earlier, and took it along to Denny. "Cheers, man," Denny said as George handed her the paper. "Should keep me going for about a week." "Would you like a cigarette?" George asked, retrieving them from her pocket. Denny accepted one gratefully. After lighting it, Denny asked, "So, are you the Gov's new bird then?" "You'll have to ask her that," Replied George with a secretive little smile. "Have you seen any of Lauren's trial?" This was an easier question to answer. "Yes, I've seen most of it so far." "Is she going to get off?" "I've got absolutely no idea," George said gently. "One thing I've learnt in my time as a barrister, is that you can never rely on a jury to do the right thing. There's almost more certainty in tossing a coin than there is in trying to predict what a jury will do." George then heard what sounded like one of the Julies shouting out of the window from the cell above. This was easily heard as the cell windows were rarely shut tight, providing ventilation and a means of communicating. "You got company down there, Den?" Shouted Julie Saunders. Swinging herself down from the bunk, Denny stuck her head out of the window. "Yeah," She shouted back. "What's going on down there, Den?" "Buki's cut up again." "So who've you got with you? 'Cos that ain't Lauren you was talking too." "Posh bitch," Denny replied, flashing a quick grin over her shoulder at George. "Who?" "Posh Bitch," Denny annunciated clearly. "The best looking bird I've seen in here in years." Leaving her in mid flow, George retreated and locked the door. Just as she reached the office, Thomas, Karen and the two nurses appeared, the nurses wheeling Buki on a trolley. "As soon as you get there hook her up to a pint of A- blood," Thomas was saying. "I'll be down as soon as I've dealt with the paperwork." The nurses wheeled Buki away through the wing gates and Karen and Thomas came towards her, both liberally spattered in blood and pulling off their gloves and overalls, the latter not having provided much in the way of protection for their clothes. "Good god," Said George when Karen came up to her. "The pair of you look like something out of Phantom of the Opera." They thrust their gloves and overalls in to a bin liner for biologically hazardous waste that Thomas had obviously brought with him. "George, this is Dr. Thomas Waugh," Karen said, "and Thomas, this is George Channing." "Aha," Said Thomas in dawning realisation. "So, you're the owner of the wonderfully cultured voice who phoned me." George smiled. "Yes," She said. "Will Buki be all right?" "After a couple of pints of the right blood type and a while for the cuts to heal, yes, she should be." Then he turned to Karen. "But this can't be allowed to happen again. We've got to persuade her in to some sort of therapy." "Rather you than me," Karen said. "I've tried a dozen times but she just won't have any of it." "Then it's time we both tried harder," Said Thomas with utter conviction. Tina was sitting quietly listening to all this. But when Karen suddenly said, "Shit, I forgot about Lauren. But then I suppose even Grayling couldn't expect me to be in two places at once." George was about to tell Karen what she'd done, but Tina got there before her. "George did it," She said, immediately drawing everyone's attention to her. "Did you really?" Asked Thomas, clearly impressed. "That's Miss Channing to you, Tina," Said Karen, but with a smile. "Oh, no," Tina said in complete assurance. "She said I could call her George." "My wing seems to be running itself quite happily without me," Karen said giving George a broad smile. "I missed the eight forty-five visit, but I've filled in the nine and nine fifteen slots," George said, gesturing to the report book. "And Denny was running out of reading material so I gave her the newspaper that was in here." "Dominic will love you," Karen said dryly. "But thank you," She added seriously. Whilst Karen went to the ladies' to try to clean herself up a bit and to do what she could to remove the blood spatters from the front of her blouse, Thomas left on his way to the hospital wing, and George went to do the nine thirty check on Lauren, who was still sound asleep, having been totally unaware of anything going on around her. When she returned, Karen looked as clean as possible under the circumstances, except for the front of her clothes. "Is Buki going to be all right, Miss?" Tina asked. "I hope so," Replied Karen, always going with the philosophy that as much truth as possible avoided problems later. Not long after this, they heard the unmistakable sound of two people letting themselves through the gate on to the wing. A moment later, Gina and Dominic appeared in the office doorway. "Jesus," Said Gina, her eyes widening when she saw Karen. "What happened to you?" "Buki Lester happened to me," Replied Karen. "She's in the hospital wing for the next few days." "You look like something out of Silence of the Lambs," Said Gina thoughtfully. "Yeah, well, that is quite enough of the theatrical analogy for one night," Karen said tartly. "I don't believe we've met," Gina said, looking straight at George. "George Channing," Said Karen, looking between the three of them. "Gina Rossi and Dominic McAllister." "Do I detect a little bit of unauthorised company?" Asked Gina with a broad smile. "Well, be bloody glad I did have some unauthorised company as you put it," Replied Karen. "If I hadn't, Buki might very well be dead now." At a gasp from Tina, Karen turned an apologetic gaze on her. "Oh, Tina, I'm sorry," She said, the tiredness creeping in to her voice. Then something seemed to occur to her. Turning to the enormous notice board that showed at a glance where every inmate on the wing was housed, there being a printed chart of cell numbers with the inmates' names on cards that could be moved about and repined in new places, Karen began to look thoughtful. "Are you trying to work out where to put me?" Asked Tina. "Yes, and it's going to be something of a problem," Karen mused. "The entire wing's full tonight. We're lucky Darlene's down the block." "It's a good job Darlene wasn't here tonight," Said Dominic with a rueful shrug. "Why?" This came from George who had no idea who they were talking about. "Darlene's one of the most obnoxious cons I have ever had to deal with," Said Gina bluntly. Then looking at George, she added, "She's got more muscle than Mike Tyson and is about a foot taller than you." George couldn't help her eyes widening, and wholeheartedly agreed with Dominic that yes, it was a very good thing Darlene had been down the block this evening. "Is the four bed dorm really that bad?" Asked Dominic. "You were on holiday the night Jim was stabbed," Karen said matter-of-factly. "So you won't remember what Dockley's cell looked like afterwards, but the four bed dorm does hold a certain resemblance to it." As if only just realising what she'd said, Karen looked aghast. "Sorry," She said mildly. "Not the best similarity to draw under the circumstances." "I think you need to go home, have a very large drink and go to bed," Gina said gently, but with a little wink in George's direction. Karen privately agreed. "Why don't we dig out the spare mattress and put Tina in with one of the lifer's up on G3?" "I would like Tina to be with someone who'll look after her, not someone who'll give her a hit of crack the moment the door's locked," Said Karen disgustedly. "What about Natalie Buxton?" Said Dominic. "She doesn't do drugs." "I am not putting Tina in with Natalie Bloody Buxton," Said Karen firmly. "Why not?" George asked, feeling like the proverbial five-year-old who can't say anything else. "Because they all think she's a nonce," Replied Tina quietly, reminding them all she was still there. "Oy, sex offender if you don't mind," Gina said reprovingly. "You know what she's in for, Tina," Karen said wearily. "That don't mean she's guilty though, does it," Put in Tina. "I am not having this discussion with you now," Said Karen decisively. "I'll ask the Julies if you can kip in with them tonight. At least they aren't likely to introduce you to anything more addictive than smoking." Picking up an unopened packet of cigarettes, Karen escorted Tina out of the office and up on to the 2's and in to the comforting harmony of the Julies' cell.  
  
Back downstairs, Dominic began looking through the report book. "GC," He queried, "Is that you?" He said, looking at George. "Yes," She replied. "Karen was otherwise engaged with Buki and Dr. Waugh, so I did Lauren Atkins' fifteen minute watch for her." "Do you want to take up this job full time?" Asked Dominic with a smile. "At least your writing's readable, not like Sylvia's." George laughed. "It doesn't pay as well as my day job," She admitted sheepishly. "Oh, and what is your day job?" Asked Gina, lighting a cigarette. "I'm a barrister," George replied, definitely liking these two of Karen's colleagues. "Oh, so that's why you were at court today," Said Dominic, suddenly remembering where he'd seen her before. "Sort of," Said George, not quite knowing how to explain her presence in the Lauren Atkins trial. "You known our feisty wing governor long then?" Asked Gina, a wicked little smirk turning up the corners of her mouth. George looked slightly flustered. "A while," She answered lamely. Just then Karen appeared. "Apart from Buki making mincemeat of herself again," Asked Gina in her tactless, ever to the point manner. "Is there anything else we ought to know." "Yes," Said Karen. "Alison McKenzie's dealing again. I want her given a drugs test at first unlock, as well as a thorough cell spin. You'll need to get someone in to professionally clean the four bed dorm, and whoever's on duty tomorrow needs to give it a thorough going over before we let anyone back in there. I don't want Buki Lester coming back on to the wing only to use a razor we didn't find because we didn't bother to look. Keep Darlene down the block until the cell's fit for habitation again, and Tina can stay in with the Julies for tonight. But I want that cell sorted tomorrow. Lauren Atkins as you know is on fifteen minute watch, and as irritating as I know this will be, I don't want her coming off fifteen minute watch until after the trial is over." "You'll be bloody lucky," Said Gina. "Sylvia will have a fit." "Good," Said Karen curtly. "Let her get off her arse and do some bloody work for a change, when she's back that is. I'll be back in on Sunday because we've got quite a few inmates down for visits this weekend so we'll need the extra help. I was planning to go to court on Monday, but I want to talk to Buki, if she's up to it by then, and I want to read Sylvia the riot act." "Will you sell tickets?" Asked Gina with a laugh. Karen grinned. "She does this again and I just might."  
  
As Karen and George walked through the long, endless corridors, George said, "Well, not quite the Friday night I had planned, but it was certainly anything but dull." "I'm sorry you had to be flung in to the middle of it," Karen said, stopping and turning to face her. "But I did appreciate you being there, and if I didn't look like I ought to be on trial for murder, I'd give you a hug right here and now." George smiled. "That would give your staff something to talk about." "They've been discussing my private life ever since I became their wing governor. I'm told it's part of a PO's job description." As they carried on walking, Karen attempted to formulate what she wanted to ask. "However I say this," She said eventually. "It's going to come out all wrong, but would you like to come home with me? I can't promise there's much resembling dinner in my fridge, but I'm sure I could rustle something up." Slipping a hand briefly in to Karen's, George smiled up at her. "Of course I would like to come home with you," She said, pulling Karen to a stop, and in the darkness of the corridor, she reached up to plant a quick kiss on Karen's lips. When they reached the gate-lodge and Karen handed over her keys, Ken said, "I heard about Buki. Did they manage to save her?" "Yes, we did," Said Karen, suddenly feeling an urge to sleep for a week. "But she might be going to the nearest hospital if she gets any worse." "Yeah, that's what the doc told me," Said Ken as he let them out in to the January darkness. As George followed Karen's tail-lights out of the prison car park, she was forced to acknowledge that never in her whole life had she learnt quite so much about human nature in such a short time. Having seen what one girl and a razor blade could do, having been accorded the title of Posh Bitch, and having comforted a vulnerable young woman who's father despised her for not being her sister, George reflected that never again would she judge anyone on face value. She had learnt more tonight than any of her father's books could teach her, than any of John's utterly self-righteous lectures or any of Charlie's belief/driven protests could teach her. In these last couple of hours, she had learnt what it was to have an enormous amount of respect for someone. Karen had helped to save someone's life tonight, and she appeared to accept it as just another, thankfully rare part of the job. When had John and all his endless philosophising ever done anything like that? Never. 


	28. Part Twenty Eight

Part Twenty-Eight  
  
A panicky 'get me out of here' compulsion propelled Yvonne to turn her back on the Old Bailey, leaving Karen who was still chatting to George. She took short rapid strides along the pavement at a breakneck speed to put as much distance between heme as they were further away than she had first thought from Nikki's carrying voice.  
"I've not been young for years. I'm smaller than the rest of you," Babs puffed, her face flushed.  
Yvonne's face split into a wide grin at the three out of breath women.  
"We wouldn't think of leaving you to go off on your own. Old friends like us are here for you anytime you want." Tears sprang into Yvonne's eyes at Helen's simple touching words from her heart. These days, feelings came easily enough to the surface, maybe making up for lost tim voice.  
"I've not been young for years. I'm smaller than the rest of you," Babs puffed, her face flushed.  
Yvonne's face split into a wide grin at the three out of breath women.  
"We wouldn't think of leaving you to go off on your own. Old friends like us are here for you anytime you want." Tears sprang into Yvonne's eyes at Helen's simple touching words from her heart. These days, feelings came easily enough to the surface, maybe making up for lost time when her point of pride was never to let anyone see her cry, no matter how hard things got. When she was with Charlie and was bringing up her kids, there was never the time somehow and it was her pride and strength that had got her through the rough times. It only stopped making sense when she first realised that she had friends to go to who were only a cell block or two away. "It's up to you, Yvonne. We don't want to impose if you've got other plans or if you're not up to it but Helen and I were wondering if you wanted company tonight," Nikki asked hesitantly accompanied by Helen's emphatic nod of agreement.  
"There's nothing I want more. What say you all come round to my gaff and I'll cook for you all." Yvonne's spirits soared as this unexpected good news would fill the house with those whom she was fondest of and would chase away the threatening winter shadows.  
"I'd love to come, Yvonne, but Henry's not very well today. Some sort of three day wonder flu bug. I feel guilty if I'm leaving him on his own for too long. Another time, certainly." "Give my love to the Reverend and hope he gets better." Just then, Yvonne's mobile bleeped and her fingers fumbled their way through the contents of her handbag to her phone at the bottom and fished it out. The others were all cheered up and listened to the conversation.  
"Hey, Crystal……..Yeah, Lauren's finished on the stand for today….she survived, that's the best you can say but I'd sooner not talk about it too much…….I don't suppose you and Josh are up for a bit of company tonight, my place ….you mean you're getting a bit stircrazy of being stuck at home with the kids, tell me about it…….we've got Helen and Nikki to help look after the kids and I can rustle up some spare beds….oh, yeah, one's small enough for Zandra and you've got Daniel's carrycot…….bleeding hell, sounds like you're organising a trip to the Himalayas…….so long as we don't talk about the trial and have a few laughs, that's fine….see you at seven." Nikki looked a little doubtful at the idea Yvonne mapped out but Helen was pleased.  
The trial had swallowed up all of them in its intensity and close concentration. Everything was riding on Lauren's future. They blinked at the thin sunshine and biting wind of a winter's day and told them they had half a day to kill. They all felt as if they were bunking off school, unaccustomed as they all were to be around on the streets of London in this time of the day. It was time to move on from there.  
  
Josh drove their grey Audi onto the front drive outside Yvonne's house and stared at it open mouthed and next at the red Ferrari parked nearby. This place was out of this world compared with which the clutter of their possessions felt downmarket. Crystal was the bolder of the two as the Lord had given her the pride in herself to hold her head up high. Besides, Yvonne was Yvonne wherever she was and would no more change than Jesus's disciples. It was on a more practical level that the clutter that accompanied a family outing such a formidable matter of organisation. First Crystal edged Daniel out of the rear side door, still asleep in his carrycot and placed it on the ground while Josh unclipped Zandra from out of her little self enclosed car seat from which she had proudly looked around at the passing scenery. Even after that, the many soft toys, teddy bears and the one hundred things that accompany babies and small children needed scooping together in all the holdalls.  
"Want a hand?" a very familiar pleasant Scottish voice right behind Josh made him jump a mile. "Yeah, but I don't know where to start, Miss Stewart," His uniform reaction to her and his nerves took over.  
"It's Helen now," Came her friendly reply accompanied by her strong handshake.  
"Do you want us just to dive in and pack whatever there is in these holdalls?" Nikki's tactful contribution mentally sorted through the clutter. "Have you brought your guitar by any chance, Crystal?" "Yeah and it's in the boot," Crystal's shorthand reply spoke of the busy mother who wished that she only had one pair of hands to sort out all the demands on her.  
Josh led Zandra by the hand leaning over so that the little toddler didn't have to reach to high up for him and crystal took Daniel inside in his carrycot and two willing pack mules carted the rest of the belongings inside, including Crystal's guitar.  
  
Yvonne's eyes lighted first on the wide brown innocent eyes in the centre of the tangle of black curls that belonged to Zandra as her form, dressed in dungarees and a cardigan tottered in ahead of the others. A more perfect mix of Josh's good looks and Crystal's African Queen persona could not be imagined. When Crystal appeared with her carrycot, this was a double treat.  
Long ago instincts were sharply revived that saw Zandra balenced on Yvonne's knee and, likewise, the little game with her fingers of "here is the church, here is the steeple," that caused the little girl to giggle happily. Trigger was not one to miss out on fresh human company and padded in gently, tail wagging. He concluded that this tiny human was some sort of puppy equivalent so he knew to be at his most consciously reassuring and let the excited little girl gently stroke him. Josh, understandably unaware of all this, looked worried at such a big boisterous looking dog with his little child.  
"Don't worry, Josh. He's as soft and gentle as can be." Just then, Daniel woke up after a long sleep and indicated that he wanted to make his bid for freedom.  
"Can I hold him for a little while, Crystal? I'll be very careful," Helen asked, something within her moved by the tiny helpless thing. There was an appealing look in her that Crystal could not say no to even if she had wanted.  
Helen's hands and fingers were secretly nervous as they gingerly picked up the baby. A sudden warmth flowed through her as she held the baby in her arms and a sudden rush of confidence told her as she gently rocked him in her arms with the feeling of what came right to her. She stretched out her little finger to Daniel and his tiny fingers latched on with surprising strength. She was lost in a new world….  
Nikki discreetly observed Crystal's children from a distance. This experience was all strange to her but her heart warmed to Josh and Crystal's glowing pride and obvious love for their children.  
……..'I wanted kids one day.' 'You can still have them, Helen.There are ways.'….  
A much polished brightly glowing jewel in Nikki's memory was every gentle kiss exchanged, every word exchanged between them in that rare snatched moment when they were alone in the Art room at Larkhall. It shone all the brightly from too many lonely nights in her cell when she relived that precious memory. It was only right now that silhouetted that fragment of the conversation in sharp profile and asked her a question that she was far too honest to duck. There was nothing in principle against the idea and maybe if they could live their lives together at the same part of the day. One day, the time may come…… These thoughts gently drifted round in Nikki's head while the gentle soothing sounds of crystal's children conveyed distant feelings of summer days. For Crystal and josh, on the other hand, they could take a break from their continual tiredness and expenditure of frenetic energy that they poured out on their children. The practised half eye of attention was enough but in Josh's case, the luxurious armchair helped him to drift halfway towards a dreamlike state.  
"I'll finish off the food. No Crystal," Yvonne insisted firmly, stopping her from rising automatically to her feet. "I remember being up to my armpits in nappies and trying to be the perfect mother and wife for His lordship like the magazines tell you to, so I'm going to make sure you and Josh get totally spoiled. You both bleeding need it." Josh jerked himself properly awake hearing old associations in Yvonne's imperious tones and he and Crystal sank back, basking in the sheer luxury of half their normal routine being firmly and lovingly taken off their shoulders.  
Yvonne deftly served them dinner which they all tucked into and Crystal had enough hands spare to pick at her dinner while Zandra intermittently clamoured for attention for her dinner to be cut up for her. Helen and Nikki gradually got used to the snatched conversations in such a child oriented environment and admired how capably Crystal coped.  
"Hey, Crystal, why don't you sing us a few songs for old times sake, open the windows wide and imagine Old Bodybag being pissed………I mean driven mad by the singing." Crystal smiled broadly at Nikki's hastily modified invitation and Yvonne and Helen came to the rescue while Crystal unzipped her guitar case without little fingers in the way. Daniel could not be distracted for very long before he started to crawl his way along the soft carpet in Crystal's direction.  
"Kumbaya, my Lord, Kumbaya.  
Kumbaya, my Lord, Kumbaya……" Crystal's powerful singing and stately guitar strumming added musical life and colour to a house which had known much company and was far too quiet for it's good and Yvonne's also. The singing of the others wrapped harmonies around Crystal's lead and they remembered the repeated complaints about that 'flaming Kumbaya' that only made Crystal sing to the Lord all the more. Helen had been on the fringes of the singing at the time but she remembered keeping to the fringes so that she could avoid being dragged in officially into a matter by the woman whom she owed no favours to. The song fizzled out as Crystal's guitar playing suddenly stopped when Zandra claimed Crystal's attention.  
"We'd better put the kids to bed." Crystal nodded, seeing that Zandra had already had a busy day earlier on and she would only start getting ratty. Daniel had only come briefly to life recently and instinct told both of them that that wouldn't last.  
"I'll help Crystal. You two, just take it easy," Yvonne ordered.  
Helen and Nikki snuggled gratefully up together, blissfully conscious that they could detach themselves away from their daily routines. However traumatic it had been to see Lauren appear on the witness stand, at least they could face it together. Nikki had enough trust in Trisha's utter loathing of Fenner that she would uncomplainingly shoulder the burden of running the club while the trial was on, even though after the trial was over, she foresaw the kickback of more petty bickering as payback. She had a forward thinking mind which rarely let her to relax in the present without a part of her forever planning for the future. Right now, she suppressed that side of herself and linked hands with Helen's, running her fingertips along Helen's palm. The light was as gentle as the kiss they exchanged while the welcoming sounds of the house kept them company along with Trigger who sprawled himself contentedly asleep on his favourite spot, having basked in all the very welcome human attention. They gently and lovingly caressed each other as the soft armchair drew them together and the healing powers of the touch of their fingertips eased the tensions of the day from each other in a similar way that the companionship of the rest of them did for them. This evening had that blissful end of the week feeling where, for the moment, they only had each other in the world. "Is everything all right, Crystal?" Helen asked as Nikki's sharp ears picked up the light sounds of returning footsteps.  
"After Zandra heard me read her favourite story three times over, she settled asleep. Daniel's only just over his teething problems, thank goodness and he's out like a light," Crystal's weary voice explained. "She sounds like she likes books already," Nikki said brightly.  
"Don't you believe it. She just says it to keep me longer," Crystal's grinning reply made Nikki blush faintly that she had not thought of this obvious explanation. She wondered briefly just what she was like at Zandra's age.  
"This is the life. Good company, the end of the day…." sighed Nikki contentedly.  
"and a drink between friends.".  
"You cheeky sod, Helen. Well, since you've offered to fetch the drinks, the drinks cabinet is there in the corner," Yvonne grinningly retorted.  
After sticking her tongue out, Helen cheerfully acted as barmaid for them all and fetched a can of lager for Josh and went to serve four drinks from the well stocked cabinet. This was the first time that she took in the sheer luxury and space of Yvonne's house which took her by surprise. It seemed to say something about her that while it had all the luxuries of life, it had that comfortable lived in welcoming feeling. The memory of what she had once told Sylvia that she had 'twenty three boxes of Chanel perfume' seemed very real to her now. The last thing she had ever expected when she was a Wing Governor was hanging out at Yvonne's house but here she was now and everything felt comfortable. Years of living with Nikki had influenced her to depend on gut instinct more than she ever had before and go with where it directed her. After she poured out the drinks, she found herself a tray and served the drinks with the grace of a one time barmaid in her student days.  
"Can't get good service these days." The light hearted banter was exchanged in fairly soft voices between people whose roots went back a long way yet their roles were mysteriously changed. All of them were secretly united in their total avoidance of talking about the trial. In different ways, they had a strength of purpose but none of this would help when Lauren's fate was as if she were a ball on a spinning roulette wheel and her ultimate destination was so much in the balance. This trial had showed that nothing could be taken for granted and, Josh aside, all of them had previous experiences of the uncertainty of how a court of law operated. So they put on their best smiles, luxuriated in the brief period of peace and tranquillity before the next battle to be fought.  
Josh was only tired out from a backbreaking week at work, working long hours to bring up a growing family. With good grace, he had exchanged the welcoming haven and sanctuary of home for tearing out into the night to meet a diverse range of strong forceful women, from ex prisoners and his one time Governor that he had not seen for years. Crystal was overjoyed at the thought of the idea and she was stuck at home and deserved a treat. She needed to have the sort of company and the break that you didn't have to pay expensively for. In any case, he liked being surrounded by beautiful women, even if, right now, he couldn't get a word in edgeways. The chair he was sitting in was comfortable and the soft voices eased him back into dreamland. "Is it OK for you to play us some more songs, Crystal. I remember missing your singing once you'd got out." Crystal looked sideways at Josh slumped sideways in the corner of the settee and felt sorry for him. He looked so tired.  
"We'll have to be quiet because of the kids ….and for Josh. He'll sleep like a log but I'm still nervous in case Daniel wakes up. You have a number of bad nights, then you thank the Lord when you wake up in the morning without hearing your baby crying in the night." Yvonne nodded sympathetically. She'd been there before.  
Crystal picked up her guitar from where it had leant against the wall and, very softly, her fingers strummed the chords of a song which none of them had heard before. The need to keep quiet for the children's sake softened the melody and let the words speak with more force than it otherwise would. It spoke sweet benedictions to them in a way that flowed easily between religion and a modern prayer for all of them whoever they may be. Nikki had always respected Crystal's fighting spirit but had always found her fundamentalist religion hard to take to. This song carried her emotions gently along and made sense to her and gave her the peace of mind that she craved. Helen, for her part, was happily drawn along without a care in the world as if she was made for this sort of occasion. Yvonne raised her glass to her lips and the taste of her liquor never tasted so sweet than when she had the human company to wrap around her and the house was as full of good people as it was always meant to be. 


	29. Part Twenty Nine

Part Twenty Nine  
  
When they reached Karen's flat, not far from Canary Warf, George drew her car to a stop behind Karen's. "What made you decide to live here?" George asked as she locked her car door. "I chose it fairly at random," Karen said as they walked to the front door. "I moved here just before I started seeing Ritchie. At the time I wanted anywhere that Fenner hadn't been in." Unlocking the front door, Karen bent to pick up some post from the mat. On top of the Mastercard bill, a copy of the day's Guardian and a bank statement, was something that looked suspiciously like a birthday card. Breaking in to a broad smile, Karen began opening it as they walked up the stairs. Once inside her flat, she put the post that could be dealt with some other time down on the coffee table and began reading the card. On the front was a picture of a bunch of flowers and a bottle of champagne. Inside, Ross had written: "Sorry I couldn't get you these for real.  
  
Happy Birthday.  
  
I love you Mum,  
  
Ross."  
  
Seeing that Karen's smile had gone soul deep, George's curiosity was roused. "Anyone I know?" She asked. "It's from Ross," Karen said, and then clarified, "My son." When Karen stood the card in pride of place on the sideboard, George picked it up and read it. George began putting two and two together. "When is your birthday?" She asked slightly suspiciously. "Today," Karen said nonchalantly, quickly running her eyes over the other items of post. "And you didn't tell anyone?" George asked in astonishment. "It hasn't really been quite the right sort of week for birthdays," Said Karen matter-of-factly. "Besides, it's one that I'm not all that eager to acknowledge." George laughed. "I thought only I did things like that," She said with a smile. "Which birthday is it?" "My fortieth," Muttered Karen, still scanning her credit card bill. "Oh, that's nothing," George said, trying to make Karen feel better. "I was forty eight last June." "Really?" Karen said, looking up and staring at George. "You don't look it." Putting the bills back on the coffee table, Karen said, "After my little foray back in to nursing this evening, I'm going to have a shower and then I'll see what I can find us for dinner." "You take as long as you like," Said George, at last realising something she could do. "And I'll see what I can find us for dinner." "Okay," Karen said as she walked towards her bedroom after putting on some music. "Though I can't promise you'll find anything edible in my fridge."  
  
Once Karen had locked herself in the bathroom, George investigated the tiny kitchen. The thing that had immediately struck her about Karen's flat was that it felt as though Karen really had bought it on a whim. It didn't have the feeling of someone wanting to settle here, but someone wanting to escape from the place they'd lived in previously. The lounge was light, airy and long, but the kitchen was definitely the smallest George had ever seen, meant for only the essentials of survival. George could feel that this flat was simply a place for Karen to sleep in, a place for her to grab a quick meal in between far too many hours spent at work. It certainly bore Karen's touch, her personal mark, but it didn't feel as though she had made it her home, simply using it as somewhere to lay her possessions whilst she didn't have time to find anywhere better. George didn't know the singer on the CD Karen had put on, but she liked her, a soft, sultry southern drawl accompanied by guitars. Assessing what the kitchen possessed in the way of food didn't take her long. Karen definitely needed to go shopping in the near future, but George managed to come up with the rudiments of tagliatelle in the form of ham, mushrooms, pasta, eggs and cream, plus some freshly grated Parmesan cheese. Putting the pasta on to boil, she began chopping the ham and the mushrooms, gradually becoming aware that a violin had now joined the guitars on the CD. The jazzy persistent double-stopping of the violin combined with the rapid plucking of the steel strings, served to raise her spirits, making her feel suddenly relaxed and happy in this unfamiliar setting. Here she was, cooking dinner for another woman, another woman whom she hoped to possibly sleep with some time tonight, and she was loving every minute of it. Blending the eggs and the cream together with a metal whisk in a large, steadily heating saucepan, and adding a dash of salt and pepper, she reflected that it was really quite a shame that she rarely enjoyed the food she was so proficient at preparing. Having attended an extremely expensive girls' boarding school at her father's insistence, learning to cook had been an integral part of her education. George had even occasionally wondered if that was why John had married her, that and for what she was like in bed. She was nervous at the thought of possibly sleeping with Karen, there was no point denying this. But she knew that the more she thought about it, the more nervous she would get. If it happened, it happened, if it didn't, it didn't. After the stress and adrenalin rush of this evening, bed might be the last thing Karen wanted. On the other hand, it might be the very thing to relax both of them. This would be a novel experience in more ways than one for George. Not only would she be trying something sexually new, which she hadn't done since she was married to John, but she would be putting herself completely in Karen's hands. She laughed softly when she thought of this. After all, wasn't that the object of the exercise? But she would have absolutely no idea what she was doing, and when it came to bed, George was used to always being in control, always being aware that what she was doing would inevitably bring maximum pleasure to whoever she was with, even Neil, damn him. Why on earth was she thinking of Neil of all people? He had always made her feel sexually maladjusted. He would never consider doing some of the things she thought of as perfectly normal, saying that whatever she suggested didn't strike him as remotely pleasurable. God, what would he think if he could see her now. He'd think she'd finally stepped over that boundary into total sexual depravity. Screw him, she thought. Screw him and his lower middle-class, narrow-minded idealism, that had never given her an orgasm in the whole time she'd been with him. No wonder she'd become so adept at faking it. She remembered once saying to John that she would have had more fun with a church minister than her cabinet minister. But no more, no more would she feel guilty for being turned on by the things she was. No more would she operate a look but don't touch attitude to women, and especially this woman in particular. So she might make a complete mess of it, she might be absolutely terrible at giving Karen pleasure, but she could learn, she could improve. Everyone had to start somewhere. Even if a person discovered that they had a natural inclination for giving pleasure, that the skills necessary came entirely with ease, everyone, even she had at some point had to go through the adolescent phase of discovery.  
  
When Karen emerged from the hot shower, thoroughly scrubbed of any reminders of Buki Lester's form of emotional self-defence, she felt mentally cleansed as well as physically. It was her birthday after all, and by rights she ought to be allowed to enjoy some of it. George caught a brief glimpse of Karen wrapped only in a towel as she walked from bathroom to bedroom, after which she couldn't quite stop her thoughts from wandering beneath the only thing that stood between her and Karen's body. Stop it, she told herself inwardly as she transferred the sauce and the pasta to a serving dish and put it in the oven to keep warm. Opening a bottle of chilled Chablis she had found in the fridge, she poured them both a glass and handed one to Karen when she appeared in the lounge. "Now this is definitely one thing I have been looking forward too all day," Karen said, after taking a grateful mouthful. Leaning forward, she kissed George lingeringly, the sharp, cool taste of the wine on her lips. Then she sniffed. "What did you find worth eating?" "Wait and see," George said with a smile as she finally detached herself from Karen. "I like a woman of mystery," Karen said, sitting down at the table which George had tentatively cleared of papers, knowing that moving anything remotely connected with work was a surefire way of irritating her, so it might do the same to Karen. But Karen didn't seem to mind. When George put the plates of tagliatelle down on the table, Karen noticed that George had given herself a good deal less than her, but she made no comment on this. Taking a forkful, she smiled and said, "I hereby give you permission to cook for me any time you like." "I've always enjoyed cooking," George said, picking up her own cutlery. "Funny really. I like preparing food, I just don't always enjoy eating it." George's eyes widened when she realised that she'd stumbled in to the territory of talking about one of her specifically banned topics of conversation, but Karen simply let it pass. It was becoming clear to her that although it had been George's policy to avoid discussing her problem with food for far too long, she did want to be able to talk about it, and this was manifesting itself in her doing it without prior thought. They ate in companionable silence, Alison Krauss on the stereo and the Chablis making a perfect accompaniment to the food. Afterwards, Karen washed up while George smoked a cigarette and relaxed in the depths of Karen's sofa. The soft, sheer purity of the singer's voice floated above her, almost bathing her in its reflective glow. When Karen refilled their glasses and sat down next to George, she said, "That's the first time I've ever seen you look peaceful." "It doesn't happen very often," George said languidly. "So make the most of it." George moved along the sofa so that she could put an arm round Karen and lean against her. Lifting her right arm to put it round George, Karen said, "So, do you regret offering to spend two hours behind bars this evening?" "No," George said which was almost a surprise to herself. "I don't. I learnt quite a lot tonight one way and another. Tina Purvis can say an awful lot in a very short time." "Talking or eating is Tina's usual response to stress." "When I returned from checking on Lauren, she was eating Sylvia's chocolate fingers." "Serve her right for leaving me in the lurch this weekend," Said Karen with a rueful smile. "How did you get on with Denny?" "Well, apart from being given the slightly dubious title of posh bitch, absolutely fine." Karen laughed. "And I think Dominic and Gina were impressed with you." "What will you do if Grayling finds out I was there?" "If he's got any sense," Said Karen firmly. "He won't even dare to mention it. If you hadn't been there to be my runner and to look after Tina, Buki almost certainly would have died. Grayling would probably give you a medal for saving him from any more bad publicity." "Is he really so shallow?" "Not quite," Karen said, attempting to be fair. "He's nowhere near as bad as my previous boss. All Simon could say when Fenner was stabbed was that he wanted to hear those two little words, incident resolved. No more, no less. At least Grayling has some sense of humanity in there somewhere. It's hard to find sometimes, but it does exist." "You said the other day that you'd been wing governor for long enough and that you wanted to spread your wings. Spread them how?" "I'd quite like to run my own prison one day, and if they promote me to governor three, I can." "What are you now?" "Grade four. The lowest rank is grade five, grades five and four usually being wing governors. Grayling's a governor one, but he's been in the business a lot longer than me. I'm not sure how high a rank somewhere like Larkhall would require." "You've got your eye on it, haven't you," George said with a knowing smile. "Grayling isn't going to be there forever. He said so himself when he arrived. So when he does eventually go, who knows." They sat talking for a good while longer, listening to music and drinking the rest of the wine. Karen had at one point changed the music to the haunting tones of Tori Amos. On hearing the highly skilled piano playing which could only be the result of many years spent at a conservatoire, George's hands began to twitch. The piano music made a far deeper impression on her than the words, and like all musicians when they hear their instrument pushed to the bounds of its capability, she had a sudden urge to exercise her own fingers. But she wasn't at home and she didn't have her piano, so her wish was futile. Perhaps it was the wine she had consumed, perhaps it was the sudden urge to do something with her hands. But something had enhanced all George's senses, making her almost painfully aware of how close she was to Karen. When George began kissing her, Karen could feel that there was something different this time. George was more confident, more sure of herself. George's hand was lying in her lap but she had to restrain herself from allowing it to wander at will. Karen's fabulously constructed cleavage was luring her hand like a magnet, but she just about managed to stop herself from acting on it. "You're frowning," Karen said, seeing the lines of sheer concentration etched across George's forehead. "I have an almost overwhelming urge to touch you," George admitted. Karen laughed softly. After a little while longer of this, George said, "Please take me to bed." Karen could hear the clear underlying tone of arousal in George's voice, but she still asked, "Are you sure?" In answer, George took Karen's other hand and led it to the buttons of her blouse. Smiling softly, Karen took George's hand and led her towards the bedroom.  
  
Karen attempted to take her time in removing George's clothes, paying particular attention to every inch of revealed skin, but this was too frustrating for George. When her hands joined Karen's in undoing her clothes, Karen said between kisses, "Calm down. We have all the time in the world." "Patience has never been one of my virtues." "Oh, I don't doubt it," Karen said with a broad smile. But she made fast work of the rest of George's clothes. When she finally surveyed what she'd only previously suspected was hiding under what George had been wearing, she just stared. This beautiful, ravishing, utterly gorgeous woman with the tiniest waist, perfectly sculptured hips and thighs and with small, heavy breasts that simply begged to be caressed, this woman was standing here, all for her. "What?" George asked, a wickedly sinful grin turning up the corners of her mouth. "You're beautiful," Was all Karen could find to say. "Why does every person who has designs on my body always say that," She said almost dismissively. Gently taking hold of George's shoulder, Karen turned her to face the full-length mirror in the wardrobe door. "Have you looked at yourself in a mirror recently?" Karen asked in total amazement. "I look at myself everyday. What of it?" "Then it's about time you realised how stunning you are." "I used too," George said slightly regretfully. "Self appreciation seemed to go out of the window when I stopped eating last year." Putting her arms round George's waist from behind, Karen began kissing a trail across her shoulders and along her neck. "You are beautiful," She asserted as she continued. "You have without doubt the most stunningly sexy body I've ever seen, and whilst I know its easier said than done, I would like you to believe that one day." Making sure George was still watching the mirror, Karen trailed her fingers upwards to let them flicker over George's breasts, gently teasing at the nipples and feeling their heavy ripeness. The combination of the feel of Karen's soft, delicate fingers, together with the sight of Karen's extremely female hands moving over her skin made her forget about everything but what was immediately happening to her. "I think you've got an unfair advantage," George said, her voice deepened with arousal as she turned her lips to meet Karen's and began undoing the buttons of her blouse. It didn't take long for the rest of Karen's clothes to be discarded. "John was absolutely right about you," George said as they moved towards the bed. "Should I take that as a compliment?" Karen asked with a smile. "You know you should," George replied as they met under the duvet, hands wandering at will and mouths interlocking to make further discussion almost impossible. When Karen's hand began moving in earnest on George's breast, she discovered that George certainly wasn't reticent in doing the same to her. There was something initially odd for George as she fondled Karen's extremely well constructed figure. The soft, heavy breasts that were a good deal larger than her own, rising to nipples as hard as bullets, but the other thing that astounded her, was just how gentle yet how sexually electrifying Karen's touch was. The only man George had ever slept with who had ever known how to be gentle enough whilst still maintaining a satisfactory level of contact was John. But this was almost certainly derived from his endless supply of conquests with which to perfect his technique. But Karen's soft, silky fingers needed no suggested adjustment in what they were doing to her. Karen liked George's boldness in touching her, liked the way George was mimicking what she was doing in order to try and get it right. George gasped as Karen stroked her thumb over an already sensitized nipple. When Karen regretfully detached her lips from George's and kissed her way down to soothe the tender pleasure point with her tongue and to gently encircle it between her lips, George couldn't decide which was sexier, the languorously sweeping tongue or the relentless pressure of Karen's lips. When George uttered a sound that in any other situation would have meant she was in pain, Karen looked up to see George furiously biting down on her lower lip. Kissing her way back up, Karen kissed George's lips until she parted them. "You're not in court now," Karen said with a wicked little smirk. "Nobody's telling you you've got to stay quiet." George grinned back at her. "You might change your mind about that." "Tell me what you like," Karen asked between kisses, still moving her hand over George's breasts. George was finding Karen's movements almost too distracting. "As I'm very new to this," She said eventually. "I think it's up to you to enlighten me." "Wow," Said Karen, her smile turning predatory for a moment. "I've never been given unlimited licence before." Then, her smile turning soft again she said, "Don't say you're going shy on me, Ms Channing." George laughed. "Never," She said in that courtroom tone that could cut throats with a single syllable. "I'd ruin my reputation if I did. But to answer your question, what you were doing wasn't a bad start." Returning to her former endeavour, Karen this time turned her attention to the other breast, alternately nibbling and soothing the sensitive skin until George was almost ready to plead for more stimulation elsewhere. Sensing George's need, Karen rested a gentle hand on her thigh, almost asking permission. When this was granted by the parting of George's legs, Karen inched her hand between them. It was no surprise to her that George was as shaved as she was. She didn't know why, but George just struck her as someone who would. At the first stroke of Karen's finger over her clit, George sucked in a breath and let out a moan of sheer ecstasy. If this hadn't been confirmation enough, Karen would have been assured of George's enjoyment at what they were doing when she slipped a long, tapered finger inside her. Withdrawing it somewhat more lubricated, she moved it back up and around George's clit. Detaching her lips from George's nipple, Karen began moving down, kissing each slightly too prominent rib in turn, fully intent on replacing her wandering hand with her mouth, but George stopped her. "Please don't," She said, "I'd like to see you." Taking her at her word, Karen kissed her way back up until she was suckling on her other nipple. Sliding two fingers in to George's cavern of heat and wetness, she used her thumb to lazily and then more determinedly graze back and forth over George's clit, making her breath come in quicker and sharper gasps. When Karen sensed that George was close, she increased the speed in her hand and swiped her tongue again and again across her nipple. When George finally came, she couldn't help crying out, her internal muscles clamping down on Karen's fingers, her whole body going momentarily rigid. When she lay afterwards, her breathing gradually returning to normal, Karen simply lay holding her, gently kissing away a few stray tears that had appeared on George's cheeks. Reaching over to the bedside table, Karen took a few tissues from the box that always resided there and handed them to George to wipe her eyes. "I might be out of practice," Karen said with a soft smile. "But I didn't know I was that bad." George half laughed as she dried her tears. "Don't be ridiculous," She said. "You were incredible. I just feel, I don't know, like I've just lost my virginity all over again." Karen smiled. "You have in a way," She said, remembering the emotional reaction she'd had the first time Yvonne had made love to her. "It's funny," George said, putting her arms round Karen. "But it felt so much more," She searched for the right word. "So much more intimate." "I know what you mean," Karen said, kissing her. "And I can assure you, you've seen nothing yet," She added lasciviously. "Oh, really," Drawled George. "Well, whatever else I'm missing I'm sure can wait till another time," She said between kisses. "Because I really ought to return the favour." "You don't have too," Karen said, not minding in the least if this was something George wasn't quite ready for. "Of course I do," Said George. "Besides, it's your birthday, and you deserve to feel thoroughly sated." Karen glanced at the clock. "Not any more it's not, thank god," She said. "But if you're insistent, I'm not about to say no." George began to look slightly nervous. "I might be terrible at this," She said, drawing her face slightly back from Karen's. "Only do this if you really want to do it. If you're not sure you want to, then don't." "I do," George insisted. "I just can't promise I'll be as good as you were." "Don't worry about that," Karen said, beginning to kiss her again. George found it easier simply to go by what she knew she liked. She allowed her left hand to wander at will, to trace the swell of Karen's breasts, the pinpoint nipples and the curve of her hips. Slipping a leg in between Karen's, George found herself half draped over her, which Karen found wholly delicious. Detaching her lips from Karen's, George let them trail down over Karen's collarbone, to tentatively go round one of her nipples. As George's tongue grazed her sensitive skin, Karen made a sound deep in her throat that George found incredibly erotic. It was halfway between a low, husky groan and something approaching a growl. Taking this as a good sign, George continued, trying to induce in Karen the kind of feelings she herself had experienced earlier. When her hand eventually reached between Karen's slightly spread legs, it took George completely by surprise. It was as if her hand had possessed a mind of its own. She smiled when she remembered how John had described Karen to her, and now here she was, actually putting that fantasy in to action. George wouldn't normally have used her left hand on herself, but using her left hand on someone else only required a slight adjustment. The gloriously wet and enticing heat that greeted her was almost intoxicating. She, George, was causing this level of sexual arousal in Karen, no one else. It gave her an amazing sense of confidence and satisfaction to know that Karen was this turned on by her. "I didn't know you were left-handed," Karen said, arousal evident in her voice. "I'm not," George said, grinning broadly. "But playing the piano means that both hands can be persuaded in to any remotely possible position." "You're telling me," Karen agreed, her breath noticeably quickening. A moment later, George felt Karen's right-hand insinuate itself between her legs which were slightly spread, one being curled round one of Karen's. George had been half aroused by the whole naughtiness of what she was doing, the sheer newness and almost forbidden quality of it. But when Karen's hand began moving over and inside her again, she kissed her way back up to Karen's face to be eye to eye with her when they came. Their hands increasing in speed, their breath coming in faster and faster gasps, their unoccupied arms clinging to the other, they soared over their sexual peak almost simultaneously, kissing each other long and hard.  
  
They lay close afterwards, holding each other, occasionally kissing and with no need for words. Karen was perfectly well aware that George had gone through a vast new set of experiences tonight, and George just lay, cocooned within Karen's arms, allowing herself to float on feeling alone. The sense of exultation she felt at having finally fulfilled one of the things she'd wanted to do ever since she'd discovered what sexually interested her was enormous. Some of the things she and John had tried when they were married had been sensational, and she knew that she could never be one of those women who gave up men altogether. But this had been incredible. She now had an insatiable curiosity to discover every new delight of this new avenue of sexual pleasure, to sample a taste of everything it had to offer. But what of Karen? George had suggested on Wednesday that this was all about to get very complicated, and she knew now that she'd been absolutely right. Karen might have said that as neither of them knew where it was going, there was no point in thinking about that, but George couldn't help thinking about it. But she loved John, she would always love John and she certainly wasn't about to stop sleeping with John. So, what did that mean for herself and Karen? Maybe Karen was right, maybe this didn't need to be gone in to now, even in her own head. On Wednesday, Karen had said just to see what happened, see where it went. That meant no strings, no pressure for either of them, which, if this were still the case in the morning, would suit her just fine. As they lay listening to the CD in the lounge slowly fading away to nothing, they gradually drifted to sleep, their bodies nestled against each other covered by the soft goose-feather duvet.  
  
They slept, soundly and without dreams until just after half past eight the next morning. When the ringing of the phone in the lounge eventually penetrated Karen's fog-filled brain, she was half tempted to let the answer phone deal with it, but it was almost certainly either Gina or Dominic wanting to give her an update on the night's events. George had turned on to her left side some time in the night, still lying in Karen's arms but with her back to her. Gently disentangling herself, Karen got out of bed and went in to the lounge. Picking up the phone, she greeted Gina with, "This better be good," in a voice filled with sleep. "Oh, good morning to you too," Gina said far too cheerfully. "Good job it wasn't Grayling." "Only you would dare phone me at this time on a Saturday morning after the week we've just had." "Oh, I'm sorry," Said Gina, her face and voice suffused with a broad grin. "Get to bed late did we?" "No, not especially," Replied Karen, utterly failing to hide the smile in her own voice. "Just not alone then," Concluded Gina triumphantly. "It's about Alison McKenzie," She said, returning to the matter in hand. "You were right, she has been dealing again and we've had her tested so we'll see if she's using as well. Buki made it through the night, but only just. Thomas is going to keep her on the hospital wing till at least Monday. Tina's all right after last night, and we've got the usual contract firm coming in to clean the four-bed dorm this morning. Otherwise, all's quiet, for now. Paula and Colin will be in at ten." "Well done," Karen said, relieved that there'd been no more mishaps overnight. "And tell George I'm sorry for dragging you away," Gina added mischievously. "Goodbye Gina," Karen said, but with a broad smile as she switched the phone off.  
  
George had heard the phone ring, and had felt Karen slip out of bed. She'd drifted in and out of sleep, only vaguely aware of Karen quietly talking in the next room, and of the sound of running water and of Karen cleaning her teeth coming from the bathroom. When Karen returned to bed, George stayed exactly where she was, but Karen wasn't fooled. She hadn't spent all those years bringing up Ross not to be able to recognise when someone wasn't asleep. Gently putting her arms round George who was still lying with her back to her, Karen just lay for a while, holding this beautiful, soft warm body against her. The last time she'd been this close to someone was the night she'd slept with John. Those few short weeks with Yvonne had taught her to enjoy being physically close to someone again and she had missed this far more than anything else. When she felt George's fingers lacing themselves through hers, Karen said softly, "I didn't think you were asleep." "Not quite how I wanted to wake up," George replied, and Karen found she liked the slightly deeper, huskier sounding George. "And how did you want to wake up?" Karen asked, thinking she might have an idea. In Answer, George took Karen's right hand and led it to her breast, where Karen needed no prompting as to what George obviously wanted. To George, Karen's incredibly sensual touch combined with her own still half-asleep brain felt luxurious. George simply allowed the feeling to spread over her like honey, gradually trickling in to every corner of her being. When George let out a deep moan of contentment, Karen said with a smile in her voice, "So, this is your ideal way to be woken up, is it?" "You can say that again," George replied. "It's extremely rare I get this particular wish granted though." A short while later, she turned over to face Karen and said, "Just let me clean my teeth, and I'll be back." "I'll hold you to that," Karen said as George got out of bed. "I think there's a spare toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet." "I brought one with me," George said, going in to the lounge to find her handbag. "Aha," Karen replied, a broad grin lighting up her face. "So that's why you left your handbag in the car." "Quite right," Said George, returning with the item in question. "I was not about to have your gateman search my bag like he did last time, and discover a toothbrush and a spare pair of knickers. It would have made his day." Karen laughed.  
  
When George returned to the bedroom, she caught sight of something leaning against the wall that she hadn't observed the night before. She briefly stared at it in astonishment. "I didn't know you played the viola," She said, correctly identifying the elongated, curved case. "I haven't played it in far too long," Karen replied as George slid back under the duvet. "And why not?" George asked, sounding for a brief moment exactly like her father. "Ever since I took over G wing, time of my own has been somewhat lacking." "Yes, I noticed that," George said dryly. "Do your staff always wake you up at some ungodly hour?" "Invariably," Karen replied grimly. "Gina did ask me to pass on her apologies," She added with a smile. "So that's why this hand is so incredibly good at what it does best," George said with a smirk, touching the fingers of Karen's right hand and glancing over at the viola case. "It's your bowing hand." When they began kissing, it felt good, it felt right to both of them. It might still be relatively new to George, but it didn't prevent her from knowing that this was where she wanted to be. Their hands moved in complete harmony this time, first on each other's breasts, then progressing lower. They needed each other desperately, they needed to repeat their fulfillment of the night before, almost as if this pleasure would never fall their way again. "I could get addicted to this," George said as she neared her peak. "That's because it's a novelty," Karen replied between kisses. "Maybe," George agreed. "I always did get a kick out of trying anything new." As George came for the third time in eight hours, she thought that she could never get bored of this, not even taking her usual short attention span in to consideration. There was something utterly earth shattering, something so erotic about bringing someone of her own sex to orgasm that she thought the feeling would consume her entire soul. George had drifted back to sleep for a short while afterwards, and Karen lay there watching her. George really was beautiful, still too thin than was really good for her, but nevertheless stunning. Karen knew she was slowly, gradually being given glimpses of the inner George, the George who stopped eating in order to cope, who for some reason couldn't acknowledge or recognise how beautiful she was. But this didn't put Karen off in any way. After all, she was the last person who should see skeletons as obstacles in getting to know someone. Pressing a quick kiss to George's cheek, Karen slipped out of bed and took a shower, knowing that whatever came in the following days, weeks or months, she wouldn't ever regret making love to George, not even if George were to suddenly change her mind and stay away. George might be happy in the slightly odd relationship she had with John, but Karen thought she needed something more, not necessarily something more committed, but simply something different. But what about her, what about Karen. She had slept with George because George had wanted it and because she, Karen, had needed that feeling of letting go, combined with the feeling of comfort that only another's arms can provide. Just see where it goes, Karen told herself as she washed her hair, and if and when the time comes, say exactly the same to George. 


	30. Part Thirty

Part Thirty  
  
A bright shaft of sunlight gleamed through the curtains and into the cell which the Julie's shared. Julie Johnson was curled up like a ball in the top bunk sound asleep but her left eye flickered half open and she thought she saw the ample shape of Tina O'Kane hovering on the floor below her. This can't be real so she dismissed it from her mind. "You're dreaming, Ju," Her mumble to herself was taken the wrong way.  
"No you're not, Julie. It's me, Tina. I came here in the middle of the night, remember?" "Go back to sleep, Teen, it's ages till the screws come knocking," Her voice slurred an answer, engaging a quarter of her waking mind at the most.  
Peace and quiet settled down on the cell in common with the other sleeping bodies. When there was no choice but being woken at someone else's request, every prisoner bar none was not eager to face the morning before its time.  
"Just how come you was allowed to kip down here for the night?" "Buki cut up bad last night. It was horrible, Julies. There was blood everywhere, worse than she's ever been. It's always the same with Buki, I never saw it coming, she doesn't look, like sad and miserable like anyone else until it happens. I didn't know what to do till Miss Betts come in and bundled me out of the cell. After Buki was looked after, it was too bad for me to sleep in so I come here. There wasn't anywhere else to put me except share a cell with Natalie Buxton. Urrgh. I'd sooner sleep on the floor with me mates than a luxury bed with her." "What's happened to Buki? God, it sound's terrible." "I don't know. I think she's got taken to the hospital wing. I was out of the way in the PO's room scoffing Bodybag's chocolate fingers and chatting to George." "George?" chorused the Julies. Had their prayers been answered and a good looking fella been parachuted into Larkhall sometime in the night. "How come there's a fella on the wing and we never spotted him?" "Naah. She's a woman. She's dead beautiful and friendly, more beautiful than Virginia. Makes a lovely cup of tea." "Who is this George?" Julie Johnson asked suspiciously.  
"She's a top barrister. She's the one what defended Snowball Merriman." "Oh yeah. And is that supposed to make us like her?" Gina was in first thing and job number one was to look in on the Julies. There was no telling how Tina would be feeling after the trauma of the night before. She was a nice simple kid who seemed younger than her years and this wasn't the first time that she was in a cell when Buki had cut up. The Julies were great at giving the sort of mothering some of the girls needed but it wasn't fair to take them for granted. She knocked on the door and carefully opened it. One glance told her that the three women were fine and that Tina was comfortably snuggled up in the improvised bed and was smiling up at the Julies. "You've not got a sore arse from sleeping on the floor, Tina. That's the best we could come up with last night." "It's been like old times with the Julies. They've been dead good to me. I've been fine but never knew the floor could be so hard. I started counting sheep but that only made me more awake." "We'll get your cell cleaned up and you'll be back in your own bed." "Have you heard how Buki's going on. Truth is, that's one reason I didn't sleep so well what with worrying about her and I woke up dead early too." Gina could tell that there were bags under Tina's eyes though she seemed superficially cheerful. "I'm going to the hospital wing soon as. I know that you'll all be worried about her so right after breakfast, I'll tell all the women on the wing so you'll all hear. You all deserve it." "Thanks, Gina," They smiled. They all liked this woman who was straight up, no nonsense so you knew where you were with her. You didn't want to cross her as she had a right temper but she got it out of her system straight away. She had a lot of common sense and a good heart. The Julies were very forgiving of her for that last quality alone. Everything was straight up and there wasn't that weird sense of something not quite right which had gone ever since……. Instead, when Gina breezed onto the wing, they felt cheered up straight away.  
  
Lauren moved onto the wing with stiff limbs like an automaton, looking drained and feeling like death warmed up. The tablets Dr Waugh had given her last night had knocked her into oblivion, out so that she couldn't remember her head hitting the pillow. When she had got out from her bunk the next day, she stumbled around, feeling as if lead weights were attached to her and her normally sharp, alert mind felt foggy and vague, as if it were wrapped in cotton wool. She felt disconnected from time, from the day before and wanted to stay that way for safety's sake. By contrast, Denny's feelings bubbled to the surface in the same way as an underground spring and were easy to put into words.  
"Bodybag not here? She'll catch it when she gets back." Julie Johnson grinned all over her face, having given the wing a ridiculously cursory once over.  
"Aye? You're talking a load of pish." Al's puzzled Glaswegian accent was dismissive only because she couldn't understand what Julie was banging on about. The evidence before her eyes was only that the screw she hated most wasn't there to open her cell door and she couldn't see her around. Right from when she was little, smarter, quicker witted women came out with all kinds of stuff. It made her brain hurt to work out where they got it from and after a while she gave up. It was easier to follow someone else who knew what she was doing. She felt safer when she met up with a woman who told her what to do, even if she was as straight as a plank like Maxi. It scared her to be on her own and growing up in Peckham round some lousy, flea ridden estate like Peckham made her scared. When she was part of a gang, she could do over any bitch that got in her way. The mere look of her bulk, her scowling face and close-cropped hair scared the shit out of them. "We heard last night that she's skived off. I tell you, man, she'll be here next week trying to blag everyone that she's sick," Denny insisted in gleeful tones.  
"Sick in the head, you mean," Al grunted. After Al's automatic reply, she started feeling out for thoughts, which drifted overhead, until she started putting words to them. How did Denny know in advance that Bodybag was skiving when everyone was locked up for the night? When everything kicked off last night, Lauren must have been out for the count by the way she looks this morning, doped up to the eyeballs, and she wouldn't have noticed a thing. So how come Denny's reading the Larkhall Prison nine o clock news?  
"How come you all know so much about Bodybag? We were all locked up together half an hour early by those bastard screws. They must have wanted an early tea break." "Ah, Miss Betts came to lock us up and she told us straight." The Julies told Al in chorus form while Denny folded her arms across her chest, smiling to herself that there was something she knew that no one did. "They're mental," Al shrugged her shoulders and moved off elsewhere. She had enough worries on her mind for herself after being hustled away by the screws for an unexpected drugs test. She knew what the results were going to be but something about today told her that the screws were holding back temporarily from the inevitable.  
  
"That's not all that I got to know last night, Julies." Their curiosity was immediately aroused because they were naturally inquisitive, because the day to day life at Larkhall could be crushingly boring and because of the knowing smile on Denny's face.  
"So what's the big secret?" "I know who Miss Betts' new bird is." "Get away, Denny. As if she'd tell you." "You'll never guess. Never in a million years." The Julies tried to narrow down the name of a woman who Denny could have come across or heard about that was around Larkhall. It couldn't be Yvonne surely or Denny would have said so. It was a real surprise to them when they first heard about her and Yvonne. They both screwed up their eyes and gave up in despair.  
  
"Can I have your attention. Hey, that means you two in the corner, stop gabbing." Gina's foghorn voice cut through the wing all the way to the back and echoed its way up to the dizzy heights of the 3's and bounced off the curved perspex roof. She was standing half way up the first flight of stairs and she shut up the only two women who were gossiping away to each other.  
"I don't keep back any secrets so everyone hears it from me straight. If you don't know, Buki Lester got taken into the hospital wing as she cut herself. She hurt herself worse than she's ever done but she was lucky, Miss Betts was on hand to see to her. I've just been over to the hospital wing and she's doing 'as well as can be expected.'" "What does that mean, Miss Rossi?" Julie Johnson called out. That's the lying phrase too many doctors tell the likes of her, treat her like a child and they don't know she knows that some poor cow is on the way out.  
"They're the words the doctor told me, Julie," Gina softened her tone. "Look, you know how it goes and you know the doctor's dead decent and will get up off his arse and work his socks off for her. It's out of our hands. The main thing is that she's being looked after properly. Me, Miss Betts and Dr Waugh will find out what set her off. If there's anything new, either me or Miss Betts will tell you, OK." Right at the end, Gina softened the short sharp delivery of her words. The crowd nodded their understanding, She had only acted that way as she had seen the unconscious Buki attached to a drip feed and god knows what machinery and could only sense the huge cut on her wrist that nearly ended her life. She had to hand it to Karen for getting in there and saving Buki's life. Her old Wing Governor would have wrung his hands and done sod all and blamed her for letting that con die on her - and blamed her for it afterwards. She did admire Karen for her tasty piece of crumpet who was there on the wing last night and that she was prepared to muck in and help. That was her instant litmus test for anyone she came up against.  
"You're also going to get a half an hour extra association today. Seeing that lock up was half an hour early last night, it's only fair to give it back to you." There were smiles and a few cheers that brightened up the wing. It was only a tiny thing to look forward to in strolling casually round the exercise yard and chatting with your friends and see something of the outside world. Even the sight of high walls was a little treat that none of them in the far off days of freedom would have thought twice about.  
  
Right now, Gina had a phone call to make to her Wing Gov and, grinning to herself, she wondered how long it would take her to answer the phone. Bloody ages, she guessed, from what she was like after a night with her fella. Her grin faded when she decided on the timing of when Al McKenzie should be nicked for dealing. It would hold off for the present till the wing had a chance to quieten down.  
Karen battled between duty and pleasure as she felt the pleasures of last night were slipping away as the day wore on and that it was only a matter of time when she had to go in to Larkhall to make sure that everything was fine. She knew Gina well enough that she would deal with anything that she felt she could do but wouldn't shy away from phoning her up if need be. It gave her a warm feeling of security to know that there was that solid rock of dependability that was backing her up. Gina had changed out of all proportion to the bolshy woman who had barged her way into her office when she had other business to deal with and tried to con her into believing that she had put in a transfer to her wing as she 'wanted a challenge.' How times change, both for Gina and herself as she looked around her.  
"I know you, darling. You want to spend the rest of the day with me but you feel duty bound to go into Larkhall." "How did you guess?" That was her guarded way of asking how could she be that transparent, she reflected as George smiled and carried on brushing her hair upwards into a chignon which accentuated the angles of her face. The view of George from this angle, feeling totally at home with her was part of a sequence of mental images of George that enraptured her and which she would treasure. "Don't forget, I've got work to catch up with. There's a frightful amount of paperwork that I pushed into my briefcase that I really have to look at. After being up half the night with you one way and another, I feel guilty if I let my work slide too far." The mantra of the professional woman, Karen nodded sympathetically. The magazines will tell you that all women's rights are won, from equal pay to the way that women are storming the barricades of the long entrenched fortresses of traditionally male dominated Professions, herself in the prison service especially if she made Governing Governor and George, like Jo, in the legal profession. You were supposed to have the ideal figure, perfect skin, perfect clothes, raise a family, have the house that "Changing Rooms" would admire and hold down a top job to the point that men were starting to feel that they were the second class citizens. Just try telling that to area management with Alison Warner as the token high flyer. At the end of the day, it meant the right to the executive stomach ulcer and feel forever harried that you weren't on top of everything. Their mothers wouldn't understand as they didn't have to go through the same set of expectations that they either set themselves or somehow ended up with. She was settled in the path which she chose for herself but why did she feel so weird being stuck half way between the passionate night she had spent with George and what she was destined to do. The crumpled shape of the snow-white quilt marked the space where they had lain together and should not be straightened with a quick swish as she usually did first thing. Mechanically, she slipped into her Wing Governor clothes and the intrusive habits of thoughts that went with it. It took an exchange of glances for both to realise that they were thinking the same things. George smiled slightly as her bare feet diminished the space between the two of them and stood upon tiptoe as Karen was wearing medium high heels. She slipped her arms round Karen so easily and so naturally. Her soft lips searched out for the other woman's to draw them together for one last time before they went their separate ways. "I'll be waiting for you in the gallery on Monday. I won't be late, darling," she whispered as her finger delicately traced a pattern on Karen's cheek.  
It sounded from the description that as if they were making a date with each other at a romantic rendezvous and not as onlookers in the Old Bailey where the court battle was to be fought to the bitter end.  
  
As Karen drove through the city streets, a few hardier souls ventured forth for some fresh air, as it was a cold sunny winter's day. She stuck one of her favourite CDs on that she had carried round with her for weeks and the woman's voice kept the workaday thoughts that were crowding into her mind from invading too early. She owed last night as much as that. This was the same feeling as much as when she was a nurse or a prison officer. At least things on the home front were stable as she smiled fondly of the birthday card from Ross. At one point in his disturbed life, he had thought of her enough to choose the birthday card, to write the card and to post it. It was more than she thought she would get. And then there was George who was singing the love songs to her that she never thought were meant for her.  
  
"All right, Julie, I'll let you have a clue. The woman was a gorgeous blond, very tasty, someone I might fancy if I thought she was in my league." "This is getting hopeless," Julie Johnson sighed at the way Denny teased her with this tortuous brain teaser. She's not getting any younger.  
"That was George, that barrister I was talking about earlier on. It must be. Can't you remember?" Tina's voice chirped away to them from behind as they stood around, the wind whipping through their thin clothes. "Aaaaah," Came the two-part harmony answer and dawning smiles of recognition as they made the connections at last. They hated it if they couldn't work out these puzzles. "I'm off, Julies. I've got my shooter back." From out of nowhere, there jumped into the Julie's mind a horrifying mental image of a sinister black gun which had been the curse of the Atkins and had dragged Lauren down And threatened to take away her freedom. Surely not?  
"No, it's my water pistol. I've got it back. I'll splat her right in the face. It's wicked." The Julies grinned, watching Denny run around the exercise yard like the kid she still was.  
  
Karen entered the wing as normal and her finely tuned instincts told her that the atmosphere seemed more normal than she had dared to think. It must be partly down to the prisoners and partly the officers. Karen nodded to Gina who was chatting to a new prison officer who she had taken under her wing to get her to find her feet. "You needn't have dragged yourself in on a Saturday as you could have had a lie in. I wouldn't have done if I were in your shoes. Everything's under control." She greeted Karen with a broad smile and a knowing twinkle in her eyes which expressed real respect that Karen took a real interest in everyone who she felt responsible for. They weren't all like that, she knew that well. "I only thought I should see for myself. Everything looks fine to me. You fill me in on the latest, I'll pop in on a few of the prisoners later and catch up on my paperwork after being away for the trial." "I've given them an extra half hour association to make up for last night," Gina mentioned casually to which Karen nodded agreement.  
"I've had Al McKenzie tested this morning but do you reckon we should hold off a day before we bang her up. I know she's been dealing." Even after all this time, Karen remained grateful that the wing could still run as smoothly as it did even after such a major trauma and she never forgot that she was enjoying the good fortune that Helen had never had when she was wing governor.  
  
Tina seemed to make permanent occupation of her improvised bed on the floor while her own cell was being cleaned up. She knew it couldn't last but was torn between the comfort of her own cell which would be very quiet while Buki was away and the matey feeling of sharing with the Julies. One more night wouldn't do her back any good so she made the best of what time there was.  
Just then, there was a polite tap at the door and Karen Betts poked her head round the corner. She smiled benevolently at them all as she had trusted that the Julies would calm down a possibly very distraught Tina. "Did you get a good night, Tina. I'm sorry it's been a bit basic. You'll have heard from Miss Rossi that Buki's condition is stable but she'll be on the hospital wing till her arm heals. Dr. Waugh and I will try and persuade her to get the help that she really needs." "Until she starts cutting up again, Miss Betts." "Look here, Julie, you ought to know as much as anyone that you can't help anyone who refuses to be helped. I've tried. This time, well, we're going to try a lot harder, that's all." Julie J felt immediately sorry for the woman who was making an effort to be controlled and patient in her reply. You could tell by the tiredness in her eyes. She was right. It was no one's fault.  
"I'm sorry, Miss. That was bang out of order." Karen smiled briefly until Julie Johnson's curiosity finally got the better.  
"Is it all right if I ask you a question. It's like a bit personal." "Go on." This was a run up to being questioned about the mysterious blond who was miraculously there last night. She would give facts but definitely not figures. If she didn't tell them the basics, all sort of wild rumours would start circulating.  
"Just who was the woman who was here last night and helped us all out last night?" "Georgia Channing. You may remember her as the barrister who came round a while back to look round your cell." "Oh, so that's who she was, that barrister. Yeah, she is good looking. You're lucky Miss." Karen nodded and a slow foolish smile spread all over her face as she knew and felt how lucky she was. 


	31. Part Thirty One

Part Thirty One  
  
On the Monday morning, George felt serene, happy and thoroughly unable to keep the smile off her face that had been there since Friday. As she dressed and applied her perpetual layer of makeup, she couldn't wait to get to court to see Karen. Having not seen her since Saturday, George knew she would be getting withdrawal symptoms if she didn't see her soon. Once she looked like her usual immaculate self, she stood in front of the mirror and sternly told herself not to act like an adolescent, that behaving in any way inappropriately in public was not an option, and that hoping for any more than she was likely to get from Karen would only lead to disaster. As she went downstairs to make a cup of tea and to check her e-mails before going to court, too many of her appointments for this week having been postponed, the phone rang. It was Jo, asking if George would give her a lift to court because her car wouldn't start. Briefly rolling her eyes and deciding that her e-mails would have to wait till later because of rush hour traffic, George slammed her front door and throwing her handbag in to her car, backed out of her driveway. As she paused at the end of the road, waiting for a mother with two children to cross in front of her, she spied a red Ferrari in her rearview mirror, with what looked like Yvonne behind the wheel. Remembering that Karen had said Yvonne lived round here, George briefly waved, receiving a smile in return. As Yvonne followed George's sleek, black BMW, she couldn't help finding her driving funny. George was a nightmare to pedestrians and other motorists alike, always overtaking whenever she could, and using hand gestures that wouldn't have looked out of place in Larkhall to broadcast her displeasure to all and sundry. But when George turned off to collect Jo, and Yvonne did the same to fetch Crystal, Josh wanting the car to take the children out today, they parted company.  
  
When she drew up in front of Jo's house, Jo dropped a bulging briefcase on to the backseat and got in beside her. "Thanks for this," Jo said as she did up her seatbelt. "Oh, my pleasure," George replied as she pulled out in to the stream of traffic. Having borrowed Karen's Carolyn Johnson CD from her on Saturday, George now had it playing on the car stereo, the cheerful rhythm and happy lyrics serving to enhance her current mood of relative euphoria. As she weaved her way through the slowly flowing London traffic, she occasionally found herself accompanying the singer on the CD, only stopping when she remembered Jo's presence beside her. But Jo didn't mind. It made a change to see George as happy and vibrant as she currently was, and she wasn't about to complain. After one song who's chorus ended with the words, "Love is always worth the ache," Jo found her voice. "You sound like you had a good weekend," She commented. George grinned wickedly. "Oh, didn't I just," She couldn't help gloating. Then seeing the brief shadow that had crossed Jo's face, she strove to reassure her. "Don't look like that," She said gently. "It wasn't with John. You ought to know by now that whenever I do have a particularly good evening with John, I do my best not to flaunt it." Jo was forced to admit that this was true. George had always done her utmost to be discrete about the time she spent with John, knowing that even though this three-way relationship had been Jo's suggestion, that this didn't mean Jo was even now entirely happy with it sometimes. "Anyone I know?" Jo asked, trying to lighten the mood. "Well now," Said George with a smirk. "I'd say that was for me to know, wouldn't you?" "As you wish," Jo replied, though not quite able to hide the fact that her curiosity was peaked. "I know I should get some sleep, I'm at the beginning of another long week. But I don't want you to go. No I don't want you to go," Sang George, sounding happier than Jo had ever heard her. "If I didn't know better," Jo said, the realisation slowly dawning on her. "I'd think you were in love." George just smiled. "You are, aren't you?" Persisted Jo, a smile now lighting up her own face. "In love is such an adolescent phrase," George said noncommittally. "But seeing as I feel like I'm fifteen again, yes, I suppose I am." "And you won't tell me who?" "I can't," Said George seriously. "Not yet." "At least tell me if I know them?" "Jo!" George complained with a laugh. "I'm itching to tell someone, anyone as it is, so yes, you would fit the bill nicely, but I can't." "And with your urge to talk that must be horrendous," Jo commented dryly. "Oh hilarious," Threw back George, the broad smile still lighting up her face. "You'll just have to be patient."  
  
When George brought her car to a stop next to Yvonne's Ferrari, Yvonne and Crystal were just getting out. "For someone who's supposed to be upholding the law," Yvonne said as George locked her car doors. "You're a bloody nightmare." "Tell me about it," Jo said, seeing that Yvonne was only winding George up. "I wouldn't have asked for a lift if I wasn't desperate." "I'm not that bad," George protested, but knowing she was. "I'm amazed you haven't got a string of driving offences," Said Jo. "How do you know I haven't?" Quipped back George. "Go on," Said Yvonne with a grin. "How many points have you got on your licence?" "Only three at the moment," George said, fishing it out of her handbag. "That's what comes of having friends in high places," Yvonne said with a wry smile. As they walked towards the court building, Jo couldn't help wondering just who George's new beau might be.  
  
Once inside, Jo and Yvonne separated from them and George and Crystal walked upstairs. "I heard it didn't go too well on Friday," Crystal said quietly. "No, not brilliantly," George replied. "I think Lauren will have needed the weekend to recover from that." When they reached the gallery, they saw that all the others were already there except Karen. As Crystal moved to sit down next to Barbara and George sat on the end beside Nikki, George found herself really feeling like one of these women. They greeted her like an old friend, making her feel far more welcome than she'd ever felt at all those social gatherings where sycophantic women talked about work and only work, in an endless effort to climb the professional ladder. When Karen arrived not long after and sat down next to George, she said, "There was a bloody traffic jam not far from the prison, and I was so wound up by the time I got there, that I gave Sylvia a verbal warning." Then, lowering her voice so that only George could hear, she said, "If we weren't in present company, I'd kiss you." "That's good to hear," Said George with a smile. "I thought I was going to get withdrawal symptoms if you didn't turn up this morning." "That'll wear off," Said Karen with a laugh. "It doesn't, believe me," Said Nikki on George's other side. George looked round at her with a slight blush. "When I first met Helen," Said Nikki quietly. "One smile from her would keep me going for an entire week." But before they could continue this conversation, the clerk called out "All rise," and the second week of the trial began.  
  
When Meg Richards had sworn the oath, Jo moved forward to begin her questioning. "Dr. Richards, what was your initial impression of Lauren Atkins?" "When I first met Lauren Atkins," Meg began in that quiet, controlled, utterly self-confident voice Karen knew so well. "She was angry, confused and without doubt highly disturbed. For a while, she resented having to talk to me, clearly not wanting to admit that there was anything wrong with her. She seemed to think it made her less of a person to be suffering from a psychiatric illness than to be guilty of murder." George felt a brief moment of sympathy for Lauren. "Dr. Richards, before we turn in detail to your report on Lauren Atkins, what, in short, was your eventual diagnosis of her state of mind?" "Lauren Atkins is suffering from a type of psychosis that has made it impossible to come to terms with the fact that her brother and her father are dead. She cannot entirely escape from both her father's and her brother's encouragement." "How does this manifest itself?" John asked. "I will come to this, My Lord," Jo replied. "It is not uncommon for Miss Atkins to either hear her father's or her brother's voices, or to actually se them as if they were in the room with her," Meg said, turning to look up at John. Having witnessed something of the kind on the previous Friday morning when Lauren was on the stand, John understood. "Let us now turn to your report," Jo continued. "3B in your bundle, My Lord." Meg's psychiatric report on Lauren ran as follows:  
  
Lauren Atkins: psychiatric report  
  
Name: Lauren Atkins. Case Number: 240073. Date: 15/03/04. Attending Psychiatrist: Dr. Margaret Richards.  
  
I was invited, by council for the defence, Jo Mills QC, to examine Miss Lauren Atkins and to give evidence in the case of the Crown versus Atkins. Lauren Atkins has been charged with the brutal murder of Mr. James Fenner, a principal officer of Her Majesty's Prison Larkhall, on the fifth of October 2003. Whilst Miss Atkins is not denying that she committed this act, she is mounting a defence of diminished responsibility. With this in mind, my examination of Miss Lauren Atkins will take in to account the three following areas: Lauren Atkins' thoughts and feelings with regards to Mr. Fenner's murder; her severe distress and inability to allow herself to grieve following the suicide of her brother, Ritchie Atkins, on the 29th of August 2003; and her general attitude with reference to the breaking of the law.  
  
To begin with, I have talked at length to Miss Lauren Atkins with regards to the death of Principle Officer James Fenner. Miss Atkins does not deny what she did, one might almost say she has been extremely co-operative about her involvement in this act. She has explained the course of her actions, beginning with stalking Mr. Fenner, progressing to abducting him and to eventually injuring and killing him. She has described her actions both to the police, to her barrister, and to myself with as much openness and amiability as could be expected in such a situation. Miss Atkins has stated that she felt high on Sunday the fifth of October 2003, to quote her specifically, "Higher than on any drug." Whilst she had clearly been planning this act for some time, it was on this particular Sunday that Miss Atkins felt a distinct need to fulfill her mission. When asked to provide an explanation as to why she deemed it necessary to kill James Fenner, Lauren Atkins replied that it simply needed to be done. When asked to elaborate, she would not at first disclose her motive. It was only after some further discussion, and on feeling that she could trust me, that Lauren Atkins began to explain her unlawful actions.  
  
On the 29th of August 2003, Lauren Atkins suffered two tragedies within hours of each other. First, she was forced to watch as her brother, older than her by four years, was sentenced to ten years in custody. Only hours later, she was informed that her brother had committed suicide, by an overdose of barbiturates. The day after her brother's suicide, when her mother had returned home after identifying Ritchie Atkins' body and collecting his personal belongings, Lauren Atkins was given a letter addressed to her from her brother, which he had clearly written just before he took his overdose. I have attached a copy of this letter to my report, but its main purpose was to plead with Lauren to kill Mr. James Fenner. Lauren Atkins saw this as her brother's dying wish, a dying wish that she could not ignore. He told her that he was proud of her, gave her the kind of compliment she hadn't received since the death of her father, Charlie Atkins, two years before. Ritchie Atkins' letter instructed Lauren not to inform their mother of his request, as by his own words, she wouldn't understand. It is my professional opinion that Ritchie Atkins achieved his goal by playing on his sister's insecurities, by telling her precisely what she needed to hear at a time of deepest sorrow. He clearly and calculatingly took advantage of his sister's wavering loyalty towards their dead father and the principles of Atkins justice he and they had once stood for. Lauren Atkins saw it as her duty to fulfill her brother's dying wish, to regain some of her past life, seeing it through the rose-tinted spectacles through which we all see departed loved ones. During this time, it was a perfectly natural reaction for Lauren Atkins to emotionally cling to the life she'd once known. I believe that she wanted to recapture the days when her father was proud of her criminal achievements, and her brother still loved an respected her. In his letter, Ritchie Atkins reminded his sister that she was and is an Atkins by blood, not simply an Atkins by name as their mother is. His words persuaded Lauren in to thinking that it was her duty to uphold the Atkins family values, to commit one last act of Atkins-style justice in the name of her father and her brother.  
  
Whilst this may all appear slightly fanciful to any cross-examining barrister, the effect these words and the feelings associated with them would have had on Lauren Atkins must in no circumstances be underestimated. Lauren Atkins is not denying that she undertook to kill James Fenner in such a brutal and inhumane fashion, but she is simply attempting to provide an explanation of why she chose to do this. The sense of duty Lauren Atkins felt towards her family and its values is clearly an area of deep-rooted thinking that cannot be undone overnight, simply by the choice her mother took on leaving prison to keep to the proverbial straight and narrow. This was far easier for Yvonne Atkins than it would ever have been for her daughter Lauren. Yvonne Atkins chose to marry in to the Atkins family, whereas Lauren Atkins was brought up surrounded by the family code of practice from the time of her birth. Lauren Atkins is the last of Charlie Atkins' bloodline, and she may have felt pressured by her brother's suicide letter in to, at least for this one act of retribution, continuing what her father had started many years before. This hypothesis can be strengthened further when questioning Miss Lauren Atkins on the subject of law breaking. Within a very short time, it became clear to me that Lauren Atkins sees absolutely nothing wrong in breaking the law to satisfy her own ends. She knows that in the grand scheme of things it is wrong to play a significant part in organised crime, but she cannot help but see this as a way of life. As Ritchie Atkins said in his last letter to his sister, she was Charlie Atkins' protege. This meant that he taught her to shoot at a very early age, and that whilst both Charlie and Yvonne Atkins were in prison, Lauren was able to take over the family business without any difficulty. Lauren Atkins must not be entirely blamed for this. Her father was a sadistic, ruthless individual who bent every person he met to his will. In other words, disobey or challenge Charlie Atkins, and you end up in an early grave. Ritchie Atkins had chosen to duck out of his father's life, to make his own way in the world, but Lauren didn't feel able to do this. Like her mother, Lauren Atkins knew that she either had the choice of staying and adopting Charlie Atkins' way of life, or of going in to hiding, being constantly on the run and in fear of her life.  
  
My recommendations to the court are as follows: 1. That Lauren Atkins is not questioned too closely on the death of her brother, as she is inclined to extreme emotional outbursts if provoked, which would be neither productive nor appropriate in such a setting as a courtroom. 2. That Lauren Atkins needs psychiatric treatment, not a custodial sentence. She has a serious lack of closure with regards to her brother's death, and she currently cannot adequately cope with the legacy of Atkins family duty that both her father and her brother have left to her. 3. That the defence of innocent by virtue of diminished responsibility be upheld, as, in my professional opinion, Lauren Atkins had an enormous amount of pressure put on her, let us not forget from beyond the grave, to commit this act of violence. Lauren Atkins had no person with whom to plead her case, as both her father and her brother were dead. For her entire life, Lauren Atkins' feelings, judgments and opinions have been built on extreme loyalty, both to her father and to the values he upheld. Whether this loyalty was engendered by way of fear, rather than respect cannot be wholly estimated, but such levels of loyalty both to a person and to a way of life should not be ignored. Lauren Atkins requires treatment, rehabilitation and understanding, facets not usually present in the type of psychiatric treatment provided within Her Majesty's prisons.  
  
"Dr. Richards, you have stated in your report that when Lauren Atkins was asked why it was necessary to kill James Fenner, she simply said that it was something that needed to be done. Please could you explain this?" "My Lord," Said Neumann Mason-Alan, getting to his feet. "Surely it is for the defendant to explain her words, not her psychiatrist." "Sit down," John said, sounding thoroughly bored with the man's antics. "If you'd wanted Miss Atkins to explain this particular sentiment, you should have asked her when you had the chance. Please continue," He said, turning his attention back to Meg. "The way in which Lauren Atkins approached the killing of James Fenner was entirely single-minded. It occupied every minute of her day, resulting in the kind of unbending focus that many professionals apply to their work. I have come across surgeons, barristers and prison governors who do likewise, leaving themselves little time for a life outside their professional pursuits." "That sounds familiar," Said Karen, exchanging knowing smiles with Helen and George who had the capacity to be as focused and single-minded as she did. "It would be fair to say," Meg Richards went on. "That Lauren Atkins approached the task of removing James Fenner with the same kind of total dedication. For the six weeks between the death of her brother and the death of James Fenner, it was all she thought about, all that mattered to her. She would have maintained the appearance of a normal, day-to-day existence, but this would have only been on the surface. Every moment she was alone, she would have returned, mentally if not actually, to the matter in hand." "And could you also offer any explanation as to why Lauren Atkins felt so euphoric immediately following her killing of James Fenner?" "For some people, doing something as horrifically dangerous as killing someone, can give them an enormous rush of adrenalin, almost like a drug-induced high. It can even go as far as to be a sexual arousal for some of them, though I would hasten to add that this was definitely not the case with Lauren Atkins." "Dr. Richards," John intervened again. "If, as you say, Lauren Atkins finds it impossible to escape from the sights and sounds of the two people who have influenced her so greatly, what would your reaction be to a suggestion to place Miss Atkins in a secure hospital, somewhere like Broadmoor for example." "No!" Came the unguarded plea from Roisin, who knew only too well the fear and uncertainty that resulted from being confined in such an environment. All eyes turned upwards to the gallery, but John made no comment. "Actually, I would agree with such a response," Meg said in to the resulting silence. "Lauren Atkins would definitely not benefit from being confined in any kind of closed environment alongside severely disturbed people." "But why," Persisted John. "If her form of psychosis has been the cause of her committing a pretty brutal murder?" "My Lord," Jo interrupted. "Might I draw your attention to what my client said when I questioned her? Lauren Atkins' words were: Charlie taught me to shoot with that gun, and it seemed fitting to commit my first and last murder with his weapon." "Precisely," Agreed Meg. "I do not believe that Miss Atkins will ever again be in the position she was after her brother's suicide." "But you cannot be certain of this?" Asked John. "Nothing is certain, My Lord, least of all the random thoughts and electrical impulses that make us react in the ways we do." "Dr. Richards," Jo continued, trying to regain the reins of her case. "You have also stated in your report that, it is your professional opinion that Ritchie Atkins achieved his goal by playing on his sister's insecurities, by telling her precisely what she needed to hear at a time of deepest sorrow. You have also said that Ritchie Atkins, clearly and calculatingly, took advantage of his sister's wavering loyalty towards their dead father, and the principles of Atkins justice he and they had once stood for. Please could you explain this in greater detail?" "What the court needs to understand if Lauren Atkins is to receive a fair hearing, is that from day one, she was put under enormous pressure by her father to grow up an Atkins. Whilst Yvonne Atkins may have suffered at the hands of her husband, she did not have to deal with the same amount of expectation. Yvonne Atkins was only an Atkins by name, not an Atkins by blood as both Lauren and her brother were. The family, and their absolute loyalty to his way of life were the two most important facets of Charlie Atkins' character. Both of his children would have grown up believing that the family and loyalty to the family were all that mattered. As I wrote in my report, the extent to which Lauren's loyalty was bought by fear or respect, I couldn't possibly begin to estimate, though I suspect it was a mixture of both. When Ritchie Atkins wrote that last letter to his sister, pleading with her from beyond the grave to carry out his last wish, she had no one with whom to plead her case, no one to whom she could explain her feelings. Ritchie had specifically told his sister not to discuss what he'd asked her with their mother, thereby removing Lauren's one possible listener. As a result of the extreme loyalty she had for her father, despite the numerous things he had done to hurt her, it could never have been within Lauren Atkins' nature to disregard her brother's last wish. Ignoring what he had asked her to do, or discussing it with anyone simply wasn't an option for her." "Dr. Richards," John interrupted yet again, dramatically raising Jo's blood pressure. "Precisely why does Lauren Atkins exhibit on the one hand, a level of loathing for who her father was, to rival that which I find myself occasionally feeling towards the establishment, and on the other, a strength of will and sincere loyalty that has influenced her into stalking, abducting and killing a man?" "My Lord," Put in Jo, barely concealing the irritation in her tone. "If I might be allowed to question my own witness, I feel sure that these facts will be revealed." But knowing that it was the Judge who ruled and not either barrister, Meg answered him. "This is possibly the most obvious symptom of the type of psychosis that Lauren Atkins is experiencing," Meg began. "She cannot align what would have been expected of her by her father and brother, with the hurt and anger she feels for both of them as a result of what both she and her mother have gone through over the years. If the expectation of her loyalty were nowhere near as strong, Lauren Atkins would never have had a problem in consigning any wish to please her father to the recesses of her mind. But as this emotional hold on her is still so strong, this need to fulfill both what her father had taught her to be and what her brother asked her to do, have remained well and truly on the surface of her consciousness, providing her with an internal battle from which she cannot escape." "Finally, Dr. Richards," Continued Jo. "Please would you outline to the court, exactly what course of action you would recommend for Lauren Atkins?" "I would unerringly stand by what I said in my report, that Lauren Atkins should not be given a custodial sentence, and that what she requires is psychiatric treatment, support and understanding. Lauren Atkins needs to be encouraged to grieve for the death of her brother, and to be helped, possibly via cognitive behavioral therapy, to detach herself from the stringent expectations placed on her by her father. Such in-depth psychiatric treatment as I would recommend for Lauren Atkins, is not routinely available or possible within Her Majesty's prisons. During the times when she is not receiving psychiatric treatment, Lauren Atkins needs to be at home, where she can benefit from the love and support given to her in unstinting quantities by her mother. At present, Yvonne Atkins cannot support and help her daughter as much as she would like, and it has become clear to me whilst examining Lauren Atkins that she will not begin to deal with her problems until her mother can give Lauren her full, undivided attention." "No further questions, My Lord." "As it is later than I thought," John decided. "I think it will be more convenient to adjourn till this afternoon." As they all rose to watch him depart through the door behind the Judge's bench, Karen said to George, "He wouldn't really do that, would he?" "What, commit her to a psychiatric hospital? I don't know. You never can tell with John. He has before and he will again, so who knows." When they reached the foyer, Karen's face broke in to a smile as she saw Meg walking towards them. "Long time no see," Karen said, walking forward to give her a hug. "And whose fault is that?" Meg asked seriously, briefly returning the hug. "I know, I'm sorry," Karen said a little sheepishly. "I've been busy." "Yes, so I've heard," Said Meg dryly. As the two women stood a little apart from the rest, clearly catching up, Nikki spoke discretely to George. "You might want to wipe that gloriously self-satisfied smirk off your face before Yvonne appears, because it won't take her two minutes to work out who it's for." George blushed scarlet, hating the fact that she was so transparent. "Is it that obvious?" She asked. "Just a bit," Nikki replied with a broad smile. "Helen was always far better at discretion than I was, and I was the one who'd had the practice." "Is it ridiculous, feeling so elated?" "No, of course not," Said Nikki with a fond laugh. "Just make sure you enjoy every minute of it." Hearing the sheer sincerity in Nikki's words, George vowed to take her at her word. No matter how long this, whatever it was lasted, whether it be a few weeks, a few months or even longer, she would enjoy everything it had to offer. With this in mind, she walked over to Karen, only to hear Meg's last few words. "Karen, when all this is over, you must come and see me." "Are you saying that as a psychiatrist or as a friend?" Karen asked dryly. "Both," Meg replied firmly. "I mean it. You haven't been to see me in either capacity for well over a year, and I think it's long overdue." "I will, I promise," Karen said quietly. "Well, don't just think about it, do it," Meg affirmed sternly. As she walked away, Karen turned to see that George was standing next to her. "I guess that's me told," She said with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Have you known her long?" George asked, privately thinking that Karen was far braver than she was for even thinking of seeing a psychiatrist, never mind having one as a friend. "I've known Meg since I was a nurse," Karen said with a smile. "I've worked with her on and off for years, and she's right, I haven't been to see her in her professional guise for far too long." Then she grinned. "You know, I should recommend Meg to John. He'd never succeed in getting passed her like he did his previous therapist. Meg's been in the job too long to fall for his charms." "Is someone taking my name in vain?" Came a voice from behind them. Turning round, Karen said, "Yes, I think I've found you a new therapist." "Not the woman who was in court this morning?" He asked looking slightly wary. "The very same," Karen said with a broad smile. "You'd never pull your usual stunt on Meg Richards, though I have to admit, it would definitely be amusing to see you try." "Trust you to know someone like her," John said ruefully. "She's the most powerful, down to earth psychiatrist I've ever seen in the witness box." "And you've still got an afternoon to get even more acquainted with her," Said George, knowing that never in a million years would John take therapy from someone he wouldn't be able to seduce if things got too difficult for him. 


	32. Part Thirty Two

Part Thirty-Two  
  
The gallery was filling up early while the court was still fairly deserted so that they could all talk quietly together.  
"Now it's the turn of that wanker to have a go," Sighed Nikki as she saw Meg Richards start to move towards the witness stand and Neumann Mason-Alan seated and rifling through his papers.  
"Don't worry, Nikki. Meg is one of those utterly self-possessed women who you simply cannot shake, whatever the provocation. She stood up to Shell Dockley's trying to get one over on her and turned it straight back on her. The more he tries it on with her, the calmer she gets." Nikki was deeply impressed by this statement and Helen looked down into the court expectantly. She always had an attraction to the cut and thrust of situations and it gave her a strange feeling that it was not her speaking, either as psychologist or Wing Governor, but someone else.  
George turned round in her seat and looked up the staggered line of benches at Sir Ian and Lawrence James who sat with stony disdain. She gave them her widest insincere smile and fluttered her fingertips in mock greetings to them.  
"Careful, George. From the looks of them, you'll end up being turned to stone." George grinned at Karen's witticism and the affectionate way that her melodic voice expressed it. She couldn't resist giving Karen's shapely hand a discreet squeeze.  
Roisin looked closely at the mild mannered woman who was now in the witness box. There was something about her stance that suggested that she was relaxed and ready for anything. That woman had the same quiet strength as herself.  
"Do you wish you were down there, George?" Babs enquired politely.  
"The courtroom isn't big enough for me and Jo on the same bench. We'd only cramp each other's style and I am quite sure John wouldn't let us. I'm better in sitting this one out and helping out here."  
  
"Dr. Richards, let us begin at the start of the matter, and that is, the trial and subsequent suicide of the defendant's brother. Can you explain to the court exactly what the defendant's attitude to her brother during that trial was?" "She was hostile to her brother. She resented the fact that her brother had swindled her and her mother out of £50,000. She felt that he had betrayed her and her mother." "Yet nowhere does this very interesting gem of information appear in the psychiatric report, Can you explain this omission? It casts doubt on the statement that the defendant took the life of James Fenner as a result of her brother's dying wish." "It is perhaps an omission but it does actually add weight to my conclusion that the defendant should receive psychiatric help rather than a prison sentence." "Does it? I suggest that you have inadvertently removed an essential plank of the defence that the defendant was hostile to her brother and therefore could not have acted as she did out of some supposed wish to respect the last dying request of her brother. Such a desire would imply that she had a close attachment to him, that she loved him." Neumann Mason-Alan uttered these last words with all the confidence and conviction that he was seeing a way how he could unstitch the case of the defence by an unguarded admission which he could exploit to the utmost. Sir Ian permitted himself a thin smile of satisfaction.  
"You are talking about someone with clear, unambiguous feelings of love and hate who rarely come within my professional field. If you have read my report as a whole, you will see that the defendant was subject to oscillating feelings of both love and hate for her brother Ritchie Atkins and her father Charlie Atkins. The feelings felt by the defendant during the trial that I have explained would have been violently reversed in exactly the way I have described. It emphasised just how vulnerable and guilty the defendant would have felt after her brother's suicide. I am grateful to you, Mr. Mason-Alan for reminding me of this essential fact." Neumann Mason-Alan froze where he stood, taken aback by the way that the quiet, unhurried tones of this woman had neatly dropped him into a trap. He looked down at his papers and shuffled them and he was unable to see the nearly universal grin but he could sense it.  
"You have given evidence in your report that her father was a 'sadistic bully who must be obeyed unless she wanted to end up in an early grave.' I grant you that the defendant may have felt that way while he was alive, but surely he was no longer able to influence the actions of his daughter because he was dead. Dead men do not control families from the grave." "In normal situations, you are broadly right but what my report deals with is the defendant's highly abnormal situation because, without this, she would not be in the dock at this moment. In the defendant's mind, her father's presence was only too real at the time of her brother's suicide. It is highly likely that the existence of her father and brother are still very real to her to this day." A chilly silence fell on the court as Meg Richards's measured academic tones took on a life of their own. Selena was instantly struck by the remote, rigid expression on Lauren's face as she stood next to her. She was immediately sorry for the woman who had never done her any harm, who was polite enough to her despite Bodybag's moanings about the Atkins family.  
"Hey, Lauren, relax. I know what you're feeling but don't forget, you've got your friends in the gallery." Her expression softened as she craned her head round to snatch a glance at familiar faces. Fortunately, Colin was the other PO and he got the message, as Sylvia would have had a silent fit and told her to stand up straight. She knew that they must have been there since the very start of the trial even if they could barely be seen. She could swear that the female barrister who had prosecuted her brother was there, though she couldn't be sure of that from her angle of vision. She had once been there up with them and the Atkins values could not even begin to blank off that feeling of hurt that she had somehow fallen to this level. Roisin leaned over the rail to catch her eye and, in a second, she was oblivious to everything except the need to heal with her love the raw wounds that she could see on the other woman. All Roisin's tenderness went out to the occasionally and curiously waif like Lauren no matter how hard she tried to act. In that moment, Lauren unfroze and her emotions flowed over like molten lava. She breathed deeply in and out as she scrambled perilously on the cliff's edge of her emotions for a handhold. Automatic Atkins habit made her blink tears out of her eyes, nothing else.  
"I know, Miss Geeson but they're so far away. It's Ritchie and Charlie that I want to keep at arms length." "I know." That same cold blast that momentarily froze Lauren's spirits could be felt in the gallery. Jo looked down and shut her eyes briefly while Neumann Mason-Alan, in his mind, scornfully denied such a pathetic excuse dressed up in typical psychiatrist's long words. His inability to react back to that point had given all of them that instant's grace.  
  
John measured the inadvertent pause with a practised eye and carefully overlooked the discreet activity surrounding Lauren. Eventually, he found his voice, sensing a way through this very fraught situation.  
"Your theory, if I might say so, was proved to the hilt only the other day. The counsel for the prosecution, who was examining the defendant insisted that she pick up the very gun before you that is exhibited in evidence, and asked her to imagine that she was pointing the gun at James Fenner. I regret not intervening as I should have done in this matter. What is your professional opinion of the wisdom of such an action?" "I would most certainly and forcibly have argued that on no account should the defendant be forced to pick up a gun. Such a foolhardy and reckless course of action could very easily have precipitated such a traumatic reaction that could trigger a psychotic breakdown in the defendant. It doesn't take a trained psychiatrist to work that one out from the first two conclusions of my report. I did not anticipate when I wrote my report, that the counsel would resort to these very crude and very dangerous theatrics." For the first time in Karen's life, she saw Meg Richards speak with a mixture of real anger and passion and she could sense her fear for Lauren's precariously balanced mental stability.  
Meg Richards has done wonders in arguing my case for me, Jo Mills thought in a mixture of wry amusement and deep satisfaction. Surely Neumann Mason-Alan would not dare to argue the point, but she was wrong.  
"My lord, I protest at the accusation that the witness has levelled at me, quite apart from the fact that it is not her role in court proceedings. At no time have I ever placed undue pressure on the defendant - to merely hold a gun in her hand." A collective sharp intake of breath ran round the court like lightning. Both Jo and George marvelled how crass even Neumann Mason-Alan could be and wondered if he had an unconscious death wish. Sir Ian and Lawrence James groaned inwardly and made a mental note to question whether he was such a safe pair of hands as was made out. The good intentions were there but the ability was lamentable. The boiling rage from the gallery was contained by their collective perception that John would pull the heavens down on him.  
"Mr. Mason-Alan, perhaps you are handicapped by your view of the courtroom but mine is not. I can see quite clearly even from my distance, that the defendant is at the limit of what she is able to cope with of even the most sympathetic of court hearings. For the sake of justice, I do not wish there to be a repetition of last Friday's cross-examination which I was compelled to adjourn. You might not think that the defendant is on the witness stand, but even you ought to understand that her state of mind most assuredly is. I shall give you one last opportunity to redeem yourself in radically changing your approach in your examination. Or do I have to go to the extreme of doing what I have never done in my career." John hesitated a second, a little out of breath for the first time in his life and also so that he could play his pause for maximum effect. The shock sank into the court as they wondered just how a judge with his colourful record could possibly be more extreme.  
"If I am pushed, I will cut short the proceedings and direct the jury to acquit the defendant of the charges laid before her, on the basis that there is no case to answer." Although John's tone of voice was pitched low, it had the impact of a double shotted broadside being fired at lethal range into the most vulnerable part of an ancient galleon. Even to the women in the gallery, who were no strangers to the art of verbal warfare, were deeply impressed by this thunderous display. In the dock, Lauren smiled warmly at the judge. Beneath his robes, Yvonne's daughter could sense how deeply stirred his very real human emotions were.  
If the coloured barrister could have turned pale as chalk, he would have done. He grabbed for a glass of water and swallowed deeply before speaking.  
"My Lord, can I have a few minutes to check my notes as I need to consider my position.  
As Neumann Mason-Alan's strangled tones just about lasted out before petering out at the end, Meg Richards had the curious feeling as if the Red Sea had parted its waters before her, leaving a small inoffensive trickle of water to seep back. "Dr. Richards, correct me if I am wrong, but you testified in the morning that you cannot be certain that the defendant will never revert to the same frame of mind in the period leading up to the taking of James Fenner's life. Is that not so?" "Those were my very words. As I stated, nothing is certain in psychiatry." "I don't understand. Are you telling me that the very definite conclusions you draw are founded on the possibility that you may be wrong? Surely a professional of many years standing would be able to plumb the hidden depths of the defendant?" Jo could hardly conceal the deep disgust at the synthetic and crude way he manufactured incredulity when he had experience of trials to know better. After his apologetic start, he was reverting to type.  
"Would that what you say is so. The profession has advanced as a whole over the decades but, despite all this, I cannot predict with absolute certainty a patient's future behaviour and his future actions." "So, it is possible that you are wrong, in fact wrong in all your conclusions regarding the defendant, and you have built theoretical castles upon sand." "I am as certain of my conclusions as to the defendant as you are that when you drive your car home, you will not be involved in a motor accident. You have equal faith in the level of probability that I describe, that you won't be afraid to drive your car." "The merits or otherwise of my ability to drive a car is hardly the point. I put it to you that, despite your attempt to dodge the question, your whole report is a matter of conjecture and supposition masquerading as fact.  
"If you look through my report, it picks up Dr. Waugh's report and explains what he was unable to understand. I am unable to make cast iron predictions about the future, but I am able to say with a high degree of certainty that Miss Atkins needs help, not punishment." "Miss Atkins, I hope I am not disturbing you if the court appears to talk over your head as if you weren't here. I can absolutely assure you that my slowness to act when you were on the stand shall not be repeated. I don't make such mistakes twice." This time, tears ran down Lauren's cheeks unashamedly and her warm smile utterly transferred her to the sort of woman who didn't really appear to belong in the dock of a criminal court. It was that other woman, not her.  
"If you care to read through the report and, to spare the defendant more distress, I shall repeat briefly my conclusions, that her father was a sadistic, ruthless individual who bent every person he met to his will, that her late brother Ritchie clearly and calculatingly took advantage of his sister's wavering loyalty towards their dead father and the principles of Atkins justice he and they had once stood for, that she had a love hate relationship with both of them and that she was persuaded to act as she did when she was at her most emotionally vulnerable. There is nothing in my report, which is conjectural about the past. Everything fits together. As for her future, that is for the court, a psychiatrist and the defendant to determine and that I cannot predict." Meg Richards mild reasonable tone of voice cut through Neumann Mason-Alan's bluster like a knife through soft butter, all the more deadly for it and with that open handed gesture which carried total clarity and candour. It left him speechless.  
Lauren wept openly at Meg Richards description. Yes, it really did happen like that only she hadn't put it into words quite like that.  
"Do you have any further questions to ask of the witness?" "No,my Lord. I could not possibly add on what the witness has said." Lauren's sharp eyes took in the way Jo's voice shook slightly with emotion. She breathed easily now. She had the strength to take anything the court could throw at her so long as she shied away from the prospect of the verdict. Take it a step at a time.  
"Court is adjourned," Intoned John.  
Neumann Mason-Alan, Sir Ian and Lawrence James cast their own dark shadow in their immediate neighbourhood as they slunk out of court. The rest of the players in the court started to file out slowly, feeling that their souls had been cleansed and that their sun shone on still waters after the maelstrom which time had taken them through. 


	33. Part Thirty three

Part Thirty Three  
  
Uncharacteristically, John turned abruptly away to the back door of the courtroom, through the narrow corridor and into the sanctuary of his chambers. He made a beeline to the nearest armchair where he sank back, deep in contemplation when he could mentally free himself from his immediate past. Once his thoughts dissolved into nothingness, he was in another zone of experience. His almost Buddhist sense of detachment was his way of coping with the stresses and demands of his job where, unknown to his enemies, he could renew himself and none of them would know. He needed this form of buttress against the world as time went on. This time, it didn't quite work as the tearful grateful face of Miss Atkins hung suspended in a disembodied way, right in front of his eyes. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and the feelings that he had acted rightly and seen that a merciful justice had prevailed. After all, he had done everything that could have been expected of him and more than any judge would ever see fit to do. That warm feeling inside him detracted from the negative feelings of tiredness that weakened him. He wanted to rest alone, undisturbed. His very acute hearing warned him that this was not to be as a confused pattern light, precise footsteps could be heard. He groaned inwardly as it could only be the Lord Chancellor's Department's very own dynamic duo Thought Police. Through the crack in the door, the alien life forms intruded into his space. John had his back to them to begin with but he was highly conscious of them before they appeared in his peripheral vision.  
"A private word, John? I trust we are not disturbing you after what we know must have been a very taxing day." Sir Ian's soothing, overdone tones were as unconvincing as the tightness of his smile.  
"Take a seat if you must," John sighed unenthusiastically. "This is just like old times. All we need is Neil Houghton and our numbers are complete." "Neil Houghton and I are not on speaking terms ever since he tried to pressure me into involving myself in an official capacity in his private life." "You did? I am intrigued. Pray tell me as I would be interested to hear more of the matter." John had totally understated his curiosity, which, once roused, would never let him rest nor the unfortunate object of his curiosity. He had an ulterior motive in questioning Sir Ian so that he could be gently side-tracked but unfortunately, Sir Ian had a misguided sense of purpose, which sadly, was not harnessed to a better cause.  
"We have not come to discuss my private business but yours…." "Ah, I wondered when you would get to the point," Came the languid reply and he looked at his watch with an exaggerated gesture.  
"A defendant is entitled to a fair trial…." John could not believe his ears. They could not be turning over a new leaf after all these years. However, one glance at their hard, calculating eyes told him differently. They aren't going to change as they had sold their souls a long time ago and were irretrievably damned in his eyes. The morally dead do not come back to life.  
"……just as Neumann Mason-Alan should be treated fairly by you." "We could not help but notice, my lord, that you have been unduly generous to Mrs. Mills and rather harsh in your attitude to Mr. Mason-Alan," Lawrence James added.  
"In what way? I treat them equally according to their just deserts." "You might not notice it yourself, old man, as you are wrapped up in the trial but an impartial observer from the sidelines can't help but notice." "Impartial? That will be the day." "It's just the little things which you might be quite unconscious of," Sir Ian urged with a curious mixture of ingratiation and subtle threat. John's slightly acid one liners were bringing on the uncomfortable feelings of impotent rage that he always had when crossing swords with Deed. "I shall take to heart what you are saying and I shall redouble my efforts to treat him no less than Mr. Mason-Alan deserves." "Be that as it may, it is a matter which we shall closely scrutinise during the remainder of the trial." Sir Ian's voice shook slightly as his anger became audible. The insufferable man was playing with him in offering meaningless promises.  
"As always…." Yawned John.  
"There are more pressing matters we want to talk to you about. The last time we came to visit you in your chambers, we had quite obviously disturbed you while you were clearly intimate with a woman called Karen Betts, who I clearly remember was a witness in the last trial involving an Atkins, and for some strange reason, is a visitor in the gallery and associated with former criminals who were prisoners in the very same prison that she works at." "If you had asked me directly, I would have told you all the details." "I am sure you know them very well from the conversation we observed you were having with them." "Nothing wrong with that, surely." "Have you taken leave of your senses, John? You stand to be dangerously compromised." "By whom? By another over zealous amateur photographer?" John fired back. He was getting angry and realised that he could not lazily banish them from his world with a smart quip or two. He could not afford to use half measures if he really wanted some peace and quiet.  
"Not necessarily by us, John. There's the matter of her reputation." He smiled more openly at Sir Ian's guilt ridden use of the word 'necessarily' Their thin pretence that they were acting out of concern for his welfare blew away at the spiteful edge to their last word.  
"In what way, Ian?" "Well, consider what we know of both trials we were all at. This woman lived with James Fenner, leaves him for another man, and goes out of her way to call at his house late one night, from which this ridiculous story came of her being raped. I might have believed her if I didn't hear with my own ears the way she jumped into bed with the co-defendant in the last trial. He was jointly convicted of a terrible crime and is the very brother of the defendant in this trial, who is also on trial for a brutal murder. And only the other day we visit you and, quite by chance, we saw you with your arm round this woman. Come now, you must admit at the least that she has an unfortunate taste in men." "Your supposed morality, Ian, is merely a product of your lack of attraction to the opposite sex. It is curiously at odds with your utter lack of moral scruples in doing what your lord and master tells you to do. Besides, Karen Betts is a decent, honourable woman and someone who I am proud to call a friend. I regard any slanderous remarks about her as addressed to me." "You have a perverse and dangerous attraction for the disreputable," Sneered Sir Ian.  
"Oh have I? You took back Lady Rochester after she escaped from a criminal conviction by the skin of her teeth, from embezzling funds from her aunt's printing firm together with that precious cousin of hers. You turned a very blind eye to her goings on when you should have known better." "I repeat my question, John. Are you having an affair with Karen Betts?" "And I repeat my answer and that is no." "I am hardly likely to believe you, John." "You've been in court all week, Ian. If you remember, you must have realised that men aren't always Karen Betts' preferred persuasion. Besides, you will really have to make up your mind just exactly which woman you suspect me of carrying on an affair with. If you persist in your deluded beliefs, then Jo Mills is in the clear, and also George for all I know. That is, if I dare follow the tortuous path of your squalid imaginings without it making me physically sick."  
  
John was immensely satisfied to see that they did not know what to believe. He had faced them with possibilities which mutually excluded each other and this baffled and frustrated them. He could almost hear the creaking sounds coming from their clockwork minds which were jumping out of gear failing to mesh with other cogs. For the first time since they entered the room, they acted in a way, which suited his purposes, which was to shut up. It faced Sir Ian with the real poser as to how a clearly attractive woman like Karen Betts could be attracted to both men and women. There was nothing in his well ordered well-protected lifestyle that had prepared him for this possibility. His mind shut down at the mere thought of this. There were things in the modern world that he really didn't understand. "By the way, what were you going to tell me about you and Neil Houghton?" John asked impishly.  
"Never you mind about Neil Houghton. I insist that you tell me exactly why Mrs. Channing has devoted so much of her spare time in the gallery of a trial that doesn't remotely concern her professionally. I know of Mrs. Channing and she has a perfectly healthy respect for money, both for the wealth creators of this country and for her own large fees. So you explain to me why she is wasting valuable time and money?" "Why ask me. I'm only her ex-husband. What she does with her time is entirely her own business. You would do better to ask her direct." "I hardly think that is necessary." "Are you scared, Ian? Mind you, I can quite understand that. She does have a very short fuse and a fierce temper. It's her way with words that you have to watch. It explains how she's risen to her position in the legal profession. Of course, you will have seen her in action in the previous trial you both dutifully followed." Sir Ian's face was a picture, having turned white with fear and open mouthed at the thought of a verbal scorching from Mrs. Channing and with nothing to show for it. They would have to rethink their strategy on this point in the calm dignified air of the Lord Chancellor's Department. He grasped blindly for the last available ammunition to hurl at John.  
  
"That reminds me, John. I was shocked, utterly shocked at the way you publicly attacked the legal system in open court. Your fellow judges have long disliked your perverse judgements which unsettles respect for the rule of law…." "You mean, I'm right and they are wrong, Ian?" "That is not the point, John. You are being deliberately awkward. You were being foolhardy in the extreme. In open court, any number of reporters could have been present and any sensation seeking hack journalist could have splashed your off the cuff remark all over the tabloids. "I don't see why. Most of the newspaper proprietors are in the pocket of the government or vice versa." "That is a scandalous remark which amounts to Bolshevik trouble making," Spluttered Sir Ian. He had a curious duality in his nature. In his day to day work, he knew very well that 'if he scratched someone else's back, someone else would scratch his' and that is how the inner circle functioned in the way they gently steered the path of this country for the common and greater good. Troublemakers were swiftly sidelined or rendered ineffective, all apart from the worst troublemaker of all. Yet he prided himself on the fact that the country acquiesced in the process and therefore agreed with it. The trouble with Deed was that he painted a picture in words in colours too brutal and tasteless for his liking.  
"Still, I should not be surprised by you. To say that you 'loathed the establishment' is quite in keeping. Those were your very words." "So now you know why I said it. Now, goodbye to the pair of you. I want my rest." A slammed door and a violent rush of air marked the exasperated exit of the unwelcome guests.  
  
John lay back, trying to capture the feelings of serenity that he had been striving for. He had all the peace in the world he could wish for and therefore, he should feel happier about himself. As soon as he posed the question that way, it made him feel uncomfortable. Surely, he had realised to perfection the project that he had fashioned for himself when first regained his freedom as a single, very available batchelor. Of course, he had Charlie who was always very dear to him even though she had grown her wings as she must and had flown the nest to a distant university. There was the sometimes sexual companionship of Jo who would always be close to him whatever their occasional rows. It was curious the way George had come into his life in her very individual fashion. A temporary flash of humour made him smile at the way the reputation of his tempestuous relationship with George round the professional circles they mixed in had grown an unexpectedly new, fresh dimension unknown to them. Life was better for him now with George as she had got over that not eating phase and was stronger and healthier, in fact he had never seen her so blooming as recently. Whoever George's mysterious new lover was, it was doing her good despite what she had said when he paid her a surprise call. His mind fluttered over various possibilities that were open to him and, in that chance spin of a roulette wheel, his mind settled on George. He would phone her up as he could do with the sort of female company that was dearest to his heart. It was a vision that he had chased all his life in the way that a child pursued in his mind the zigzag trail of a kite aloft in the sunny, windy sky far above him.  
He dismissed his gloomy thoughts with a shake of his head. This was the stage a long gruelling trial found him in before he came triumphantly to the climax with his judgement which cut to the core of the matter. He had worked so hard in his life to get to the position where he had this power and could see off the insignificant, yes men of the Lord Chancellor's Department who were utterly unable to fence him in. With a smile on his face, he picked up the phone. The numbers he dialled were of a pattern as familiar to him as George's body was. Last time he called was an aberration in their relationship. He was sure that tonight would be better. 


	34. Part Thirty Four

Part Thirty Four  
  
When they all descended the familiar marble stairs into the foyer, everyone left fairly quickly, leaving George and Karen standing outside on the steps smoking. George was waiting for Jo who would almost certainly want a lift home, and Karen was taking the opportunity of spending five minutes or so alone with George, not something they'd been able to do all day. "She made an impressive witness, your friend," George commented. "Meg did some group therapy sessions on G wing once. So, if she can handle Shell Dockley doing her best to throw a spanner in the works, then a couple of barristers and a judge is small fry." "Group therapy with some of G Wing's inhabitants sounds like playing with fire to me." Karen laughed. "You could say that," She said ruefully. "It was a bloody disaster. I was doing a Helen, trying to try something radical before I'd been in the job more than five minutes." "I think I'm beginning to like radical," George said, her voice deepening slightly with meaning. "So, you're not regretting it then?" Karen asked with a soft smile. "Good god, no," George replied without the slightest hint of hesitation. "I just wish I hadn't spent so many years thinking about it and not doing it." "I thought something similar when I first slept with Yvonne." "It's been so hard," George said, feeling thoroughly stupid. "Keeping how I feel out of my face all day." "So I noticed," Karen said fondly. "Your face is far more expressive than I think you realise sometimes." "I know," George said slightly scathingly. "That's why John can usually read my thoughts far too accurately. It's infuriating." "I like it," Said Karen, resting her left hand on George's shoulder and gently playing with a tendril of her hair. "Being able to decipher what you're thinking means that I'm far less likely to make any serious blunders." Once they'd both ditched their cigarettes, it felt almost instinctive for George to turn to face Karen, for her arms to reach up and go around Karen's neck, with Karen's fitting easily around George's waist. When their lips met, it felt like they'd been doing this all their lives. They had both taken a cursory look round to make sure they weren't being observed, but even George found herself not really caring if they were. They had been in each other's company all day, and they hadn't been able to touch once. But when the door opened not far from them, they instinctively sprang apart, George teetering on the edge of the top step for a fraction of a second until Karen reflexively flung an arm round her to stop her from falling. Their separating may have been fairly instantaneous, but it hadn't prevented Jo from witnessing the most gloriously gentle, though nonetheless passionate display of sexual attraction she'd seen in a long time. Not even Karen and Yvonne had ever looked like that. But then George had never ever been able to restrain her feelings in public, though Jo was used to a display of such feelings being one of anger, not one of happiness with a layer of lust only just below the surface. George and Jo simply stared at each other, Jo seeing the flushed guilt of discovery in George's face, and George the wide-eyed speechlessness of shock on Jo's. Eventually clearing her throat, Karen said to George, "I need to check on my wing. So I'll see you tomorrow." As she walked down the steps and towards her car, she heard George's voice behind her. "Coward," George called after her, a broad grin lighting up her face. "Oh," Said Karen, turning round to look up at her. "And who do you suppose is going to have to bear the brunt of John's combined disapproval and protective zeal? I am." "Ah, yes, point taken," George said hurriedly, realising that she definitely had the easier end of the deal.  
  
When Karen's car had gone, George turned back to Jo, realising that she was about to have a conversation that she'd wanted to prepare for. But here she was, and it was up to her to make the first move. Lighting two cigarettes, she handed one to Jo who still couldn't take her eyes off the spot where George and Karen had been standing. When George handed her the cigarette, Jo took a grateful drag, the brief, very disturbing thought occurring to her that George's lips had touched the end of the cigarette for her to light it, and that she had seen those lips connecting so caressingly with Karen's. Jo shied away from this moment of introspection that was just too weird to contemplate. George knew she ought to say something, but for the life of her she couldn't find even the beginnings of a sentence. "You look incredibly guilty," Jo said quietly, a smile turning up the corners of her mouth. "I feel like I'm fifteen again and have been caught doing something utterly unspeakable," George said, a slight stammer revealing her nervousness. "And I'm being forcefully reminded of the saying that you learn something new every day. I'm assuming Karen is who you were talking about in the car this morning?" "Yes," George replied, keeping her gaze averted from Jo, feeling extremely uncomfortable. "And from what Karen said, I'll assume that John doesn't know either." "No, he doesn't, and I'd like it to stay that way, at least for a little while. Jo, you can't tell him," She added, looking suddenly horrified. "Please, you mustn't." "Calm down," Jo said soothingly, laying a hand on George's shoulder. "This isn't my story to tell. I'm staying well out of this one. But you will have to tell him." "I know. I just need some time to get my head around it first. I think I want to find out where it's going, if it's going anywhere, before I blow the top off that volcano of endless, thoroughly irritating curiosity." "What I actually came out here to find you for," Said Jo, seeing that George needed to return to safer ground. "Was because I need you to tap your ex-client who works for area management." "What on earth for?" George asked, grateful for the temporary reprieve. "I could do with laying my hands on a copy of Di Barker's personnel file." "Why?" Asked George, never one to give up the fight too easily. "After Di Barker was on the stand, Nikki, Helen and Crystal came to see me, and filled in an awful lot of gaps that I could have done with knowing about beforehand. I'm thinking of trying to recall her to the witness box. From everything they said, it's pretty clear that she had a reason for making Fenner out to be a model officer and for standing for the prosecution of his killer. Let's just say that I think she owed him one." Looking thoughtful, George smoked the rest of her cigarette in silence. "A hunch is all well and good," George said eventually. "But I'd need a fairly concrete reason for calling in that particular favour." George was only goading Jo. She knew that she would get her the file, no matter what it took, but she wanted to make Jo justify her request by spelling out her plan of attack, to give it an airing that might uncover any possible holes. But she hadn't banked on Jo's response. "How's this for concrete?" Jo said, an utterly wicked grin creasing her face. "Your making use of your dubious contacts, might just buy my silence on your most recent acquisition." For the briefest of moments, George looked completely stunned. But recovering her composure like lightning, she said, "I'm impressed, Mrs. Mills. That might almost have come from me. It seems my influence is at last having some effect. I will be only too pleased to commit blackmail on your behalf."  
  
When they were in the car and George had started the engine, the CD she'd been listening too that morning began automatically. Remembering the sheer romantic quality of some of the lyrics she'd been singing with such abandon that morning, George blushed scarlet and switched it off in disgust. Realising what she'd been thinking, Jo just smiled. As George pulled out in to the stream of rush hour traffic, she dug her address book out of the glove compartment and asked Jo to find Alison Warner's number. When Jo had read it out to her, and George had put the number into her mobile, they waited as George was rerouted through the vast internal workings of area management. George drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as the disembodied voice of Mrs. Warner's secretary asked her to hold. With George having the phone on hands free because she was driving, Jo felt like a fly on the wall, a mere observer of one of George's most ruthless tactics. When Mrs. Warner finally put in an appearance, George engaged her in some initial small talk, clearly to lull her into a false sense of security. "So what can I do for you, George?" Alison Warner's suspicious voice finally asked. "Making light conversation with ex-clients isn't something I suspect you go in for just on a whim." "I need a favour," George replied cutting to the chase. "Does this concern Larkhall Prison again?" "The very same," George drawled, briefly wondering if she'd underestimated this woman. "I need the personnel file of one Diane Barker. I believe she is one of Larkhall's prison officers." "And is there a remotely good reason why I should exceed to your request?" Mrs. Warner asked icily. "It wasn't so long ago that you wanted not just the personnel files of three of Larkhall's officers, including the governing governor's no less, but the prison files of three of its inmates." "That was eighteen months ago," George said mildly, keeping her cool whilst Mrs. Warner was clearly riled. "And I'm hardly asking you to commit a major indiscretion." "George, you are asking me to illegally copy a private personnel file of one of Larkhall's officers. You are further asking me to either fax or e-mail a copy of this file to, I'm assuming, your home address. If it's that important to you, why not just get a court order?" Thirty fifteen to Mrs. Warner, George thought in slight admiration, but she hadn't finished yet. "A court order means that the prosecution will know about it, and that isn't something I'm prepared to put up with," George said, the ice now creeping back into her tone. "Let me put this another way. Not long after the last trial involving Larkhall prison, I was presented with the makings of a case against area management, a civil case that would have cost the prison service half a million in costs alone, to say nothing of eventual compensation. For reasons I choose not to reveal to you, this case was put on hold. If Diane Barker's complete and untampered with personnel file is not waiting either on my fax or in my e-mail box when I get home, I may be forced to resurrect this case. A calamity I feel you can hardly afford, seeing as your personal handling of a few specific events left a lot to be desired. Does that make my position clear?" There was a long, sonorous silence. "Can we get one thing straight?" Alison Warner eventually asked. "By all means," George replied, sounding genial again. "If I send you a copy of this file, are we quits? Or are you going to use the threat of this case you say you have, every time you want something involving the prison service?" "Well now, I can't possibly know if I'll need to resort to such methods again, now can I." "Can you give me some proof that you do actually have the makings of a case against us?" "How does the escape of three inmates, and the fact that I have enough evidence to prove that you didn't investigate it thoroughly do you, together with the fact that you were well and truly fooled by the very officer who orchestrated the escape of Michelle Dockley, Daniella Blood and Sharon Wiley. Is that enough to satisfy your curiosity?" "Plenty," Alison Warner replied dully. "Why are you doing this George? Why the sudden interest in Larkhall Prison and one of its officers?" "Suffice it to say that it's for a good cause. Let me have this file, and you might for once see some justice done." After another long silence, Mrs. Warner said, "Fine. Diane Barker's personnel file will be faxed to you forthwith." Not waiting for a response, Mrs. Warner terminated the call.  
  
"Game, set and match to me, I think," George said, glancing quickly over at Jo to gage her response. "Yes," Jo said, looking slightly flabbergasted. "So I see." "I do realise that blackmail is ever so slightly unprofessional, but very occasionally it does get results that couldn't otherwise be achieved so successfully." "Oh, I'm not complaining," Jo said in an effort to reassure George. "I just know that I couldn't do it, that's all." George grinned wickedly. "Yes, well, that's probably because I am perfectly capable of behaving like a complete and total bitch when it suits me. You wouldn't be you, Jo, if you could do what I just did. It's not in your nature, and that isn't a bad thing." They were silent for a while as George weaved her way in and out of the endless stream of rain-spattered cars. Now that George had done what Jo had asked, George found herself returning to the feeling of nervous anticipation of the difficult conversation that was looming on the horizon as a source of embarrassment and stress. "I'm sorry, Jo," She said suddenly, knowing she had to get this out of the way before anything else. "I didn't mean you to find out like that." Realising that George had returned to the subject of Karen, mainly by the uncomfortable look on her face, Jo briefly laid a hand over George's, which was resting on the gear stick and said reassuringly, "George, you've got absolutely nothing to be sorry for. I won't deny that it was a shock, but that's mainly because I didn't know you were that way inclined. It surprised me that you were kissing a woman, not that the woman was Karen, if that makes any sense." "Why?" George asked, her nervousness immediately abating in favour of curiosity. "Let's just say that a few little details have now been explained." "Like what?" George asked as they turned in to her street. "Over the last year, you've felt incredibly guilty about the way you verbally ripped in to Karen when we thought she might have killed Fenner." George was surprised. "Was it really that obvious?" "Yes," Jo said quietly. "You almost always asked after Karen when you knew I'd been to Larkhall, and Karen usually asked after you, yet the two of you hadn't had any communication with each other, at least none that I knew of. When I asked you to be in court, and you said that it would be quite odd, seeing Karen again, you had a wistful little smile on your face that I couldn't explain at the time." "I can see I'm going to have to watch myself around you," George said ruefully as they got out of the car. "You're far too observant for your own good."  
  
As they entered the house, they could hear the fax machine in George's office churning out page after page of Di Barker's employment history. Jo put her briefcase down in the hall, and George went to make them a cup of tea. "That psychiatrist friend of Karen's did very well today," George commented as she poured boiling water over teabags and retrieved milk from the fridge. "Yes, she did. But I wish John would stop taking over. I swear he asked almost as many questions as I did this morning. If he misses the cut and thrust of questioning witnesses, then he should go back to being a barrister." Handing Jo a mug of tea, George led the way to her office, on the opposite side of the hall to the lounge. Switching on the overhead light, George said, "Jo, you should know by now that John has always liked to have his cake and eat it." George moved over to the fax machine and began collecting the sheets of paper together. They sat down on the sofa under the window, where John and George had begun their evening of loving, on the night after George's enforced visit to Larkhall. As the fax machine produced yet more and more paper, Jo and George began leafing through what they already had. Jo liked this room, its cluttered and well-lived in appearance making some of the tension begin to seep out of her. George clearly spent a considerable amount of her time in here, and Jo found herself briefly thinking that in spite of George's rise in professional status over the years, this room had probably always been a replica of the one George must have had as a law student. Most of what they had was fairly normal, fairly unhelpful, but when the fax machine had tired itself out, throwing out the last page to flutter on to the top of George's enormous antique desk, Jo glanced at it and knew she'd found what she was looking for. "Look at this," She said to George, directing her to a transcript of the conversation Helen had attached to Di's written warning over the mislabeled drugs tests. "This is how she referred to her mother." George's response to Di's brutal and to the point words that "All her life was a stinking piss test," were, "Get her to say something like that in court and you're home and dry." "Not long after she was given that written warning by Helen," Jo filled in. "Her mother supposedly had a bad fall at home, one which, funnily enough, Fenner helped her to sort out." George's eyes became round with comprehension. "So," She said, the pieces slotting nicely together. "You think she might have beaten up her mother, that Fenner helped her cover it up, and that this trial was Di Barker's way of repaying the debt." "Going by the record of the conversation that resulted in her being given a written warning by Helen, coupled with everything else I was told about her, yes, I'd say that's pretty much what happened." "You're going to have to be careful with this, Jo," George said seriously. "Go in all guns blazing, and you'll have a civil action hanging over you quicker than I can say slander." "Oh, no," Jo said earnestly. "I'm going to reel her in with the softly softly approach." "That's if you can get her back in to the witness box, and you do realise that if you're successful in getting Neumann Mason-Alan to agree with you, that he's going to want his own crack of the whip." "Well, fine. He's got to come up with a reason for recalling any of my witnesses, which he can't." "No, but he would have every reason in the book for calling Karen to the stand. If I were him, that's exactly what I would do. There's been far too much said about Karen during this trial one way and another, and if he's got an ounce of sense in that thick head of his, he'll have been biding his time, keeping the possibility of calling Karen in reserve if things weren't going too well for him. As it is, I'll bet you this year's salary that if you don't try to recall Di Barker, Neumann will ask to call Karen, and if you do ask to recall Di Barker, then he'll use Karen's appearance as a bargaining tool." "You've really thought this out, haven't you," Jo said in slight wonderment. "I've so far had six days in the gallery, watching you pull off a bloody miracle, to come up with thoughts like that. Being up there, it means that you can see both sides of the battle. All I've needed to do is to watch Neumann's face when you're questioning either his or your own witnesses. His facial expressions are as transparent as mine. If something's going in his favour, then you can tell, and if it's going the other way, it's even easier. Everything Lauren said about Karen on Thursday, I could see him mentally chalking it up as something he wanted to remember. That's when his wanting to call her as a witness occurred to me." Jo was about to comment on this, when the phone rang. Picking up the cordless from the desk, George saw that it was John's number and when she answered, switched the phone on to hands free so that Jo could speak to him too if she wanted. But whilst John and George chatted amiably enough for a little while, Jo stayed silent, so that John remained unaware of her presence. "George," he said eventually as she'd thought he might. "Can I see you tonight?" "No, darling, I'm sorry, but I'm busy this evening." "Is whatever it is so important?" "Yes!" George said in mock outrage. "Are you seeing this new lover you wouldn't tell me about last week?" George couldn't help blushing. "No, as it happens, I'm not, but the answer's still no." "Please, George," He attempted to cajole which made Jo smile. "John, don't sulk, it's frightfully unattractive." Sitting next to her, Jo was shaking with silent laughter, her teeth clamped down on her lower lip so as not to let out a sound. "But Jo isn't speaking to me," John said, still blissfully unaware of Jo's presence. "And have you asked yourself why?" George asked. "Jo's cross with me for supposedly always having the upper hand. I don't mean too, that's just how it's always been." George suddenly felt like this was something she shouldn't be hearing. "You shouldn't really be telling me this, John. But I think you need to look at why Jo thinks you always have the upper hand, whether that's in bed or out of it." When John said, "Perhaps you're right," George could feel Jo relax, clearly relieved that they'd stopped talking about her. "So, are you sure I can't persuade you to postpone the ever so important thing you seem bent upon doing tonight?" John asked, returning to his former endeavour. "John," George said slightly regretfully. "I'm not particularly eager to repeat the disaster that was last week. I just need some space, that's all." When John had gone, George put the cordless back on the desk and said, "I'm sorry about that. I didn't know John would start talking about you." "Oh, no need," Jo said lightly. "He didn't say anything I don't already know." "Jo, what's happening with you two?" George asked gently. "We've slipped in to a bit of a rut, that's all. It'll sort itself out with some straight talking. I'm sick of John always having the professional, or sexual, upper hand, and he doesn't know any other way to be."  
  
They left this topic of conversation for some time, whilst they cooked and ate a light meal, both women at ease in the other's company, a state of being that couldn't have even been suggested two years previously. After George had put the plates in the dishwasher, she opened a bottle of white wine and poured them both a glass. When they had taken their accustomed seats in the lounge, George at the right hand end of the sofa, and Jo in the armchair at right angles to the fireplace, Jo lit a cigarette and said, "So, tell me about Karen." Lighting her own cigarette, George began. "It really begins before Karen. I've always known that I found other women attractive, I'd just never done anything about it before. I don't really know why, other than the fact that Daddy would have a fit and probably disown me. John didn't even know about it, well, not until fairly recently, the night after my imposed visit to Larkhall to be exact. You know what he's like, if he wants an answer to a question, he gets it at any cost. I didn't want him to know, but he virtually dragged it out of me. I wanted to have just one thing about myself that he didn't know, but that wasn't to be. When I clashed swords with Karen in court, it was incredible. She didn't give a damn that I was a barrister, she just gave as good as she got. You've got no idea just how erotic sparring with someone really is. When I accused Karen of killing Fenner, the way she fought back was wonderful. But, as usual, I took that too far. I felt terrible for the way I'd intruded on her personal space, and for accusing her of doing something so horrific. So, I sent her an e-mail to apologise. I didn't hear from her again until I saw her in court last Monday. I would have been there even if you hadn't asked me to be. It was too good an opportunity to miss. Karen, also being far too observant for her own good, asked me why I'd really been at court. So, I told her. She was surprised, but seemed to like it. I went out for dinner with her last Wednesday, which was possibly the most enlightening meal I've ever had in my life. Karen said that if she hadn't been trying to keep herself out of prison, forming the case against Fenner and finishing with Yvonne, she wouldn't have waited until now to ask me out for dinner. So, there you are." "What happened with John last week that was so disastrous?" Jo had unknowingly put two and two together and had well and truly made four. George took a sip of her wine. "After Karen left on Wednesday night, John came to see me." George looked slightly away from Jo at this point. "I wasn't sure if I wanted Karen to stay, so she didn't, and whilst she couldn't possibly have been nicer to me about that, I was furious with myself." "George," Jo said quietly. "Being afraid of trying something new isn't anything to be angry about." "I know that really, I'm just not used to it. I wasn't expecting John to put in an appearance, and if he'd arrived half an hour earlier, Karen would still have been here. I thought sleeping with him might get rid of some of my anger, but it didn't. It dawned on me half way through that I didn't want to be in bed with John, but that I wanted to be in bed with Karen, and that sort of took any possible enjoyment out of it. I'm sorry," She said, thinking that she'd definitely said too much. "You didn't want to hear all that." "I think what you said to John is right," Jo replied. "You do need some space, space to find out where this is going with Karen." "Right," George said decisively. "Enough about me. What are we going to do about you and John?" "I don't think there's anything to be done about me and John," Jo said miserably. "He's never going to change, and I certainly can't make him." "Jo, tell me to sod off and mind my own business if this is too personal, but what is it really about John that you're unhappy with?" Jo tried to find a satisfactory way of saying how she did feel, but it seemed that only the basic facts would suffice. "I've always been professionally inferior to John, and there isn't really anything I can do about that at the moment, and that only occasionally gets in the way. But I'm sick of also feeling sexually inferior." "Who says you are?" George asked gently. "It's obvious," Jo insisted. "I will never be remotely sexually equal to John, or you, and I'm reminded of that every time I sleep with him." To George's dismay, tears rose to Jo's eyes and began flowing down her cheeks, clearly showing that this was not a recent concern, and that the stress of the trial had brought it to the fore. "Oh, Jo," George said, feeling the pain and the abundant lack of self-confidence that had prompted the tears. Getting to her feet, George walked over to Jo, and sat snugly down in the armchair next to her. This slightly incongruous piece of furniture could comfortably though somewhat intimately seat both herself and John, so it could easily accommodate her and Jo. "I'm sorry," Jo said as George put her arms round her. "I feel so stupid, and you're so happy, which is wonderful to see, believe me. But I just wish I had it in me to be a better lover." Jo's body was rigid and tense in George's arms. She tried to choose her words carefully. "Jo, this is more to do with how you feel about yourself than how you feel about John, isn't it." "I hate it, George, I hate feeling so, so sexually inadequate." "Jo, listen to me," George said, trying to calm her down. "It isn't always good with me and John, you know. I'm not quite the sexual success you seem to think I am, and whatever does take place between me and John isn't anywhere near as unconventional as you might think." Jo looked unconvinced. "Jo, you need to stop assuming that I always enjoy everything John does for me, because it isn't all that unusual for me not too. Yes, I might like to try something new once in a while, though that's part of my sex life I seem to have left behind in recent years. You could say that finally getting around to sleeping with Karen this weekend was partly to do with that. What you need to understand about John, is that the majority of the pleasure he receives from making love, isn't necessarily what a woman can or does do for him, but what he can do for her. If you enjoy it, and he knows you enjoy it, that can often be all that matters to John. You know what he's like, John's philosophy has always been to bring a woman to shuddering submission as many times as possible before he thinks about himself. John has an enormous amount of love for you, and giving pleasure is the only way he really knows how to show it." "So you don't think he's likely to get bored of me?" Jo asked, her tears having mostly dried. "No," George said firmly. "Darling, if John was bored of you, he wouldn't still be sleeping with you, I know that much. After Charlie was born, and any time after that when I went through my periodic phases of self-loathing, I wouldn't have enjoyed bed even if I'd had the most skilful lover on the planet. That's why John went looking elsewhere, not because he didn't enjoy what I did for him, but because I wasn't enjoying whatever he did for me. It didn't occur to me to even think of faking it in those days, though sometimes I wish I had. So, whilst you might think your sex life with John is pretty conventional, at least you don't disappoint him on a fairly regular basis." "You don't disappoint him," Said Jo in astonishment. "Yes, he worries about you, but that's because he loves you and because he doesn't ever want you to become as low and as thin as you were a year ago. We both worry about you when you occasionally stop eating, which we are both usually aware of, though you don't always know it, and John will be happy for you, when he gets over the shock." "Jo, no matter what happens with Karen, I don't want to put a stop to what I have with John. I won't ever stop loving him, and I don't think I could do without him. Does that sound terrible?" "No, of course not," Jo said gently. "I don't ever want to go back to the way things were before we began living the way we are. I really don't think I could live with that level of uncertainty again. George, I need you to help me love John, because we both know that one woman will never be enough for him." They sat still and silent for some time, George with her arms around Jo, and Jo with an arm around George's shoulders. They were both deeply touched by what the other had said, and both needed a little time to digest it. Eventually, George gave Jo one last squeeze and detached herself, moving back to sit on the sofa and taking a mouthful of wine. "So," Jo said, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag. "Come on then, satisfy my curiosity. What's it like, sleeping with a woman?" George broke in to a soft, sexy smile. "It's utterly incredible," Was all she could say at first. "It feels so emotionally intimate that if it didn't work, it would be a disaster. Turning a man on is really quite simple when you think about it, but doing the same for a woman is a challenge. If you know what you like yourself, and are prepared to contemplate giving what you normally receive, you're half way there. You should try it some time." "I don't think you'll ever find me doing that," Jo said with a broad grin.  
  
An hour or so later when a cab arrived for Jo, they stood on the doorstep, Jo's arms going around George, and George fondly returning the hug. "I wouldn't have given you away to John, you know," Jo said as they briefly held each other close. "And I would have got you that file," George responded, the two remarks seeming to affirm the friendship that had been built up over the months, and which was growing ever deeper. What they had was too important to both of them, it was something worth maintaining at almost any cost. 


	35. Part Thirty Five

Part Thirty Five  
  
On the Tuesday morning, Yvonne couldn't sit still. She couldn't escape from the fact that her daughter's freedom or imprisonment could depend on the evidence she was about to give. It was different from last time, because Lauren's possible acquittal or conviction held so much more importance for her. She knew she shouldn't think like this, because Ritchie had been her child as well, but she knew that's how it was. When everyone else went upstairs to the gallery, both Karen and Nikki asked her if she wanted them to stay with her until the last minute, but she didn't. Yvonne needed a moment's reflection before she took her place in the ring. Even though Jo was defending Lauren, Yvonne couldn't quite decide whether it was she, or the pathetic-looking prosecuting barrister who more successfully represented the lion she was being thrown to. She needed a last cigarette, a last moment's peace before she went in there and put up the sort of fight she should have done against Charlie all those years ago. She was standing on the steps, blowing smoke rings at passing pigeons, when the door opened behind her and John walked up to her. "Do you think I can do this, Judge?" She asked, the words coming out before she could think better of them. "Of course," He said in quiet surprise. But he could see that she needed some further convincing. "Do you remember how you dealt with Brian Cantwell when he was defending your son?" Yvonne's lips quirked in to a brief smile. "Yeah, I made him look a bit of a prat." "Quite. So, do the same with Neumann Mason-Alan and you'll be fine. The more you antagonise him, the more outrageous his questions will become, and the more I can object to them." "You shouldn't be telling me things like that, Judge." "And your daughter shouldn't have ever reached a courtroom. I can do nothing to help her now, except to hope that justice prevails. But this jury are doing their job, they are taking notice of every word, and I don't think they will entirely let you down." "Why did you take on this trial?" Yvonne asked, genuinely interested. "Because I wanted your daughter to receive a fair hearing, which no matter how I might feel about what she has done, she will certainly get from me. She might not have done if the case had been heard by the likes of Monty Everard, because his primary concern is always to please the establishment." "Which the conviction of an Atkins would no doubt achieve," Yvonne said dryly. "You're learning," John said approvingly. "Thank you," Yvonne said as she ditched her cigarette. "No matter what sentence you end up giving her, I know my Lauren's safe in your hands."  
  
"Mrs. Atkins," Jo began once Yvonne had sworn the oath. "We have heard from your daughter how much of an influence her late father, your late husband had on both you and his children. In your own words, please could you explain to the court exactly what effect this influence had on you?" Glancing up to the gallery, Yvonne saw them sitting there, all supporting her. "Charlie Atkins was a control freak," She began. "If he wanted something done, it was done. If he thought something should happen, then it usually did. This extreme need for control didn't ease off when it came to either his wife or his children. Charlie badly wanted a son, so you might say that it was sheer force of will that made his first child a boy. Charlie got where he did because he was ruthless, and because he wouldn't let anything get in the way of what he wanted. In some ways, Charlie was a little boy who never quite grew up. He always had to have his own way, no matter what anyone else thought. So, when it came time for Ritchie to follow in his father's footsteps, he had his way over that as well." "Since I know the prosecution will ask you if I don't," Said Jo, throwing a satisfied smile over at Neumann Mason-Alan. "Did you attempt to dissuade your husband from this highly illegal course of action?" "Of course I did," Yvonne said slightly scornfully. "But you don't disagree with Charlie Atkins for long." Yvonne's face suddenly darkened, and it wasn't lost on anyone that she'd slipped momentarily in to the present tense. "What mother would want her child being taught to shoot at the age of twelve," She continued bitterly. "I used to call Ritchie my little angel, and up until the time his father started making a model criminal out of him, that's exactly what he was." Yvonne was thoroughly ashamed to find that tears had risen to her eyes. "Would you like a moment to recover yourself?" John asked gently, feeling the pain coming off Yvonne in waves. "No, I'm fine," Yvonne replied, striving to keep going at any cost. "So, when it came time for Lauren to be taught the same things, I knew there wasn't any point in objecting." "Mrs. Atkins," John intervened. "Exactly what happened to you when you disagreed with your son being taught to shoot?" "I believe you know the answer to that, My Lord," Yvonne replied, giving him his proper title. "As I understand it, my daughter described that event to you in as much detail as was necessary. I would ask you to consider whether my giving the court details of that painful event, would in actual fact be remotely relevant to my daughter's eventual verdict." Up in the gallery, George stared open mouthed whilst Karen, Nikki and Helen just grinned at each other. Jo just prayed that John wasn't about to flip his lid. "You'll be surplus to requirements if you're not careful, Jo," George murmured to herself. "Point taken, Mrs. Atkins," John replied, admiring Yvonne's spirit in the face of adversity. "Though I would urge you not to make a habit of directing the Judge." Knowing John's stubborn nature only too well, both Karen and George couldn't help laughing at this, causing Yvonne to look up at them, lessening the tension for her. "Mrs. Atkins," Jo continued. "Did you ever prejudice your daughter against James Fenner?" "I probably whinged about him every time Lauren came to visit me, and I certainly didn't hide the fact that Fenner was a complete and total bastard." "Those sound like my words," Nikki murmured which made George smile. "Mrs. Atkins, please remember where you are," John said slightly reprovingly. "But did you ever actually say to your daughter, that you wanted James Fenner killed?" "No, I didn't," Yvonne replied, knowing she was treading on the edge of perjury. "What was your initial impression when Karen Betts told you that she had been raped by James Fenner?" "I was angry, and hurt and upset, the way any woman feels when they hear something like that. Karen had always appeared so strong to me, that to see her so vulnerable and so afraid of talking about something that wasn't her fault, it hurt like hell." Having witnessed Karen like this when they had begun work on the case against Fenner, Jo knew exactly what Yvonne was talking about. "And how did you deal with your daughter's reaction to your relationship with Karen Betts?" "I didn't understand it at first, I thought it was only children who would object so much to someone new on the scene. But I was wrong. My relationship with Karen made Lauren very unhappy, something I will always regret. What she felt about Karen was totally irrational, but no less real because of that. Lauren had only just got me back eight months before, and I think she thought I was going to be taken away from her again. Karen would never have tried to do that, but like most fears, Lauren's was very real to her whilst being incomprehensible to everyone else. Lauren said some horrible things to Karen over the last few days of the trial, and when she received Ritchie's letter and read everything he said about Karen, I think Lauren felt incredibly guilty for the way she'd treated her." "What can you remember about the night Ritchie died?" "Not much," Yvonne said matter-of-factly. "I think I was in shock. We were all sat in the garden, when Karen got this call on her mobile. I'm assuming it was the governor, Neil Grayling, to tell her that Snowball and Ritchie were dead. I think that was the worst thing Karen's ever had to do, to tell me and Lauren that Ritchie had killed himself. I was holding a glass of wine, and I think I must have squeezed it. The only thing I really remember is how much it hurt to have glass imbedded in my hand. The physical pain was easier to deal with than the emotional. From then on, until Karen came back from the prison, I didn't speak. I think I was in shock. I remember," Yvonne stopped, not sure that what she wanted to say was either relevant or appropriate. "Go on," John encouraged. "I was in bed when Karen came back, Lauren still downstairs with Cassie and Roisin. Karen got in to bed beside me and just held me, not letting herself go to sleep because she knew I was still awake and still in shock. When I finally started talking, I kept saying that I should have been able to stop Ritchie from doing it, that he was my son and I should have known if he would feel like that. What Karen said to me is probably what I remember most about that night. She said that killing yourself, it's like having the last word, the final fuck you. I'm sorry, Judge, but that's what she said. Karen was right about Ritchie, because he hated not getting his own way, a bit like his father really. From the time he'd come to visit me in prison, Ritchie had wanted to get one over on me, and killing himself was his last ditch attempt to prove he could always win." "What did you feel when you received your son's letter?" Jo asked, feeling as though she was intruding on Yvonne's grief. "I had to go and identify Ritchie's body the next day, and when I went to the prison where he'd been held, I was given a bag of all his belongings. In the bag were two letters, one for me and one for Lauren. I was obviously curious about what Lauren's letter said, but it was addressed to her, not to me. You've got no idea just how many times I've wished I'd opened it before I gave it to her. Maybe if I had, none of this would have happened." There was a short silence, Yvonne clearly battling with far too many unwelcome thoughts. "Were you planning to ask Mrs. Atkins to read the letter, Mrs. Mills?" "In view of its content, I would prefer not to, My Lord. I would simply like to submit it as evidence." "May I see the letter?" John asked, and Jo picked it up and walked over to give it to him. After reading it through, John said, "In view of one particular line, I do think the court needs to hear this." "But my Lord," Jo protested, knowing just how much damage this was going to do to Karen's already shrinking reputation. "So much of that letter might be considered prejudicial, to..." Jo didn't quite know how to say what she wanted to say. "...To one particular member of the public gallery, yes, I know, Mrs. Mills. Might I take this opportunity to apologise to Karen Betts for the damage this might well do to her professional reputation, and to suggest that she may not want to stay to hear this." "I have seen that letter on a previous occasion, My Lord," Karen said from the gallery. "Then you will be aware of its contents, and you may also be aware of why I consider it necessary for the court to hear it, in spite of its prejudicial language. But feel free to leave if this becomes too humiliating for you." George became curious to hear just what Ritchie had written that might make Karen want to sink through the floor. "Please could you read the letter, Mrs. Atkins?" When Yvonne had been handed the letter in its transparent, plastic cover, she began. "Dear Mum,  
  
You know why I'm writing this, because I'm too much of a coward to say it in person. Dad would be thoroughly ashamed of me, wouldn't he? No Atkins is supposed to take the easy way out, and all that. But I can't do it, Mum, I can't go on day in and day out like this. It's not prison, it's being like I am. So, I guess this is the first in a long list of things I'm supposed to be sorry for. The second being that you didn't deserve what I did. I am sorry I put you and Lauren through all that, but I had to do it. Snowball was the craziest girl I've ever met, but I loved her. I don't expect you to understand that, but there it is. I know I haven't been the kind of son you really wanted, but then I never could live up to everything you and dad brought me up to believe. Sure, I inherited all the shit parts of dad's nature, and not enough of yours, but Atkins family values just weren't for me.  
  
I've written this letter, not only to try and put the record straight once and for all, but to ask you to do something for me. You remember on the second day of the trial, when Karen Betts was in the witness box, that stupid git who was representing us, tried to question Karen about a supposedly fake rape allegation. Mum, there wasn't nothing fake about that allegation. Fenner did rape her, I'm certain of it. There's things you learn about women, like what's normal, and what isn't, and the way she was with me that first night really wasn't normal, in any sense of the word. A woman asking you to be rough with her, that's nothing new, but this was different. I asked her afterwards what it had all been about, and she said she was laying a few ghosts. Mum, she was trying to punish herself for what had happened with Fenner. I'm guessing she thought it was her fault, but he's the biggest shit going and deserves nothing but a dose of the Atkins justice. You're probably wondering why I'm telling you all this. I've got to say it now, because after tonight, I won't ever get another chance. She was sat in the public gallery with you all through the trial. Mum, please take care of her for me. She's still hurting after what that bastard Fenner did to her, and she needs looking after. I ain't asking you to finish Fenner off, because I know you won't. But I need you to keep an eye on Karen for me. I hate what I did to her and to you, and I can't ever put any of that right. But if somehow, you can see that she's all right, I'll feel like I've at least tried to put something right.  
  
I'm sorry I wouldn't see you when you asked to see me today, but I was angry. I couldn't handle the fact that you'd stood up against one of your own. But then, you never were a true Atkins. You were always above all that. Even though you did all that stuff for dad and brought me and Lauren up to follow in his footsteps, it wasn't really you. I've been losing control of everything in my life, probably ever since I met Snowball, and I guess this was my way of having a bit of control again. I'm sorry you didn't get to say whatever it was you wanted to say, and I'm sorry for every other bad thing I've ever done to you.  
  
I love you Mum,  
  
Ritchie." There was a long, awful pause once the letter reached its end. George had become more and more aware of Karen's humiliation beside her, the need to escape and to hide atypically strong. But Karen didn't move. It might almost have been a testament to her inner strength that she didn't take up John's offer and leave. George didn't know what she could possibly say or do to make Karen feel better. Helen was sitting on Karen's other side this time, and considering what Fenner had done to Helen, Karen would have preferred her to be almost anyone else. "Do you think Ritchie knew about your relationship with Karen Betts?" John asked into the silence. "I don't know," Yvonne replied. "I don't think he did, but things like that get round prisons quicker than the school playground." "Finally," Jo cut in before John could ask any more questions. "Did you have any idea that Lauren was planning to kill James Fenner?" "None whatsoever," Yvonne said firmly. "I wanted Karen to nail Fenner the legal way, because like her, I wanted to see him suffer for a very long time. Ritchie said in his letter to me that he wasn't asking me to finish Fenner off, because he knew I wouldn't, and he was right. No way would I have flirted with the probability of going back inside. I wouldn't have wanted either myself or anyone I know and love to do time just for killing that worthless, spineless, good for nothing bigot who thought it was perfectly okay to force himself on defenseless women as long as he didn't get found out. If I'd had the slightest inkling that Lauren was thinking of doing anything of the sort, I'd have done everything in my power to prevent her. I'm not going to say that the world isn't a better place without Fenner, but I would far rather he be still alive than to see my daughter going through what she is now." After another short silence, Jo said, "No further questions, my Lord."  
  
When Neumann Mason-Alan rose to his feet, he looked almost gleeful. "Mrs. Atkins," He began. "Just how many guns were in either yours or your daughter's possession?" "Does it matter?" Yvonne asked, John's warning about the prosecutor clear in her mind. "Considering that your daughter clearly used one of your late husband's guns, which means that you hadn't attempted to dispose of his collection, yes, it most certainly is relevant." "I'm not entirely sure just how many guns Charlie left behind. When I found out what Lauren had done, I made her get rid of the lot of them." "Did you not ever think it wise to dispose of your late husband's weapons, after he'd been killed and after you were released from prison?" "Not at the time, no," Yvonne replied curtly. "Since you've asked such a badly informed question, I'll assume that you've never considered what it might mean for the family of someone as powerful as Charlie Atkins to be left behind once he was either dead or in prison." "Would you care to enlighten us?" John asked mildly, before Neumann Mason-Alan blew a gasket. "Charlie Atkins had more enemies than your average paedophile. He trod on people left, right and centre in order to get what he wanted, me included. There were any number of people out there who would happily have finished Charlie off in order to get a cut of the market. I didn't ever like or agree with most of what Charlie did, but that doesn't stop me from saying that he was extremely clever about what he did. What you need to understand, is that even though Charlie's dead, I'm not, and Lauren isn't. It would still give an enormous amount of Charlie's old rivals immense satisfaction to permanently remove what's left of the Atkins family. So, when I got out of prison, my biggest concern was protecting myself and my daughter from any possible come back." "So," Mason-Alan said smugly. "You are openly admitting in a court of law that you kept hold of Charlie Atkins weapons as a form of protection?" He sounded incredulous. "Even though this was clearly illegal, and meant that you were committing a crime for which an automatic prison sentence of five years is now mandatory?" "I would have preferred to end up in a cell rather than a coffin, sir," Yvonne replied, putting a certain amount of steel and scorn in to the sir. "I see," Mason-Alan said, clearly flustered. "Why didn't you ever question what your daughter was up to during the six weeks after your son died?" Yvonne looked scathingly at him. "My daughter is twenty five years old," She said derisively. "She doesn't have to explain her movements to me. Before I got out of prison, Lauren was living on her own in that house, keeping Charlie's business going in case he got out after his trial, and generally living her own life. What Lauren did or didn't do in the course of her daily activities wasn't for me to begin questioning." "Mrs. Atkins, why did you never attempt to remove your children from the influence of their father?" "You really haven't got any idea, have you?" Yvonne asked incredulously. "Charlie Atkins was a bully, a single-minded, ruthless bully. If I had survived long enough to take his children far enough away from him that he couldn't follow us, we'd have been constantly on the run for the rest of our lives. Staying in hiding from the police would be simple compared to the threat Charlie's continued existence would have posed. If the police catch up with you, they're not actually allowed to kill you, unless you're carrying a gun. But Charlie wouldn't have thought twice about putting a bullet in me had he caught up with us. That is no way to bring up two young children. Yes, whilst we stayed at home, they might have been learning the finer points of using and maintaining a firearm, but they were relatively safe. If I'd gone on the run from Charlie and taken my kids with me, we'd never have been safe again." "You seem to have thought primarily about your own safety," Mason-Alan said quietly. "Could that be because your own safety was your first concern, your safety over your children's?" Before John could object, Yvonne beat him to it. "Do you have children, sir?" "Yes," Mason-Alan replied. John thought about objecting again but he could see that Yvonne could handle this man. "Then you'll know how it feels to be prepared to do anything for your children, to put your own safety in jeopardy if it will stop them from being hurt. Charlie raised his hand to Lauren only once, and he never did it again. In order to prevent him from doing to his children what he did to me all too often, I threatened him with one of his own guns. I told him that if he ever laid a finger on either Lauren or Ritchie, it'd be the last thing he did. So don't tell me that I wasn't concerned with the safety of my children." "But you did stand by and watch as your husband threatened to nail Ritchie to the warehouse floor, didn't you?" "Yes, to my everlasting regret, I did. I knew that the safest thing for Ritchie was for him to go away and make his own way in the world. He was trying to compete with Charlie, not something anyone should try to do if they value their life." "So, what this comes down to," Mason-Alan continued, looking smugger and more supercilious than ever. "Is that as long as your own best interests were carefully looked after, it mattered little to you that your son was forced to have absolutely no contact with either you or his sister until after Charlie Atkins was dead." "No!" Yvonne shouted. "Do you know what it's like not to have contact with one of your children for almost four years? Four years I didn't hear a word from Ritchie, not one single, bloody word. I'd have given anything during that time to know what he was up to, to know that he was all right. But the first I heard from him was when he came to see me in prison. He reminded me of how I used to call him my little angel, as if I'd ever forget, and like the desperate, stupid cow I was, I believed him because I wanted to. I needed to know that I hadn't screwed up, that I hadn't been the terrible mother I thought I was. I needed to know that I'd done my best by my children. I did everything I possibly could to keep them safe, and to keep them from falling too much under Charlie's spell, but I failed." When her tirade had come to an end, and everyone could see that there wasn't any fight left in her, John said, "I do hope you don't have any further questions, Mr. Mason-Alan." "No, my Lord," Came the solemn reply. "Until after lunch," John said, rising to his feet almost before the Clerk could call out, all rise.  
  
As they all made their way out of the gallery and towards the stairs, Helen caught up with Karen. "I think you and me need to have a talk," She said quietly. "Not about Fenner, we're not," Karen said, just managing to keep her tone civil. She knew now that she ought to have taken John's invitation and left whilst the letter was being read, because now she felt almost as open and exposed as she had done when Fenner had raped her. "Karen, you cannot keep on punishing yourself for what he did to you," Helen insisted in a stage whisper. This was just too much for Karen, the final straw in a morning full of more guilt and sympathetically-felt pain for Yvonne than she'd experienced in a long time. "Do you have any idea what popped so conveniently into my head when Fenner raped me?" She asked, turning to face Helen and bringing them to a stop, but still trying to keep her voice at a quiet, though nonetheless furious level. "Your words, your very bloody words. Do you remember that day when you told me that Fenner was a misogynist bastard, and when I disagreed, you told me that I was too close and that I couldn't see it? Well, you'll be pleased to know you were absolutely right. I lay there after he'd fallen asleep, and all I could hear was your voice and those words going round and round in my head. So anything you want to say on the subject of Fenner, I really don't want to hear it." Stalking off down the stairs, she left them all gazing after her, all a little stunned both by her words and by her momentary loss of control. "It's going to be one of those days," Nikki said dryly, immediately lessening the tension. When they reached the foyer, they saw a haggard-looking Yvonne, and Karen stood talking to her. But when Neumann Mason-Alan attempted to walk passed their little group, it was Yvonne's turn to lose her rag. John and Jo had been walking towards the little knot of women, mainly to see if Yvonne was all right, when they were greeted to the sight of Yvonne striding purposefully towards Neumann Mason-Alan with a look of sheer loathing and anger in her eyes. Recognising this for exactly what it was, both Karen and Nikki reacted like lightening. Shouting a mixture of Yvonne's name, no and don't, they ran up to Yvonne, and each grabbing one of her arms, held on to her tightly. "Yvonne, it's not worth it," Nikki said as she struggled to keep hold of an equally struggling Yvonne, who looked to only have one thing in mind, murder. "Yvonne, I know what he said to you was unforgivable, but kicking the shit out of him isn't going to do you or Lauren any good," Nikki insisted. When Yvonne didn't look any closer to calming down, Karen thought it was her turn to put in a word. "Yvonne, don't you dare make me repay that shiner you gave me when I caught you trying to get over the wall," She said, tightening her grip on Yvonne's arm in the old prison officer style. "You heard what he said," Yvonne ground out as she persisted in trying to free herself from the competent holds of Nikki and Karen. "He said I didn't care about my kids. He said I didn't look after them in the way a mother should. But hey, I'm beginning to think he might be right." Unaware of George's quiet approach, Nikki and Karen were surprised to see her come to stand in front of Yvonne, well within kicking distance if Yvonne managed to free herself. "Yvonne, listen to me," George said firmly but calmly. "We know you did your best for your children, and if you look passed what that imbecile said to you, you'll know it too. In spite of everything, Yvonne, you've been a far better mother to your children than I ever have. No matter what happens either to you or to her, your daughter will always love you. At least you'll never have to hear your daughter describing you as an ice maiden." George suddenly stopped, as if only just aware of what she'd said. But her words had done the trick. Nikki and Karen became immediately aware that Yvonne had relaxed, and that tears were running unheeded down her face. Loosening the hold on her arms, Nikki and Karen simply put their arms round her, holding her upright as her body shook. Cassie appeared then, followed closely by Roisin and Barbara. Getting the distinct feeling that this was a privilege only bestowed on fellow ex-cons, Karen moved away slightly to allow the others to guide Yvonne over to one of the padded benches. John and Jo had stood stunned as the scene had unfolded, both watching with slight admiration as Karen and Nikki had successfully restrained Yvonne from doing anything stupid. But they had both been thoroughly shocked by George's words. "I didn't know she knew about that," John said, his voice deep with half concealed pain. "Knew about what?" Jo asked, seeing that something had struck him to the core. "Charlie's nickname for George, the ice maiden. I hate it every time she says it, and I didn't ever want George to know about it." "Well, it seems that somehow, she does." "I ought to go and see if she's all right," John said, feeling an enormous amount of regret that George had overheard that little snippet of Charlie's occasional vindictiveness towards her mother. "I'll go in a minute," Jo said, seeing that Karen was walking towards the doors that led outside, correctly assuming that this was where George would have gone.  
  
When Karen went outside, George was standing smoking, looking as if her thoughts were anywhere else but here. Walking over and putting an arm round her, Karen said gently, "What was all that about?" "It's my daughter's oh so charming little nick name for me, when she's talking about me instead of to me. The sad thing is that I can't blame her really. But I wish I hadn't said it. Saying a thing instead of just knowing it makes it all too real, doesn't it." George's voice was flat and almost without feeling, which told Karen that the feelings were only being kept under the surface by sheer force of will. Before Karen could respond, the door opened and Jo appeared. Karen hadn't removed her arm from around George, so she was relieved to see it was only Jo. "Are you all right?" Jo asked, laying a brief hand on George's shoulder. "No, not really," George replied, never capable of keeping anything from Jo for long any more, and finding herself feeling suddenly safe stood between the two women closest to her. "Is Yvonne all right?" Karen asked. "She's surrounded by four of her friends, so I'm sure she'll be fine. But I could wring Neumann Mason-Alan's neck." "Did you see Helen in there?" Karen asked, now feeling thoroughly guilty for her outburst. "I think she went to get everyone some coffee. Why?" "Because she caught me at a low ebb and I said some pretty harsh things to her." "Yes, what was all that about?" George asked, recovering slightly now that she had someone else to think about. "I'll tell you some other time," Karen replied. "But I really shouldn't have said what I did." "From what I heard of it, Helen will get over it." "It seems to be the day for fraught words," Jo observed. "And John's worried about you," She said to George. "He'll live," George said dismissively to cover her feelings. "It's only because he didn't think I knew that that's how Charlie refers to me. But if no one objects, I don't think I'm going to stay for this afternoon. I think I need some of the sheer dull monotony of civil law to lose myself in." When Jo had returned inside and they were alone again, George said, "I feel awfully stupid asking you this, but can I see you tonight?" "Yes, of course," Karen replied, realising that after what she'd come out with this morning, George might want to talk. "The thing is, I don't know if.." George stopped, looking incredibly uncomfortable. Realising what she was trying to say, Karen smiled. "George, if all you want from me is a cuddle and a chat, that's absolutely fine." George laughed, her nervousness abating. Then, ditching her cigarette, she put her arms round Karen, feeling Karen's arms go round her, making her feel briefly taken away from this world where her daughter didn't love her. Holding her close for a moment, Karen said, "I think I'm going to follow your example and do some work of my own this afternoon." "After what I heard you say to Helen," George said in to Karen's shoulder. "I think you should." "My gob's getting as unpredictable as yours," Karen said, a slight smile turning up the corners of her mouth. "Yes, so I noticed," George said dryly, though knowing that there was far more to what Karen had said to Helen than a simple outburst. When George had driven away and Karen went back inside, Yvonne was looking a little happier and they were all waiting for her. "Is she all right?" Nikki asked about George. "She's not staying for this afternoon because she's got an appointment she can't get out of," Karen replied, the little white lie coming off her tongue quicker than little white lies really ought to. "And though you'll probably all think me terrible for saying it, I think I might do the same." They could all see that the stress of this morning was getting to Karen, and that it was becoming harder and harder to hide it. "Oh, no," Cassie said in pretended hurt. "You'll miss my moment of glory. That prosecuting arse-hole won't know what's hit him when I get in there." Cassie, ever the mischief-maker, had successfully lightened the tense atmosphere. "Just make sure you give Bodybag some grief from all of us," Yvonne said, knowing that this morning's revelations and recollections would have been almost as painful to Karen as they were to herself. As they all began deciding where to go for a very large drink, Karen took Helen aside. "Can I apologise?" Karen asked quietly, feeling awful for the way she'd spoken to Helen. "What for?" Helen asked gently, though she knew very well what for. "I shouldn't have said what I did to you. This trial is going far deeper than I ever thought it would, and this morning was just a bit too much, but that's no excuse." "Listen, Karen," Helen said quietly. "What you said today has been waiting to be said for a very long time now, and the stress of this morning just brought it out. Okay? So no need to apologise. Just take care," She said, giving Karen a quick impulsive hug. "And make sure you give Sylvia hell." As Karen left, her car sloshing through the endless stream of puddles, she thought that sooner or later, someone, probably that wanker of a prosecutor, was going to say something to fire the whole lot of them up, her, Helen and George included. If that happened, the Old Bailey wouldn't know what had hit it. 


	36. Part Thirty Six

Part Thirty Six  
  
Yvonne greeted the others with a broad smile of welcome.  
"Am I glad to be up here in the gallery with the rest of you. It's seemed bleeding ages that Cassie and I have been stuck in some dump of a waiting room. The worst part of it is wondering what the bloody hell is going on and fearing the worst. Cassie's been great though." And here her voice softened. "I owe her a lot for talking sense into me and keeping me on the level all last week." "She'll need to watch out for that wanker of a lawyer of theirs. Cassie's the sort of woman who'll get right up his nose," Came Nikki's slightly amused reflection.  
"For being…." Questioned Babs.  
"The woman she is. She doesn't even have to say anything, she just is." "I can tell that she's confident," Laughed Roisin. "She was up at the crack of dawn and spent twice as long putting her makeup on as usual." "You really love her, don't you." The look in Roisin's eyes told Helen clearer than words she might have said "that's my woman out there." "I said a prayer for her this morning, not that she'll need much help as she'll run rings round that fool," Babs precise voice broke in to the proceedings.  
  
"Come on, we'd better get into our places," Yvonne's terse tones revealed her edginess. This was the first time she had been up in the gallery since the trial of that bitch Merriman and her Ritchie. Last time around, she and all the others had willed Jo Mills to nail Merriman. Her Ritchie had made his bed with her and stabbed her and Lauren in the back, so the hard surface side of her reckoned that he stood to take what was coming to him. At the end of the trial, she had rejoiced that justice was done. She had expected him to go down and that was that. The last thing she had expected was that he had done himself in. It made her feelings of what had gone on before seem horribly wrong and she hadn't really got her head round that. What right had she got to switch sides and passionately want her daughter defended? They are both Atkins, brother and sister, after all. "Hey, Yvonne, we're with you as well as for Lauren." A light hand on her shoulder and that friendly, well-modulated voice came up from behind and a few teardrops were squeezed out of Yvonne in total gratitude for those few kind words.  
Nikki could see from behind her, that decisive nod as Yvonne squared her shoulders and climbed the last few steps at a steady, assured pace and not in a frenetic hurry. Her Lauren needed her and this time around, the issues were simple. Whatever the emotional fallout of Lauren killing that bastard Fenner, she needed to be here for her own and she had the best of friends to help her. What cheered her up most of all as she looked down from the top of the gallery, was Cassie's casual relaxed manner as she made her way to the witness stand. Even at the distance and angle below her, she could see that quick reassuring smile at her.  
  
Cassie made her leisurely, unhurried way to the witness stand. A lot of water had flowed under her bridge since she had stood in the place where Lauren was standing now. At that time, her fall from grace seemed overwhelming as it had stripped from her that certainty of her place in the world and of all the luxuries that money could buy. The sheer paralysing shock of her discovery and the cold figures of the discrepancies in the accounts had unnerved her at the time and made it hard for her to argue the toss. Her love had been hatefully distanced away from her singles flat to that cosy domesticated, husband, wife and two children suburban cosiness. She thought that she had despised that lifestyle but in her own unique way, she now shared it with her love and had become stronger because of it. Roisin's own inner certainty had rubbed off on her and life with their children had taught her flexibility and agility in thinking. Above all else, she was entitled to her rights as much as anyone and that black guy's disdain for her wouldn't put her off. She would wipe that look off his face once she got stuck in. Jo Mills on the other wing of the bench, was a woman who she had admired from afar last time around. This time, she adjusted the focus on her thoughts and memories to sharp precision to go out there and do her stuff. Above and behind her, the powerful and benevolent presence of the judge made her take heart, one guy she really respected. In his way, he was as much of an individual as she was conscious of being. It could be a lot worse, she concluded, she could have had that narrow minded nobbing judge who sent her down along with Roash. He made it pointedly clear how repulsed he was by everything she and Roisin represented in his prim Old Etonian stunted lifestyle. A glance at Lauren in the dock took in that slight smile directed to a dear friend who she knew would do her best for her.  
She grinned broadly at her audience in that expansive, infectious way and took the oath. In turn, Jo's spirits were lifted by Cassie's grin and sailed straight into questioning her. Witnesses were not normally as confident as this.  
  
"Miss Tyler, can you explain to the court how and when you came to know the defendant?" "It was through her mother, Yvonne Atkins. She was there already when I first came to Larkhall. That was about 3 years ago." "Were you and Mrs. Atkins close?" "Pretty close, yeah. She acted as a sort of mother to all the younger women who first came to Larkhall when they were nervous and hadn't found their feet. I was different as I was brash and big mouthed but she put me through a number of growing up lessons which I needed. She saw through my act straight off and tipped me in the right direction with my girlfriend, my present partner when we were having problems." Cassie was immediately conscious of Neumann Mason-Alan's wooden expression and saw the instant disapproval, something that was not lost on the gallery. Jo smiled inwardly at Cassie's rapid concise command of the facts. All she had to do was to lob the right questions at her and she would get the sort of answers that would leave a clear implant in the minds of those who mattered, the jury of twelve average citizens. "Under what circumstances were you and your girlfriend released from prison?" "Lauren's brother and his girlfriend set off an explosion as cover for getting her out of prison. Some cover……Roisin Connor, that's my partner, and some more of us were trapped in the library by a fire, which was set off by the explosion. Mr. Grayling, the Governing Governor was lying unconscious on the floor and ….." "I fail to see where this rambling story is leading this trial. Probably nowhere in particular," Neumann Mason-Alan's disdainful voice cut across Cassie's. "If you let me finish, Mr. Whatshisname, you'll hear that Roisin and I pushed Mr. Grayling through a wall of flames and we got him to a doctor who was able to save his life. When he was better, Mr. Grayling put us up for a free pardon." Niamh and Michael would have recognised the way that Cassie effortlessly swatted down any childish bickering. Others not used to Cassie, sat open mouthed with shock and a variety of accompanying emotions.  
"Jesus, Cassie would make a bloody good bouncer at my club," Nikki muttered to an equally impressed Helen.  
"For future reference, Miss Tyler, the counsel opposite you is called Mr. Mason-Alan. I feel the court have been given a clear explanation, which is relevant to the case in hand. Proceed, Mrs. Mills." John concealed a brief smile behind his hand and hesitated slightly before remembering to shift his direction to Jo to direct the questioning to continue. To his mind, his growing opinion that Larkhall prison made women very tough, both sides of the prison bars had been confirmed by practical demonstration. "Miss Tyler, can you relate to the court the defendant's reactions throughout the trial of her brother?" "My learned friend has not established that the witness was present throughout the trial of the defendant's late brother and was therefore privy to the defendant's feelings," jumped in Neumann Mason-Alan.  
"Mr. Mason-Alan, you might not know this, but both Mrs. Mills and myself were made highly aware of the witness's presence in the gallery as one of my more amusing hecklers. I remember her presence very well. She, along with the defendant were present in the gallery for long stretches of that trial and I direct the jury to accept as fact that the witness was well placed to gauge the defendant's reaction. I shall let this matter pass this time. I would advise you, Mrs. Mills, as a general observation, not to ask questions that leap ahead of themselves. Mr. Mason-Alan's objection is reasonable in principle." Oh God, I get recognised whatever I do, Cassie worried. I'm getting Jo Mills into trouble like others before her. This sort of situation had happened before going back to when she was at school. She did her best to assume a contrite expression of innocence which all of those who knew her smiled to themselves as a big act. They marvelled at her unique facility in not being diminished, whoever she was up against.  
"The children are sure to ask us how Cassie got on today. What do I say?" A random impulse worried away at Roisin, much though Cassie's antics had her in stitches.  
"The truth." Babs's simple words with Christian authority cut a line through the tangle of Roisin's parental worries.  
  
"Miss Tyler, can you explain where the defendant enters the picture?" Jo added hastily to capitalise on the sharp rebuff to Neumann.  
"I've seen Lauren around when she came to visit Yvonne, I mean Mrs. Atkins. As soon as we were released, Roisin and I had got custody of our, I mean her children and we'd had six, seven months to get settled. When she got out around Christmas 2002, we looked her up straight away." "Can you explain to the court why you chose to look up someone you'd never known before you went to Larkhall?" "When you're inside, you live your lives twenty four seven right up against those you hate and those you love. You stand by your mates and they stand by you far more than anyone you've only known on the outside ever does. I could never pretend that someone who I really looked up to had never existed once I'd got free." Cassie stumbled slightly in her delivery as her memories and the close fitting space of the witness box gave her claustrophobic, shut in flashbacks and that intense mixture of feelings that a few seconds ago were only spoken words. It worried her that, up till then, the sort of fevered dreams that occasionally haunted both Cassie's and Roisin's sleep were brought to life before her eyes. Defiantly, Cassie shook a lock of fair hair out of her eyes as she got a grip on herself. In turn, the quiet words spoken by that very modern woman in the witness box struck a chord with the judge who was placed above and behind her. There were ancient ideas of loyalty, which stretched far back into the distant past over generations. These were ingrained into the very fabric of his being and he was highly sensitive to pick up on it, no matter what guise it might appear in. "What did you make of the defendant when you first met her?" "A great friend," Cassie grinned, answering Jo's soft spoken words at her usual carrying volume. "An ordinary happy go lucky woman to go out clubbing with. Mind you, you want to watch out for her as she can drink anyone under the table. She had to carry me home as I got legless trying to keep up with her." "Can you tell the court if her behaviour changed over time and how different she seemed to you?" "It was during the trial of her brother Ritchie. She was with us in the gallery up there." Cassie pointed dramatically upwards to emphasise the point and the distance now separating Lauren from the dock to where she once sat.  
"We were all together, Lauren included, in wanting to see you nail that brother of hers and Snowball Merriman. You'll remember it, I'm sure." Cassie's reflective tones made the whole experience very real to herself and her blue eyes brought a jolt of recognition to Jo. Yes she was here before and she was forcibly reminded of this by this articulate woman who changed from the gleaming sunlight shining on the water to the shadowed reflective depths.  
"It all changed one day in the middle of the trial when Yvonne arrived home and caught Lauren smoking dope. Probably because I'm nearer to Lauren's age, she asked me to talk to Lauren about why smoking dope really wasn't a good idea. The thought of that scared me rigid." "Why was that, Miss Tyler?" "It wasn't that she was stoned out of her mind, it was that she was acting as if she was somehow disconnected from herself, from her family, from responsibility, from the woman I knew. I've seen friends of mine go like that and it scared me. That's how they all start on drugs. My partner was the last person ever to go near drugs, but she was separated from her children when she went to prison, and the pain of it drove her to some kind of release, anything, so that she ended up on heroin. It all started from something she wanted so she could get to sleep. That's what prisons can do for mothers. I laid it on the line with Lauren, and found out what was really bothering her." "And what was that, Miss Tyler?" "She was jealous of Denny Blood who Yvonne treated like she was her daughter, and that made her insecure. She admitted to that one. What was really screwing her up, was that she had found out that Yvonne was having a relationship with Karen Betts. I asked her about that one and she stopped me and told me to 'shut the fuck up.' When an Atkins talks that way to you, you listen." Jo was feeling on top of the world, as Cassie Tyler was moving the story effortlessly along. Her words needed next to no clarification to ensure the jury heard matters right. Her touches of humour went down well with an English jury who might have been prejudiced against the implications in her lifestyle. "What else gave you reason for concern about the defendant's state of mind?" "It was the night that Lauren's brother committed suicide, when we got the phone call. You may have heard this all before, but the thing I can remember most was the way Yvonne's glass of wine shattered which she was holding in her hand. What I noticed while Karen saw to Yvonne's hand and after Yvonne went to bed, was the way Lauren took to the bottle. Karen went out later to identify Snowball's …body and, when she returned, Lauren changed in a flash." "In what way?" Cassie shivered inside as she started to recount the events of a night she wanted to forget. Having to refer to Ritchie in the cold impersonal way the trial required her to, went clean against her nature. To her, Ritchie was a guy she had never seen but was stupid or evil enough to nearly get her and Roisin and others burnt to death. He was Lauren's brother and despite everything she knew how much that meant to her. The poor kid had little enough in her family outside her mum.  
"She blamed Karen for being around to be kidnapped by Snowball Merriman and that he stopped the bullet that was meant for her. If he hadn't been in a wheelchair as a result of the bullet, he might not have taken his life. She spoke in terms of both loving and hating her brother and was all over the place. Maybe Lauren knew even then that she was blaming the wrong person but she couldn't admit it to herself, much less to me. That's why what I'm saying sounds crazy and not logical. It's no use trying to get someone who was so much in pieces to accept the calm logical truth, so I didn't even try. I just let Lauren run with it. When Karen went up to bed, only then did Lauren let herself cry her eyes out. I made her a cup of coffee and Roisin and I went upstairs with Lauren, to be there for her and give her some comfort. Yvonne would have done that, believe you me, but she was totally out of it so we took her place." "Would you say, Miss Tyler, that only when Miss Betts was out of the room did she let herself cry? If I understand what I am hearing from you correctly, the defendant was switching between grief and anger until the object of her anger was removed from the situation." "Yes, that's exactly it," Cassie said with all the certainty in the world. At that point, the very large heart within her was melted by a glance from Lauren, which conveyed all the thanks she was able to give. Cassie had spent a lifetime appearing to be cool and devil may care in the same way Lauren tried to appear hard. Neither of them could sustain their acts and they both knew it.  
"No further questions, my lord."  
  
Neumann jumped up to his feet as if his back were spring loaded. He had been chafing at the bit while the whole pathetic sob story was being unreeled by that bleeding heart liberal on the opposite side of the bench. The verbal sparring match earlier on had stung him and he was eager for revenge against this woman who brazened out her differences from what was normal and proper.  
"Miss Tyler, can I establish a few facts about yourself and your …partner. I understand that you live with a woman, a Roisin Connor in an intimate relationship." I can tell that nobbing waste of space is secretly fantasising about Roash and me in bed even if he can't admit it to himself, Cassie thought while she kept a straight face.  
"Yeah, while we were in Larkhall and ever since we got out." "You describe the children of the association as both yours and also solely your partner's. Can you explain this discrepancy." "That's easy. Roisin was married when we met, before we went to prison. The biological father of our two children is Roisin's ex husband, Aiden Connor. When we got out, Roisin got custody of the children and I became a second mum. I love them as if they are my own flesh and blood, and that's why I talk as if the children are ours. That's the way they see me and that's all that matters." Nikki could not restrain herself any more and broke into a spontaneous round of clapping which fizzled out when she saw the judge's eye on her. Jesus, she'd never met a guy who had this force of personality to shut her up this way. Some of the more pathetic screws who were around in her time at Larkhall could take a few lessons from him in keeping order. "So you broke up Mrs. Connor's marriage." "It was broken up before I met her. I gave Roisin and our children an exit to a better life. I ought to say that the love I feel for Michael and Niamh is as much as an adoptive parent feels for his or her child. It's just that there are two women bringing them up, that's all." Jo looked at the floor so that her grin wouldn't be obvious. She might have known that Cassie Tyler could give back at least as good as she got. Because of this, she couldn't see the universal grin on the first row of the gallery and black scowls from the back row.  
"Let us turn to another matter," Neumann said ponderously to reestablish his sense of dignity. "Can you tell the court why you and Mrs. Connor ended up in prison." "For being fool enough to embezzle money from the firm I used to work for where Roisin worked as my P.A. It isn't something that I'm proud of, as I let a lot of people down, myself included. I - I mean Roisin and I - have far too much to lose and too much to live for to dream of doing anything like that again. We hope we're living a life to make up for all that." "Miss Tyler, I was questioning you and not your partner as well," Neumann snapped spitefully.  
"Roisin and I are a 'we' in the same way as you and your wife, assuming that you are married. Anyway, you'd better get on with your questions," Cassie finished, theatrically suppressing a yawn to teach the moron a lesson for harping on about 'Mrs. Connor' and plugging away at her alternative preferred title.  
"Miss Tyler, I would gently remind you that it is my role to give directions to the conduct of court proceedings. Nevertheless, the point is well made as the questions about Miss Tyler's background seem to me of doubtful relevance. I expect you to get to the point." Cassie turned round and looked upwards at John who was trying to look sternly down at her, except the twinkle in his eye gave him away. This woman's unique brazen sharp wit was too dangerously and appealingly akin to his own regular teasing of the apparachtiks of the Lord Chancellor's Department. Keeping a straight face was becoming a real strain as the trial went on.  
"You explained in very touching terms of the tragic experiences of Mrs. Connor with hard drugs and of the defendant who was partaking of a similar illegal substance, as if you are quite an authority on drugs. Have you ever taken drugs yourself?" A very faint blush crept its way over Cassie's face. She couldn't help but tell the truth. Instinct told her that if she tried to lie her way out of this situation, she was potentially setting herself up to lose her own credibility later and, worse still, damage Lauren's case.  
"Yeah. I used to take cocaine occasionally." "How occasional is occasional? Can you be precise upon the matter." "It was a weekend thing and certainly not every weekend." "Are you sure it was not more often than that?" "Quite sure. I had a job to do." "And can you enlighten the court as to how a woman who is somehow involved with the care of two children, came to be involved with a sordid criminal activity involving taking a class 'A' drug." "You've got the sequence of events back to front. In another lifetime before I met Roisin, I was young, single, footloose and fancy free in a high-pressure job that paid me a fortune. Many like me in the crowd I used to hang out with, bought into the idea that living the high life to unwind at weekends included taking a so called 'clean drug' would only give you a recreational high. All the celebrities take it so all the magazines tell you or so I believed when I was young and impressionable. I saw a close friend of mine get into a mess over that stuff and I started to wise up. I started to realise the downside of that sort of life and I backed away from all that scene. When I went to prison, it made everything simpler. I know from what Roisin went through, that the sort of drugs that get brought in are uppers and downers and heroin, but I've never heard of coke. That's because prisoners only have a limited weekly spends, enough to buy phone cards and shampoo. No one could possibly afford street price coke, believe you me." Her voice trailed away as she hoped against hope that the squalid little man wouldn't ask her if her and Roisin had ever taken coke together. That inner fear was transformed into a real anger, which propelled her into a much more combative style. She wanted to hit back as hard as she could at this man. He was the sort of ignorant moraliser who she had hated and despised all her life. This trial had become personal for her, both for herself and for those she loved.  
"That's the reason why drugs give me the horrors. I saw what happened to Roisin with drugs as I know much better than some innocent Miss Middle England how dangerous the stuff is and I'll fight like hell to ensure that our kids stay away from it." John inwardly applauded this woman's very courageous stand and fired his anger in a very cold, cutting precise tone to cut short this man who he increasingly despised. He felt that he had been given a generous length of rope with which to hang him and could justify himself to any legal authority to take the step that he did.  
"You do not appear to have any remotely relevant questions to ask, Mr. Mason-Alan or else you would have asked them by now. I have held back and given you every chance to ask such questions. I am therefore determined to curtail your attempts at character assassination. You will sit down this very minute." The force of this delivery made Neumann's legs move of their own accord to sit in his place despite himself. "Do you have any questions to ask the witness?" John asked softly, turning to Jo.  
"No, my lord," She felt that between Cassie Tyler and Neumann Mason-Alan, her case was making rapid progress.  
"Court is adjourned." Cassie made her way out of the box feeling as if she had run a marathon, seething with anger, glaring at the barrister whose expression was po faced and removed. She received a soulful smile from Lauren and that dissipated her anger as that was the clearest sign that she had done right by her mate. She emerged into the open air to be warmly hugged by the others and finally to be greeted by Roisin's shining eyes and look of total admiration. She wanted to get the hell out of here.  
  
Cassie, Roisin and the children were all snuggled together on the big sofa in that comforting slice of time between dinner and bedtime. The light was on dimly but unaccountably, the children said they were bored with watching television. Since that cut across their favourite programmes, both Roisin's and Cassie's sharp antennae were on the alert. "Cassie," Michael piped up. "If I ask you something, will you tell me the answer like you always do." "What's the problem?" Cassie gently smiled. Her mind ran over the possible questions the boy's enquiring mind might want to know. God help her when he wants to know about the birds and the bees, Roisin would be better at that one. "We were wondering if there was anything wrong with you and mum," Niamh's greater facility with words came into play.  
"No, nothing could be better with both of us." "It's just that mum said something about court and we wondered……." Niamp started to speak and stopped dead, a worried expression written all over her face and Michael's.  
"It's all right, children. We've been going to court but it's not that we've done anything wrong," Roisin broke in eagerly.  
"You're sure?" Michael's big wide eyes looked doubtfully at her. They were growing up to be pretty well adjusted and happier than Neumann Mason-Alan dreamed possible but there was one shared memory, which disturbed them. It all started the day when, for the first time in their lives, their father had collected them from school instead of mum. She had always swept them up in her arms and chatted awhile to the other mothers while their father impatiently took them back to the car. Instead of mum's infectious chatter, their father was silently angry about something. They could tell. When they stepped into the hall, their very grey haired and stern grandmother was there to say the usual grownup things but where was mum? Nobody would say. For months afterwards when they were stiffly told, there was a hole in the house where their mother had been and something had taken her away which they could not understand. They used to call out to their mother at nights into the pillow and make believe she was there but make believe didn't work.  
"I've been what they call a witness in a trial. I chose to go. Nobody made me and mum and all our friends were watching." "What's a witness?" Michael urged. He didn't understand but if Cassie chose to go, it wasn't as bad as they first feared.  
"If a teacher punished a friend of yours for something he thought he'd done wrong, but you knew something the teacher didn't, you'd go up and talk to the teacher, wouldn't you?" "Depends on the teacher," Michael answered. Cassie wasn't afraid of anyone but he knew some teachers listened and some didn't. Cassie was relieved to hear that she made more sense than she feared, feeling brain dead after that day in court.  
"We know doing the right thing isn't easy, but this is what you should do." "Well a witness in the trial is the same thing, only bigger with two people taking turns to ask you questions." "Who have you been witnessing for?" "Auntie Lauren. We told you why you haven't seen her recently and that she is where we were." The children took everything in warily. They had not known to begin with why she had stopped calling and why Yvonne who always laughed and joked when she called was so sad though she pretended she wasn't. "Well, I've been in court putting in a good word for her." "Were the men nice to you?" "The man in charge is very nice even if he was dressed up in funny clothes which I'll draw for you later. The woman who was on Lauren's side was lovely," Enthused Roisin. "But the man who was against Lauren was horrible and Cassie made him out to be the idiot that he is." The children grinned more easily. They knew what Cassie was like and they wished they had seen the fun. "Cassie, can you tell me what the word 'nobbing' is. I've heard you say it when you didn't think we were there. I asked Miss Jackson, the English teacher only she looked up in the dictionary and couldn't find it." Cassie spilt the cup of tea slightly on the arm of the sofa and looked horrified. Jesus, she was now in danger of getting the kids into trouble.  
"It's only a made up word of mine. It doesn't mean anything. You'd be too young to understand. I'll tell you when you get older." Michael and Niamh smiled smugly to each other. So they were right. They could picture this court and while it was sad about auntie Lauren, at least Cassie and mum were safe and so were they. They were bored and, besides, they wanted to watch TV before they went to bed.  
  
"So what's it like in the gallery, Roash. At last, I get to go up in the gallery for future." "Well, there's one interesting thing," grinned Roisin. "I think that Karen is attracted to that very attractive blond barrister, George Channing, who was on the other side last time and the feeling is mutual." "She's a dark horse. She kept everything quiet about her private life when we were inside. I must admit, she's got good taste. They've both changed sides in more ways than one," Cassie grinned broadly. It would add a spice of interest to when she took her place in the gallery at last.  
The house was as silent as the grave where they knew that outside the soft world of their bedroom, their children were in a deep and dreamless sleep. Cassie was dead beat but with that warm satisfaction of something well done and Roisin was proud of the woman who stuck up so strongly for them. Everything felt peaceful and secure around them as they dropped straight down into a deep sleep. 


	37. Part Thirty Seven

Part Thirty-Seven  
  
Later on the Tuesday evening, John was still worrying about George, whilst trying to do some reading for a civil case that was on the list for him just after the Lauren Atkins trial. He really felt for Yvonne Atkins, having to watch her daughter go through so much and being virtually powerless to do anything about it. Yvonne intrigued him. Before he'd begun talking to her during this trial, he'd simply thought of her as a former criminal, whom Karen had been briefly involved with, no more no less. But throughout the course of this case, he was learning, learning to see the human being under the outer facade of bitter control. He was being given glimpses of the mother in her, the woman who had been forced to decide that the lesser evil was to stay with her bully of a husband and to allow her children to be taught the rudiments of committing serious crime. He couldn't even begin to estimate what it must have been like for her to have to make such a decision. Yvonne's love for her children was clear to see, even Neumann Mason-Alan wouldn't be able to deny that. John smiled as he thought of how Yvonne had handled the barrister with so little backbone it was a wonder he could stand up. She had a way with words about her that would cut anyone down to size. He was heartily relieved, however, that she hadn't succeeded in giving Neumann Mason-Alan a black eye, because he was certain that this is what she would have done had Nikki and Karen not reached her in time. Both Karen and Nikki Wade had reacted like lightning, Karen because it was in her training and Nikki possibly because she had lived in the prison environment for three years, and knew just how quickly a fight could kick off. But this brought him right back to George. It hurt him almost with a physical pain whenever he heard Charlie refer to George as the ice maiden. He knew why Charlie had picked on this particular name, but it didn't make him dislike it any less. Like most teenagers, Charlie had lighted on this name for her mother, and had flogged it to death at first, possibly trying to get some sort of response out of him. But John had never acknowledged Charlie's use of this name, knowing that the more attention he gave it, the more she would say it. The only possible way in which George could have heard this name was if Charlie had been talking on the phone to one of her friends, and had temporarily forgotten that George was in the next room and might be able to hear what she said. He wondered how long George had been aware of the ice maiden, because it was a name Charlie had been using for her since before she went to university.  
  
His musings were cut short just after eight o'clock, when there came a knock on his door, and Mr. Johnson, who might be termed the warden to keep all badly behaved judges in order, appeared with Jo at his side. "Mrs. Mills to see you, My Lord," He said, discretely leaving and closing the door. "You'll get yourself a reputation coming to see me like this," John said as he walked over to her. "Considering how long I've known you John, I've probably got one already." It felt good to go back into his arms, to feel that old familiar combination of exasperation for herself, that she was giving in, and the love for him, that had not abated over all those years they'd spent apart. "It's good to see you, Jo," John said after kissing her. They'd both felt unhappy after what had happened the previous Tuesday, both wanting to make up for the argument, and both being too stubborn to make the first move. "I'm sorry about last week," Jo said, knowing that even though John might irritate her to distraction sometimes, she would always forgive him. "If I knew what I'd done," John replied. "I'm sure I would be too." "And we still have some talking to do about that, but not now." When she said this, John could see that the intensity of the Atkins trial was getting to her, and that what she really needed was some simple TLC. Taking her hand, he walked back over to the armchair he'd been sitting in, and drew her down on to his knee. "I'm too old for this, John," Jo said though not putting up any physical protest. "No one, is ever too old for this," He said between kisses. "And as I don't possess a sofa, and I want to be close to you, this is how it has to be." Jo was a good deal taller than George, with much longer legs and generally of a more substantial frame, but he loved having her draped over his lap as she was now. "I hope there aren't any hidden cameras in here," John said as their kisses became more passionate. "John, that isn't remotely funny," Jo scolded. He laughed. "Well, even if there are, right now I couldn't care less." This was his ideal world, she thought dreamily, having her and only her, held safe in his arms. Well, partly his ideal world, because she knew she couldn't quite fill the rest of it. "I shouldn't have come here," Jo said after a while, moving her face away from John's, and trying to get her rapidly flowing senses under control. John's "Why?" was thoroughly mystified. "Because I badly want to sleep with you, but as we're here, I can't." "Why not?" "Because I loathe having to get up and leave afterwards, and I'm not staying here to be caught leaving tomorrow morning and going through another round with the Professional Conduct Committee." "That's a shame," He said trying to provoke her in to changing her mind. "Because I thought you were trying to seduce me." "I doubt any woman could, or would have to," Jo replied knowingly. A brief hint of memory flashed over John's face, a remembered occasion with George taking place behind his eyes. "You're thinking about George," Jo deduced. John's eyes widened slightly. "Now I know you're spending too much time with me if you're learning the art of reading facial expressions as well as that. But yes, I was thinking of George. That night she came to see me just before her few hours behind bars. You don't mind me talking about her?" He felt it necessary to ask this so as not to hurt her. "And you think we don't talk about you?" Jo asked, though appreciating his consideration. "I try not to," He said ruefully. "The possible outcomes are far too frightening." Jo laughed. "There isn't much I don't know about you and George, and there isn't much she doesn't know about you and me. As neither of us is supposed to be sleeping with you, we only have each other to talk to about you. So talk away." "Did she tell you what happened that night?" "Amongst other things, on that day she fainted in court. That was one of the oddest days I think I've ever had." "She came here, looking incredible, and though she's pretty good at hiding it, I could tell she'd been drinking. She said she felt like some company. That's the lamest excuse in the book. Much as I know it will surprise you, I did have to be persuaded." Jo just quirked an eyebrow at him. "But in the end she didn't even enjoy it, and whilst that wasn't ever that unusual for George, especially after Charlie was born, she'd never attempted to fake it before. She'd clearly had far too much practice at that with lover boy, but when you've lived with someone for nine years, there's nothing you don't know about how they react or how their body works. She was so angry with me for realizing she'd tried to fool me, and angrier still when I tried to make her talk about it." "Sex isn't always wonderful, John, and when it's not, it can be humiliating. For women, it's absolutely vital to be vaguely happy and relaxed to start with, otherwise it's just not worth contemplating. George probably didn't enjoy it because she had to be extremely unhappy to come looking for it from you in the first place." "Oh, thanks a lot," John said putting on a hurt expression. "That's not what I meant and you know it," Jo said sternly. "When she woke up in the morning, she saw your picture, and when I asked where she was going, she asked me if I'd even vaguely thought about you the night before." John suddenly looked very uncomfortable. "John, I would be far more hurt if you had thought about me and still gone ahead and slept with her," Jo said to reassure him. "I pointed out that she hadn't either, and she just said I know, and left. I should have realised then that something was badly wrong. Let's face it, when, before that time did George ever feel guilty about cuckolding anyone..." "Especially me," Jo completed his sentence for him when he couldn't find a diplomatic way of saying it. "John, when George stopped eating after Charlie was born, it took you long enough to notice it then because when you're living with someone day in day out, it's very difficult to notice a gradual change like that. But when you're not living with them, and certainly don't see them on a daily basis, it's even easier for someone to hide something like that. George was living on her own in those days, so there was no one to whom she had to justify her eating, or not eating habits. You're not the only one who knew something was wrong, but who totally underestimated just how bad it was." "I wish George hadn't heard what Charlie calls her," John said regretfully, returning them to the current matter in hand. "I was going to go and see her tonight, just to make sure she was all right. But then you turned up and made me forget everything except how beautiful you are." Recognising the come on for what it was, Jo grinned. "I think you'll find that George will be well taken care of," She said mischievously. John looked briefly baffled. "Oh, you mean her new lover," He said in dawning comprehension. "So, you know about him too, do you?" The novelty of knowing something that John didn't, and the sheer incongruity of his unknowingly referring to Karen as a him, made Jo laugh. "What's so funny?" He said with a smile, always enjoying the total freedom in her laughter. "Nothing," She said, finally calming down, but she couldn't prevent herself from occasionally breaking in to a broad grin which John found infuriating. "You know who it is, don't you?" He said, getting the distinct feeling that the joke was on him. "I might," She said, knowing that she would have to be extremely careful not to reveal the lover's name. "And you won't put me out of my misery?" "Absolutely not," Jo said in offended dignity. "I've been politely asked not to, so you'll just have to be patient, won't you." "Well, I know I know them," He said, trying to work it out. "She told me that much last week." "George does feel quite bad about last week," Jo said seriously. "She's not the only one," John replied, still feeling some sense of guilt for trying to sleep with George when she'd clearly been occupied with someone else. "It's crazy, whenever she doesn't enjoy it, she thinks it's her fault." "Just give her some space," Jo said gently. "And when she does tell you who her new lover is, please be nice to her." "Now you've really got me worried," He replied. "Do I dislike them that much?" "No, but it will be something of a shock, and that's all I can tell you," She finished firmly. John began looking pensive, his brows knitting together in concentration. As close as she was, Jo could have sworn she could see the cogs turning in his brain. "Don't try to work it out, John," She pleaded. "Because if you think about it, it is actually quite obvious. Let George tell you in her own time." "Okay," He said, but during their ensuing conversation, Jo could see his mind returning again and again to the possible candidates. "What we do need to talk about," Jo insisted, doing her damnedest to get him off the topic of George and her lover. "Is why you made me angry last week." She had his full attention now. "Jo, I can't help currently being professionally above you, but it won't always be like that." "I know, and it's not the professional bit that really bothers me. You've always been my professional superior, and there'll be something not quite right about it if I'm ever your equal. It's how you use it that annoys me. I know you don't do it purposefully, but you always allow your professional superiority to drift over in to your personal life." "I do not!" He protested. "Yes, you do, John," Jo replied calmly. "You like being superior to me, in bed and out of it." "And I can't help that either," He said, immediately regretting it when he saw the brief flash of hurt on Jo's face. "I know you can't," She said quietly. "But maybe I can. Maybe it's up to me to do something to make myself feel slightly less inferior to you in that way." Thinking he could see where this was leading, he said, "You really don't have to do that for me, Jo." "I feel sexually inadequate, John, and whilst I know that's not anyone's fault, it's not something I want to go on feeling." "Don't ever, ever assume that that's what I think you are," He said vehemently, holding her tightly to him. "I love you just the way you are, so don't ever try to change just to please me." "I know," Jo said, gently kissing him. "But this is something I need to do for me."  
  
After a while, he said, "Well, whilst I have no idea what this form of self-improvement might involve, feel free to use me as a learning curve whenever you like." "I've been doing that all my life, John. So what makes you think I'll stop now?" "Will you stay with me tonight?" He said, suddenly wanting to make her feel as loved and as cherished as possible. "No," She said firmly. "But if you come to see me tomorrow evening, you might just get what you're looking for, if you're lucky," She finished merely to tease him, just occasionally enjoying the power of making him wait for what he wanted so badly.  
  
Karen had worked through her enormous stack of paperwork all afternoon, using the sheer monotony of allocating cell space, funding and shifts, as a welcome distraction from the trial. She wished she could have stayed, but she knew that taking a break was the only way to calm herself down. George wanted to see her this evening, and Karen had the distinct impression that George wanted to talk about her daughter Charlie. In saying what she had to Yvonne that morning, George had obviously resurrected things that she hadn't intended to. It was plain to see that George's hold on her feelings was a brittle one, liable to crack and give way at the slightest provocation. Karen didn't know why George clearly didn't get on with her daughter, or why she had so much guilt festering inside her, though it was possibly the cause of her anorexia. John had never told her because he knew it was George's story to tell. So, if George wanted to talk about Charlie, Karen knew that she would listen, and most important of all, she would allow George to tell it in her own way. After all, she, Karen, knew only too well how hard it was to discuss certainly one particular event in her life, so she should know how George would probably feel about admitting to something she felt incredibly self-conscious about. George was an unknown quantity in many respects. When Karen had first had sight of her, she had been constructed mainly of scorn, derision, and every caustic remark under the sun. But then she'd changed. Somewhere between the end of the Merriman/Atkins trial and when Karen had first gone to see her about the case against Fenner, she had altered. Some of the hardness had gone, to be replaced with an emerging vulnerability, which had at the time, intrigued Karen. She could remember George's imposed visit to Larkhall as though it was yesterday, and now, the way George had reacted to every inmate having to have a psychiatric assessment was no longer a mystery. It was odd, Karen thought as she switched off her computer some time after eight that evening, but that if she had to be strong for someone else, it made her feel stronger in herself. It was when she was given the space and encouragement to lean on someone else that she crumbled. Karen had absolutely no doubt that if this trial became any more invasive of her emotional space than it already had been, then her resolve to stay calm and unruffled would be sorely tested. She had come pretty close to cracking that morning, and she just hoped that she could manage to keep it together until it was all over, one way or the other.  
  
As she drove out of the prison gates, she smiled. Sylvia had appeared in her office earlier that afternoon, wanting to know if she knew anything about the water pistol that had mysteriously appeared on the wing, in the hands of Denny Blood as usual. Karen had lifted a hand to cover her smile, and because she wasn't in the mood for any of Sylvia's whining, she'd asked her to try and think about when the water pistol usually made its presence felt. To give Sylvia her due, she'd arrived at the answer almost immediately. "Usually when I've had to have time off for one reason or another," She said, an unhealthy blush staining her cheeks because she knew these occasions had been skiving, not backed up by actual, official reasons. "Precisely," Karen had said, totally unabashed. "Which ought to further tell you that I will not put up with being left in the lurch just because of your niece's wedding. If you'd been up front about your reason for taking this weekend off, I'm sure something could have been arranged. But you tried to pull a fast one, and you should know by now that it doesn't work on me. When I first took on this job, I remember telling all of you, but you in particular, that I don't like liars and I don't like skivers. If you are prepared to use underhand methods to take time off, Sylvia, then I will use underhand methods to dissuade you from doing it in the future. Is that clear?" Unable to come up with a suitably cutting reply, Sylvia had turned and stalked out of the office, banging the door none too gently.  
  
Karen couldn't help grinning to herself about this as she drove across London to George's. She always managed to cut Sylvia down to size. If Neil found out about her persuasive tactics, she would probably have some explaining to do, but if it worked, she would keep on doing it. When she pulled into George's driveway, she could see a light on in the lounge. Walking up the steps to the front door, Karen became further aware of the sound of a piano being played. Realising this must be George herself, Karen stood for a moment and listened. She wasn't sure who the music was by, but the crashing chords and rapid runs of notes in between, told her in no uncertain terms that George really could play. Loath to interrupt her, Karen waited another couple of minutes until the piece drew to an end before ringing the doorbell. When George appeared, she looked tired, irritable and thoroughly on edge. But when she registered that it was Karen, and not some utterly unwelcome other being on her doorstep, she smiled. "That was some piece," Karen said as she moved into the hall. "Oh, no," George said in dismay. "You heard it." "And very impressed I was too," Karen said kissing her. "I don't know what it was, but it sounded incredible." "Beethoven, the Apassionata Sonata. It's wonderful for taking everything out on." "I tend to use Sylvia for that purpose, at least when she deserves it," Karen said with a grin. "Has the penny dropped yet?" George asked, with a broad smile. "Oh, the water pistol you mean, yes, it has finally. So maybe we'll see some improvement." "Would you like a glass of wine?" George offered, finally detaching herself from the far too comforting embrace. "Yes please," Karen replied as she followed George into the kitchen. "But what I would really like is for you to play something for me." George turned and sized her up. "Are you sure?" She asked tentatively. "I mean, I'm not all that good really." Karen grinned. "Modesty really doesn't suit you, George. You play like an angel. So yes, I would like it very much if you would play for me. It's pretty rare that I listen to classical music, but whenever I do, it always seems to make me unwind." "Okay," George acquiesced, pouring Karen a glass of wine and refilling her own, and walking back into the lounge. Putting her glass down on the coffee table and taking her seat at the piano, she began flipping through the book that had been on the music stand. "Will the Pathetique do you?" She asked. "Because I know I can play that." "Fine," Karen said as she settled in to the left hand corner of the sofa, glass of wine in hand, and ready to have her nerves untangled by the swiftly flowing dimensions of one of Beethoven's most famous creations.  
  
The first movement started gently enough, with brief, sudden crescendos through the various modulations of C minor. But when the piece began to traverse the rapid chords and progressions of its main theme, Karen closed her eyes, the music flowing over her like so many gentle and skilful fingers. The bass thundered up and down, whilst the right hand executed such full bodied chords and incredibly fast runs, that Karen wouldn't have been the first to wonder just how Beethoven had expected anyone to play it. During the quieter moments, Karen's thoughts drifted unheeded to the haunted soul currently playing this fabulous work of genius. George probably didn't know it herself, but her innermost feelings were being portrayed through the music she was playing. It was as if her soul was crying out for some sort of understanding, maybe even a form of deliverance from the pain that could all too easily swamp her. Karen couldn't see George's face from where she was, George being to the right but with her back to the sofa, but Karen thought that her face would probably be devoid of all expression, the feelings coming from inside. The notes trickled away from her like tears pouring from those enormous blue eyes. Karen briefly entertained the thought that this first movement of the Pathetique represented George particularly accurately. It had its quieter moments, when the notes portrayed a false serenity, a brief period of calm, but with the storm waiting to break just around the corner. The first movement ended with a few short, sharp chords, possibly to illustrate how George used to show herself to the outside world.  
  
The second movement began in the subtle, romantic tones of A flat, the gentle chords rocking to and fro, as lovers might initially begin caressing each other. Was this movement showing Karen the George who wanted to be loved, who wanted to be held safe in a pair of arms for as long as this pleasure might be granted to her? But then it drifted into a more unsettled pattern of flitting between the major and minor keys, and the beat moving to three instead of two. Was this meant to depict George's fear of the unknown, her fear that those who meant so much to her might one day leave her? Then, the original melody in A flat had returned, the music remaining in the three beat style, the waltz of many lovers around the world. Was this when George might abandon her fears, simply allowing herself to live her moment of glory with whichever lover this outpouring of emotions concerned.  
  
The third movement had switched back to the more unpredictable tempo and flow of notes as the first, the music swinging through all possible connotations of C minor, but always returning to one particular theme in the right hand, George's fingers moving through the trills and runs with the familiarity of thorough learning. With some extremely flashy alternating broken chords, George was able to well and truly show off her skill, to put her mark on the piece, to say, this is how I play it, take it or leave it. Also in a similar way to the first movement, this was George seeing herself alone, not in the company of any real or imagined lover, but herself saying love me or hate me, but this is who I am. This movement portrayed the erecting of her emotional walls, the constructing of the barriers of scorn and loathing that would keep everyone at bay. Whilst the first movement had been a tormented soul looking for some kind of reprieve, and the second a brief interlude with a chosen lover, the third and final depiction of her personality was trying to block everyone out, possibly to stop them from seeing the vulnerable, hurting woman on the inside.  
  
When she reached the end, there was silence, except for the faint crackling from the logs in the hearth. Opening her eyes, Karen said, "You've just told me an awful lot about yourself without even opening your mouth." George turned swiftly round to face her, a look of brief horror on her face. "Don't worry," Karen said gently. "The way you played that didn't tell me anything I either didn't know already, or hadn't at least suspected." "I've never thought of playing as being quite so revealing," George said lightly. "Everyone, no matter what their creative art, whether it be painting, writing or music, if they have the kind of skill that you do, they always put over what's inside them, whether they mean to or not." "That's a little worrying," George said with a self-deprecating smile. "And it's probably why I don't play very often," Karen agreed. "And it's definitely why I never let anyone hear me." "So," George said, a smile turning up the corners of her mouth. "What did my playing tell you about me?" "Well, I might be wrong, but I think you wanted to see me tonight because what you said about Charlie has reopened some old wounds, and because you want to talk about that in order to cauterise them before they can close up again. But when you started playing, you might say that each movement told me something different. The first told me just how volatile you are, as if I didn't know already," She said with a small grin. "But what it really told me was that you wanted to be listened to, and if that's what you want, then you will be. The second movement suggested that you love just being close to someone, and that you're afraid of losing whoever it is you want to be close to, as a result of whatever happened to make you feel so guilty. Whether that was me or someone else you were thinking about, I couldn't tell you. The third one was mainly a re-strengthening of all your barriers. It felt as though you were trying to resurrect all the things that had kept you emotionally safe." When Karen stopped speaking, George simply sat and stared at her. She was loathed to admit it, but Karen had been absolutely right. She must remind John never to play his violin in front of her if he didn't want the entirety of his soul to be broadcast at the same time. But maybe Karen's understanding of her playing would make what she had to do next a lot easier. Karen had said she would listen, and George didn't doubt that she would listen, but would she stay once she'd heard how terrible a mother George had been. "Jo would be proud of you," She said eventually. "That's the first time in a long time that someone has made me well and truly speechless." "And that wasn't my intention," Karen said quietly. "Oh, I know," George replied, showing Karen that she wasn't remotely offended, just surprised. "And you're right. I do want to tell you about Charlie, because I think I need to emotionally do what Buki actually did last Friday. But I don't want to tell you about Charlie, because I don't want to lose you as a friend, never mind anything else." "And what makes you think you might?" "You love your son, I could see that so clearly when you got that birthday card from him." George turned her face slightly so that she was looking up at the Monet above the fireplace, her profile the only thing Karen could see clearly. "From the moment I knew of my daughter's existence inside me, I was terrified. I hated everything that was happening to me, because I didn't have control over it. I barely looked in a mirror in the last three months before Charlie was born. John didn't know how I felt at the time, because a child was the one thing he'd always wanted and I couldn't ever take that away from him. I wanted to love Charlie, I really did," She said, the tears rising to her eyes, making her feel even more ashamed. "But I couldn't. I couldn't love my own daughter." The tears were running down her cheeks now, making her unable to say any more.  
  
George was only vaguely aware of Karen approaching her, but when she felt Karen's arms go around her, she returned the embrace, hiding her face against Karen's body. Karen simply stood and held her, occasionally running her fingers through her hair. She had wondered if it was something like this, and the anorexia now made sense. "Did you stop eating because you felt guilty for not loving her?" Karen asked after a while. George looked up at her. "Yes," She said. "Which is how John found out. I tried so hard to love her, but even now I can't put a name to what I do feel for her. So, when I heard the name she'd created for me, I couldn't blame her. After John and I divorced, keeping every feeling I had well and truly locked away was the only way I could survive. An ice maiden is exactly how I must have appeared to Charlie, even though I tried not to. I'm sorry," She said after a short silence. Taking George's hand, Karen led her over to the sofa where they could sit close together and so that she could look at George. "No one," She said gently but firmly. "Can ever predict how they will feel when their child is born, and no matter how much you want to love someone, that doesn't always mean that you can. So just occasionally, you will need to do this, to re-open the wounds that will probably never heal. But you haven't frightened me off, and I don't think any less of you for telling me. On the contrary, you've got far more guts about you when it comes to talking, than I will ever have, and as long as you don't want me too, I'm not going anywhere."  
  
They sat for a long time after George's tears had dried, their arms around each other and with George's head on Karen's shoulder. The fire crackled and bathed them in its warm, rosy glow, gradually making George feel safe and at least calmer than she had earlier. "Please will you stay?" George asked quietly. "Of course," Karen said, gently kissing her. "I think we both need a decent night's sleep after today." "I think Jo was going to see John this evening." "I wonder if she'll take the advice I gave her last week," Karen said with a small smile. "Oh?" George looked thoroughly intrigued. "I told her to surprise him, make him feel that she has the upper hand for a change." George laughed. "There isn't anything John would enjoy more. When you're in bed with John, you sometimes feel like you're still in court." Now it was Karen's turn to laugh. "I'm not joking," George insisted. "As you know, John can be a wonderful lover, but he sometimes forgets that he isn't ultimately in charge. I've never let it bother me because I'm certainly not remotely inferior to him in that way." "Oh, really," Karen said dryly, quirking an eyebrow at George which made her smile. "Give me some time, and I'm sure I could come up to the same standard with you," She said, smirking wickedly at Karen. "But Jo has always felt that she isn't good enough for John, which is ridiculous. So your advice might just do the trick."  
  
A while later when they went up to bed, George slipped on a plain cotton nightie, her way of making it clear that she didn't want to do anything but sleep. Karen privately thought that she probably wouldn't have been up for anything other than a cuddle tonight either, so this was fine with her. "This is definitely the most decadent bedroom I've ever seen," Karen commented as she cleaned her teeth in the en suite. "And it's one of my favourite rooms in the house," Replied George. As Karen slid under the wonderfully soft duvet, she reflected that with both George and Yvonne, she had encountered the same slight incompatibility as regards bed sharing. Both she and Yvonne had always preferred to sleep on the right side of the bed, and it seemed that she had found the same little quirk in George. With Yvonne, they had simply decided that whoever's house they were at, that person slept where they normally did, and Karen found herself adopting the same policy with George. When George slipped in beside her, they moved with growing familiarity in to each other's arms. "I've missed this," Karen said in to George's hair. "Missed what?" "Just being in bed with someone, and not being expected to actually sleep with them." George laughed softly. "You're not the only one. Putting pressure on someone in that way is something John would never ever do, but when he's here I always feel as though I have to make the most of it, for him usually. I'm sorry," She said, suddenly drawing her face back to look in to Karen's. "I shouldn't be talking about John whilst I'm in bed with you." "Why not?" Karen said reasonably. "I know you sleep with John, and I also know that you're not about to stop sleeping with John just because of whatever might happen between us. So it's really not a problem." For the second time that evening, George simply stared at her. "You need each other too much to suddenly give it up," Karen explained. "And as anything remotely heavily committed is absolutely not what I'm looking for, I don't see any difficulty in your continuing to sleep with John. Besides," She said, trying to put George at her ease. "I don't think Jo would ever forgive me for rocking the boat so to speak." As George settled down again and cuddled up to Karen, the thought occurred to her that she couldn't possibly be luckier. As she drifted to sleep in Karen's soft, warm arms, she vowed to hold on to this woman who had come in to her life after all those months of them being incommunicado with each other. She vowed never ever to hurt Karen, because she was far too special, and far too precious to even consider causing any pain. 


	38. Part Thirty Eight

Part Thirty Eight  
  
Normally, George was not a morning person and resented any external intrusions. Left to herself, she craved the gradual process of coming to life until the moment of decision was right for her first cigarette and to climb out of bed. Unfortunately, this desire clashed with the relentless move of the clock hands round the dial and her desire to face the world only at her best, and the result was her bad temper. Today, George's eyelid opened a fraction of an inch and an intense pure white sensation dazzled her. The bed seemed strangely different and so she rolled over to investigate. Both eyes blinked open and shut several times and she found the difference. Leaning elegantly on her hand was the full-breasted shapeliness of a wondrous vision, which was Karen. It quite took her breath away.  
"Tired, sweetheart?" That uniquely husky voice insinuated its way into George's appetite for sensuous pleasure in all its little ways. She had never woken up next to another woman before last weekend, and this sensation was excitingly different. She stretched out her arms to receive Karen's good morning kiss and the feel of her arms round her cotton-covered shoulders.  
"I'm much worse than this as a rule. I don't know which is worse," mumbled George sleepily, "That wretched alarm clock or John being disgustingly cheerful in the morning." The irritating bleeping of the bedside alarm clock made George's point and she leaned over Karen, stretched out an arm and blindly pressed the general area at the top of the clock with an assortment of fingers. Mercifully, the sound was killed. As George's energy was spent, she lay sprawled across Karen incapable of moving but not wanting to anyway.  
"Please tell me it's the weekend, Karen, and we can lie in bed?" George called out, hoping against hope but knowing that Karen was going to shake her head. She felt different today as her thoughts started to take shape, somehow cleansed after opening herself up to telling the unmentionable about Charlie, and removed by the night from that experience. "I've got to go into Larkhall, nip in to give Denny Blood a pep talk and head on to court. Still, if you get up now, you can always join me in the shower," Karen's seductive voice dispelled the last of the cotton wool in George's thoughts. That definitely made it easier to get moving out of bed.  
"So you've called me in to tell me that you're coming to court as well, Miss Betts?" "Yes, Denny. You'll see me in the visitor's gallery along with a lot of familiar faces." She knew that she was due in court today but was worried by the last minute call to see Miss Betts. In her experience, such last minute messages with no apparent reasons for them meant bad news. That fear that what she really wanted out of life was suddenly going to be taken away. Instead, Karen smiled benevolently as she faced the suddenly excited girl, whose grin lit up her face with innocence. It transformed Denny's whole appearance, as much on other occasions when her scowl threatened anger and possible violence. "I'll tell it like it is for Lauren's sake, and if that wanker of a brief gives me any grief, I'll give it back twice over. He'd better watch out for me." Karen dare not let herself be swept along by Denny's fresh faced enthusiasm. By now, she had been immersed in the process of law operated, in and out of court, and didn't want to see Denny walking into the sort of trap that Neumann Mason-Alan was capable of setting for her.  
"Make sure you stick to the facts, Denny. Make perfectly sure of what you know and take your time when you speak. I've been up on the stand when Snowball Merriman and Ritchie Atkins were on trial and, believe you me, it's no picnic." Denny listened to the concerned tone of the Wing Governor sitting on the opposite side of her desk. This wasn't some screw being stuck up and superior, treating her like some sort of an idiot. This was an older woman's voice of experience telling her very kindly for her own good.  
"Which screws are taking me and Lauren?" she said at last.  
"I've allocated Mr. McAllister and Miss Geeson to do escort duty for you and Lauren. That suit you?" "Wicked," Denny grinned. She couldn't have done better if she had a chance to pick the screws to go with her. They were dead fair and straight up. That removed the last little niggling worry from her mind. "You've not been out since I took you to Yvonne's house. Just don't let it go to your head." Karen's final advice was softened by the memory of that far off day when the handcuffs of her trade were loosely carried that day and everything was soft and golden. Her life was more complicated these days but, at least, she had her work to keep her focussed and on track.  
  
Denny lounged in the back seat of the car, grinning widely as if she were going on a Sunday treat. It was so long ago since she had seen the other side of the high wooden gates that Denny's impressions of her visit to Yvonne's house didn't seem real. They were like a disconnected series of images out of a celebrity magazine. Only the memory of Yvonne's voice, sometimes tender, sometimes joking, stayed with her for always. Memories could fade but not that indefinable feel of Yvonne's maternal care. If it weren't for her, she would still be that vicious bitch who thought she was so hard and who delighted in hurting other women. As they set off outside the gates, she looked all around her. The world raced past her windows at a frenetic pace. Everything seemed unbearably vivid and cars rushed dangerously close to her. Everyone must be bleeding Superman or Catwoman to survive in this madhouse. Only the inside of the car seemed to stay in one place and she felt anchored down by it.  
Lauren was tired out and, even waiting interminably while Karen checked them through the gatehouse security, her head lolled sideways against Dominic's shoulder. After months of relative nothingness, Lauren had endured day after day of all out mental concentration, which had ground her down. She didn't know what was worse, standing impassively as an observer while her past was laid out for all to see, or the traumatic confrontation where she fought for her idea of who she was and, therefore, her sanity. Now she was numb to everything, content to be led where others saw fit. In the cuckoon like shell of the car, the outside world moved lazily along in a disconnected way and she felt temporarily safe with those who were with her.  
  
Denny took her place in the witness box and, flanked by Dominic, she glanced up at the gallery. A huge smile split her face. Jesus, the best of the screws and all the old lags from Larkhall were lined up in a row, Nikki, Miss Stewart, Crystal, Yvonne, Roisin, Cassie, Babs, Miss Betts as promised and that new bird of hers, George or better known to me as Posh Bitch. All of them smiled at her as if she were at a birthday treat. That was something she didn't get every day and made her feel better. She remembered the day when this nice lady who she'd seen before, talked to her about the trial. She'd introduced herself as Jo, shaken her firmly by her hand and put her at her ease. Anyone else would have pissed her off, banging on about one thing after another as if she was a liar or an idiot.  
  
"Miss Blood, when did you first meet Mrs. Atkins, and how did you come to know her?" Jo asked her.  
"Yvonne?" she questioned, momentarily puzzled. "It was soon after she first came to Larkhall….." "…..and when was this?" Denny's forehead was furrowed by a series of frown lines as she racked her memory in an environment when days, weeks, months and years all flowed into each other. Finally, she remembered all that bollocks about the millennium and could pinpoint it that Yvonne had arrived just before Halloween. That made it October 1999. Jesus, she first knew Yvonne Atkins in the last bleeding century. "I think it was October 1999, Miss," Denny said at last.  
"Can you describe for the benefit of the court, exactly what your relationship with Mrs. Atkins was like?" "She was my second mother. There wasn't anyone closer to me than her when I first knew her." "Can you explain for the benefit of the jury, a bit about your background and, in particular, why you call Mrs. Atkins your second mother?" "My real mother was an alki. I got taken into care when I was eight when my mother was out somewhere, getting drunk. I ended up in a children's home. You have to be hard and tough going through all that. Larkhall is only the next stage up…….." "What sort of contact did you have with your real mother after that?" Jo asked softly. "She was too busy getting drunk for me or anything else. I never heard nothing from her till she got taken in for being drunk and disorderly and even then, she didn't recognise me. 'Too much trouble, having kids", that's what she told me once. She'd forgotten that she'd even had a kid. I had to push my face right up close and hold a knife to her throat before she remembered me….." The zigzag tattoo that ran round Denny's neck was as jagged and razor edged as the words she came out with. Nikki and Helen felt highly uncomfortable as their negative family experiences were nothing in comparison. It also hit them hard that Denny's father was this terrifying hole in her existence.  
"……….She let me down time and time again while she was in prison, all big promises and doing nothing about them." "So how different was Yvonne?" Denny's face suddenly smiled openly. "Yvonne was a good laugh and dead generous from the word go. Everyone noticed her. First thing she did was to get a load of guitars shipped in and we did this thing, right, all of us singing this song called "Kumbaya". The head screw had stopped visits to all the women on G Wing, and we wanted to put pressure on them to change their minds. She didn't do this for herself, she did it for all the girls. That's Yvonne all over………… I always knew she was there to have a shoulder that I could cry on. She was someone who'd tell me things straight without telling me a load of bollocks, sorry sir. She could make me laugh and that ain't easy sometimes. She never let me down. Sounds like a mother, doesn't it?" A sudden rush of raw emotion suddenly swept through Jo, so that she took deep breaths in and out. Yes, that sounds exactly like what mothers do. "It wasn't just me, but she did the same for other women like my girlfriend, Shaz Wiley. I was the closest to her of all those in Larkhall………" "If I might be allowed to put in a word here. I am also waiting to see if the witness is going to give evidence directly about the defendant. I am also asking if my learned friend intends to subject the court to a multitude of anecdotes of good deeds that the mother of the defendant is alleged to have done? If so, I would most certainly raise a point of law, for the simple reason that such 'evidence' would be third hand and the validity of such 'evidence' would be impossible to test, apart from simply calling the witness a liar." Neumann Mason-Alan's heavy-duty sarcasm was aimed to crush what he saw as this ill educated, inarticulate, not very attractive witness, dressed in outlandish clothes. "I thank you for your advice, Mr. Mason-Alan. It does seem a reasonable point, Mrs, Mills." "I was not intending to question the witness in the way described, for the reasons my learned friend outlines. I would argue most forcibly that the witness's own direct experience of Mrs. Atkins is highly relevant, if for no other reason than the supposed bad character of Mrs. Atkins is an important plank of my learned friend's case." Jo could see Denny mouth the word 'why' and raise her eyebrows and she stared sharply at Denny to shut her up. Jo disguised her passing moment of anxiety when she answered the court in her easy relaxed manner.  
"I am prepared to allow the line of questioning by Mrs. Mills, subject to the limits that I have set out, but I do expect the witness to go on to give evidence of the defendant herself." "You have explained everything very clearly, Miss Blood. I want to ask you if there was any event before the death of James Fenner, where you spent any appreciable amount of time with the defendant." "That's easy," jumped in Denny confidently. "It was the time that Miss Betts took me out for the day to Yvonne's house." Suddenly, all the memories of that glorious day came flooding vividly back so that the film unreeled before her eyes and the courtroom faded. "Miss Betts let me buy some flowers on the way for Yvonne. Her house is brilliant, out of this world, just the sort of cool place she would have and her dog, Trigger is friendly and soft as a brush………." Jo was content to let Denny carry on without guidance and smiled to herself that Denny's throwaway comments were doing her job just nicely.  
"………All right, I could go on about it all day, sir, but there's one thing that I can remember about Lauren. I don't know how to say it as she's my best mate, as good as sisters like the two Julies are, but she did get a bit aggressive once when she took Yvonne away to talk to her. She and Yvonne disappeared for ages. Miss Betts kept me company so everything was cool. When she did come back, Lauren tried to be nice to me but she kept giving Yvonne the evil eye." "When did this happen?" "It was dead hot that day and well into summer. August I would say, miss." "What struck you about Lauren's manner?" Denny looked thoughtful as she mulled over the question. The court did not exist for her as she took her time to deliver her judgement. "I thought that Lauren was jealous of me and took it out on Yvonne. She was scared that I was closer to Yvonne than she was, but I didn't get it then. When Yvonne was at Larkhall, all she would talk about to do with her family was her Lauren, how proud she was of her. You could tell it in her face. Lauren's different now with me as we've shared a cell for the past year since she came to Larkhall. There's never been any trouble between the two of us. You've got to get on bloody well sharing a cell, as you're locked in night after night." Tears were streaming down Lauren's face in a totally unashamed fashion. She loved Denny for her kindness and understanding. She could not for the life of her work out why she ever thought Denny was a threat to her. There was a lot she couldn't understand about herself, why she had grown up the way she had and how disconnected her past felt from her. Above her, the women in the gallery were incredibly touched by the simple unaffected words, which told the truth. "No further questions, my lord."  
  
Denny gulped in nervousness as she saw the black guy in his fancy clothes stand up and prepare to speak. She could tell straight away she wasn't going to like him.  
"Miss Blood, have you known Mrs. Atkins to be violent?" "Objection, my lord. Surely my learned friend cannot ask the witness to tell the court what she has heard persons unnamed describe Mrs. Atkins' character any more than I stopped short of asking similar questions from the opposite perspective." "The objection is sustained for the reasons stated." Denny was hugely relieved by Jo's intervention. That wanker was really hassling her and on her own would have made her lose it. She really needed Jo's posh talk giving him a bit of legal and shutting him up. As for the judge, he was a real gent. "I apologise. Miss Blood, have you seen Mrs. Atkins act in a violent manner." "No, Sir." "What? Are you seriously telling me that in all the years both you and Mrs. Atkins have been in prison, you have never seen Mrs. Atkins so much as smack another prisoner? I find that very hard to believe." "Have you got a problem, man?" "No, Miss Blood, I have no 'problem' as you say. I don't see why a jury should believe a word you say." "I'll tell you why she didn't need to hit anyone. If she was angry, then one look from her and you didn't want to start any trouble." "So you are saying that other prisoners were so intimidated by her that they were in fear of their lives?" "Is that some kind of crime, just looking at someone? She never did anything about it. Most of us respected her too much," Denny shouted scornfully.  
"Mr. Mason-Alan, this line of questioning is patently fruitless and unproductive. Unless you provide arguments to refute what the witness is saying, then your approach to cross-examination is questionable in the extreme. To me, you are seeking to wear down the witness in a war of attrition until she says what you want her to say. For this reason, I am putting a halt to this line of questioning." "I have one last question to ask the witness. Why, Miss Blood, were you let out of prison to spend the day at Mrs. Atkins house?" "That's easy," Denny beamed. "It was because of Yvonne's birthday, as a treat for both of us. I like answering questions. Do you want to ask me another one?" To the women in the gallery, Denny was priceless. Only she could transform the majesty of a court of law and the formality of giving evidence into a child's party game.  
"I have no further questions, my lord," Neumann Mason-Alan spat out in a disgusted fashion.  
"Do you wish to ask any questions, Mrs Mills?" "I hate to disappoint the witness but I cannot see that anything can possibly be added to what she has already said." There was a big grin on Jo Mills face. She had been secretly worried about Denny as her heart was in the right place but she had come through in her own way.  
  
As court was adjourned for lunch, Jo gathered up her papers under her arm and caught up with them in the foyer where Dominic was escorting Denny back to Larkhall. "Did I do all right, Miss?" "Well done, Denny. You did far better than I ever dreamed you could." "You're a bloody star, Denny," Cassie called out. "You made that guy Mason-Alan look as big an arsehole as I did." "You've come a long way since I first knew you, Denny, and definitely for the better," Helen's full intensity of feeling washed over Denny and made her feel good about herself. If Miss Stewart and Miss Betts gave her the time of day, she must be worth something. A soppy feeling inside her made her feel like that bird in the film who was walking round the ballroom of the Titanic, and everyone clapped her and that guy with her in a dinner jacket. She would feel dead stupid in a dress like that and that guy wouldn't be her first choice but it felt right to her. She would never outgrow the need of that feeling of being made special. It hadn't always been that way in her life. "Why, fancy seeing you once again wearing a prison officer's uniform, Dominic. Remember me?" Yvonne's surface mockery was only a token of old times sake. "As if I could ever forget. We'll make sure Lauren gets looked after, but I hope it won't be for long." Automatic instinct made Dominic's reply sound slightly sheepish to begin with. In turn, Yvonne grinned and patted his shoulder in gratitude as he passed along.  
"See you when you get out, Denny. Don't forget us whatever you do." Tears came to Denny's eyes. As if she ever could forget every last one of them. 


	39. Part Thirty Nine

Part Thirty Nine  
  
When the court reconvened at two that afternoon, Jo just managed to beat Neumann Mason-Alan in rising to her feet. "My Lord," She said, addressing the bench. "There is a matter that requires your attention, and that should not be discussed in the hearing of the jury." "What is the basis of this matter, Mrs. Mills?" "My Lord, I wish to recall a witness." "Very well, Mrs. Mills, and as I am well aware of the extreme probability that this will turn in to nothing more than a verbal brawl, I think this discussion should take place in my chambers, behind closed doors. If everyone connected with this case would have the courtesy to remain within the vicinity of the court whilst this matter is being settled, I would be much obliged." As Jo and Neumann exited side by side, and made their way up to John's chambers, they stonily avoided each other's gaze, clearly ready to resume hostilities at the earliest possible moment.  
  
In the gallery, Cassie said, "Oh, well, that's us let off the leash for a while." They all made their way downstairs, not entirely sure where to go next, the pub being out of bounds as it wasn't in the vicinity of the court. But before Karen could offer up any suggestion, she was approached by Marilyn. "Have you got a minute?" She asked, looking quite nervous. "I think we could do with a chat." "Yes, of course," Karen replied, knowing that this had to happen sooner or later. There was a cafeteria at the back of the court building on the ground floor, and they all made their way there, Karen and Marilyn splitting off to find a quiet corner. "Would you like a coffee or something?" Karen offered, trying to put off the inevitable for as long as possible. "No thanks," Marilyn replied, sounding as nervous as Karen felt. Sitting down, Karen reached for her cigarettes, and then remembered the policy excluding all addicts. "I've learnt more about Jim over the last ten days, than I ever did when I lived with him," Marilyn said, finally breaking the silence. Inwardly cursing her lack of nicotine, Karen said, "He was a very complicated man, one way and another." "The night he was stabbed, I knew it was Dockley," Marilyn continued. "I remember saying that to you when you phoned me, but I don't think you were in a fit state for taking it in." "Probably not," Karen agreed. "But how did you know who had stabbed him?" "Do you remember the time he got suspended because Dockley claimed he'd beaten her up?" "Yes, that wasn't long after I'd arrived at Larkhall." "He beat her up, because he found out she'd been writing anonymous letters and making phone calls to me. She had a mobile phone in her cell, and one day she phoned me, and left it on while her and Jim were..." Marilyn didn't seem to be able to find an adequate description for what Fenner and Dockley had been doing. "I think it was her way of proving her point." "Jesus Christ," Karen said in sympathy. "He somehow managed to get her to drop that allegation. I've got no idea how, but I know he did, possibly with the help of one of my other officers." "Sylvia Hollamby," Marilyn filled in. "She came to see Jim, and he asked her to smuggle in a letter for him." Karen's face grew suddenly angry. "It was a very long time ago," Marilyn said, trying to calm her down. "Besides, that wasn't the worst thing he ever did, was it." "No," Karen said quietly. It was only now hitting her that Marilyn would have heard every word of the evidence that had been cajoled out of various people, Lauren and Yvonne included. "I had absolutely no idea he'd done that to you," Marilyn said gently. "There's no reason why you would," Karen replied matter-of-factly. "He always did manage to cover his tracks a little too successfully." "I think his only redeeming feature was that he loved his children." "Yes," Karen said with a small smile. "He did." "I know that talking to me is probably the last thing you wanted to do," Marilyn said finally. "But I just needed to clear the air. I think I needed to finally put everything to do with Jim to rest, if that isn't the wrong word to use." "I wish it were that easy," Karen said, thinking that she would probably never be able to do this. "I know," Marilyn replied, feeling an intense wave of sympathy for Karen. "And there are some things about him that you probably won't ever forget. But after this trial, I need to move on, for the kids' sake more than anything else. I've tried to keep Tom away from what's happened, but he's twelve now, and I can't keep stopping him from reading the newspapers or seeing the news on the telly. I don't want my kids to grow up knowing their dad did all those terrible things. I can't ever condone what Lauren Atkins did, but having heard what I have during this trial, I know that if he hadn't been killed, he'd one day have done something bad enough to put him behind bars. If that had happened, my kids would have known just what an evil man their dad was, and I wouldn't have wanted that." Karen could all too easily see where Marilyn was coming from. She had her two young children to protect, and that was her primary concern. Karen just wondered how Marilyn would feel should Lauren be found not guilty.  
  
When Jo and Neumann entered John's chambers, he was sitting behind his desk, mentally preparing for the battle, which would commence as soon as Coope left them to it. "So," Neumann asked when he and Jo had taken seats opposite each other. "Just which one of my witnesses do you want to recall, and why?" "Diane Barker," Jo replied without a pause. "Because I have since learnt an awful lot about her that I didn't know prior to questioning her." "I'm listening," Neumann prompted, knowing Jo of old, having worked in the same chambers as her for many years, and knowing that she would have a cast iron reason for doing this. "Diane Barker," Jo said slowly. "Very likely owed James Fenner a favour, which is why I think she might have made him out to be far more of a model officer than he ever was." She said these last few words with such loathing that Neumann blinked. Could everything that had been said about James Fenner, everything concerning Karen Betts, possibly be true? "How much actual proof do you have of this, Jo?" John asked, wondering just how Jo had come across these new facts. "Let me get her back into the witness box, and I'll give you all the proof you like," Jo said with total certainty. "Ah, but we need some proof in order to get that far," Neumann said smugly. "Oh, it wouldn't be the first time you've built a case on the flimsiest of evidence, now would it?" Jo said tartly, her professional hackles rising. "Let's try and keep this amicable, shall we," John said reasonably. "So, come on then, Jo," Neumann goaded. "Spill." "In Diane Barker's personnel file," Jo said, removing it from her briefcase. "There is logged a written warning, together with a transcript of the conversation that preceded this warning." Jo handed it over to John. After he'd perused it, he said, "First of all, where did you get this?" "Is that entirely relevant, My Lord," Jo asked, giving him his correct title because she knew she was treading on thin ice. "Surely the existence of such evidence is really the point, not how I managed to lay my hands on it. Shortly after this written warning was issued, Miss Barker's mother suffered a bad, fall, at home, one which James Fenner apparently helped her to deal with." Jo allowed the resulting silence to make her point for her. "If you're wrong," Neumann said quietly. "My witness will have you in court quicker than the police did your client." "Oh, I realise I'm taking a frightful risk," Jo said icily, giving him the same amount of contempt as he was giving her. "But I am prepared to take that risk in order to see justice done." "I will allow you to recall Diane Barker," John said slowly, feeling that he wasn't really part of this conversation. "But just be careful Jo." "So, what is it you want in return?" Jo asked Neumann smugly. "For Karen Betts to be called?" "How did you guess?" Neumann drawled, trying to cover up his surprise. "Oh, a little bird led me to believe that you wanted her on the stand, whatever it would take. Am I right?" Neumann couldn't prevent the clear evidence of shock appearing on his face, confirming George's suspicion of a few days ago. "I'd be very interested to know which little bird, gave you such sensitive information." "Oh, I'm sure you would," Jo said with complete satisfaction. "What evidence do you have for calling Karen Betts at this late stage?" John asked Neumann. "I'm surprised you need to ask, My Lord," Neumann said slightly scornfully. "So much has been said about her during this case, that her presence is absolutely vital if a complete picture of events is to be gained." Jo looked pensive. "Is calling Karen Betts absolutely necessary?" "Say no to my calling Karen Betts, and I will retract my permission for your calling Di Barker," Neumann said silkily. "Just what have you got up your sleeve?" She asked contemplatively. "Perhaps you should ask Karen Betts that," He replied defiantly. "Oh, I will, because I'm not going into this one as blind as I was with Di Barker." "That'll do," John said mildly, and then sat quiet for a moment, mulling over everything that had been said. Having read both Helen's transcript of the conversation she'd had with Di Barker, plus the report a social worker had written when it had been decided that Miss Barker's mother should spend the rest of her days in a nursing home, he really thought that Jo might just have something. As for what Neumann clearly had on Karen, he didn't like to contemplate. "I can't argue with you," He finally said. "But I would urge you also to be careful. I will not have witnesses intimidated in any way in my court, and from what I've seen out of you during this trial, I would be obliged if you would bear that in mind. So, Diane Barker and Karen Betts are to be called. Mr. Mason-Alan, I trust that you will contact Miss Barker, and Jo, will you do the same with Karen Betts, and inform her that she will not be permitted in the gallery until she has given evidence." As Neumann Mason-Alan left John's chambers, he reflected that it was astounding that he had received a fair hearing from this judge. John Deed was renowned for having an on-going relationship with Jo Mills, and maybe there really was some truth in that.  
  
When Neumann had left and they were quite alone, John walked over to her. "You're going to have a battle on your hands," He said quietly, drawing her up out of the chair so he could kiss her. "Don't you think I've got that already?" Jo asked, leaning her cheek on his. "Make sure you find out from Karen exactly what Neumann might have on her. With her past it could be anything." Jo stood slightly back from him, looking cross. "Don't you think that's a little of the pot calling the kettle black?" "Okay, okay, but you know what I mean. Forewarned is forearmed, and that's what you need to be." "I'd better go and tell her what's happened." She moved back in to his arms, never able to get quite enough of kissing this man she'd known longer than she cared to remember. As of one mind they moved over to the sofa, sitting down with their arms around each other, mouths and hands taking up the familiar pursuit of passion. When John's hand came in to contact with Jo's breast, she said, "John, we shouldn't be doing this here." "Why not?" He said between kisses. "That argument took far less time than I thought it would." His hand moved to the buttons of her blouse, and when she felt his fingers against her skin, all thought of protest was gone. She hadn't been like this with John for a fortnight, and he wasn't the only one who could feel the need for fulfillment. He was caressing her through her bra, the silky material making his touch agonising though at the same time incredible, when there came a brief knock on the door, followed by the appearance of Coope. "Judge, the court officer wants to know..." She stopped when she saw the position John and Jo were in. "I'll come back in a while," She said, retreating and closing the door. "I said we shouldn't be doing this here," Jo insisted, moving out of his arms and doing her blouse back up. "I won't be able to look her in the face again." "You won't be the first," John said with a broad grin. "I don't doubt it," Jo replied curtly, still sitting next to him and straightening her clothes. "Help me think of something truly awful," John said, looking a little uncomfortable. "Why?" Jo asked, though thinking she could guess. Taking her hand, John placed it over the bulge in his trousers. Grinning broadly, Jo removed her hand and searched for a thought to help John out of his predicament. "How about Legover in a sarong?" "Yes, that'll do nicely," John said with a grimace. Jo leaned over to give him one last kiss. "Come over at about eight?" "I'll be there," He said, kissing her back.  
  
When Jo had gone and Coope had returned, John said, "I'm sorry about that, Coope." "Oh, it's nothing I haven't seen before, Judge, but you were lucky it was only me." "Yes, I suppose we were. Please could you let the court officer know that we won't be resuming this afternoon?" "Of course, Judge."  
  
When Jo left John's chambers, she walked down the stairs and towards the cafeteria, thinking that this was where everyone would be. Before she got there, she caught sight of the red haired officer who had been accompanying Lauren today. "Excuse me," She said, "Selena, isn't it?" "Yes," Selena replied. "Court won't be resuming this afternoon, so Lauren can be taken back to prison." "Okay. Thank you for telling me." Then Jo saw Karen and the others walking towards them. "Is everything all right?" Karen asked. "Court won't be resuming till the morning," Jo said. "And we need to talk." "That sounds ominous," Yvonne said, coming up to them. "You're being called as a witness," Jo said bluntly, her usual abundence of tact having temporarily left her. "Why?" Karen asked, feeling a sense of dread creeping over her. "Because I'm recalling Di Barker, and Neumann Mason-Alan used you as a bargaining tool, and this is not the place to discuss it." As they moved away from the others, Karen said, "If you're recalling Di Barker, would you like to get some background on her first?" "What would that involve?" "Come back to Larkhall with me, and I'll introduce you to Gina and Dominic. They can tell you far more about Di Barker than I can." "Then, yes, that would be useful. However, you are my most pressing concern. Neumann was far too smug about calling you as a witness. I think he's been itching to get you on the stand from the beginning. Is there anything, anything at all that I don't know about you that he might be able to use on you tomorrow?" Karen looked wary. "At first glance, no," She said matter-of-factly. "But then my past is almost as checkered as John's." When Jo faintly blushed, Karen asked, "Is that what John said as well?" "Something to that effect, yes." "Oh, don't worry, it's nothing I haven't heard before. I'll give your question some thought on the way to Larkhall." 


	40. Part Forty

Part Forty  
  
Jo followed Karen's car through the heavy London traffic. She knew that Karen's had been a good idea, to meet a couple of Di Barker's colleagues, to really get the low down on her. If she'd known that Di's testimony wasn't to be trusted, Jo would have done this in the first place. But Jo couldn't help worrying about Karen. Neumann quite obviously knew something about her, something big that would cast serious doubt on her professional and sexual reputation. Then her thoughts turned to what had happened that afternoon. She and John had been caught almost in flagrante, and if it had been anyone but Coope, Jo might have been facing another round with the Professional Conduct Committee. Why did John have this effect on her? Why, every time she was with him these days, did she feel an almost irrepressible need to be as physically close to him as possible? She knew she had felt like this in the old days, but before they had embarked on this almost three-way relationship, she had been able to keep her impulses under control. Then the answer came to her. She could feel secure in showing her love for John, because she was no longer haunted by the certainty that he would tire of her in favour of someone younger and more sexually precocious.  
  
When they drew up in the prison car park, Karen gestured to her handbag and said, "If you don't want that searched by whoever's on the gate, I'd leave it in your car. You've never been down on the wing before, but today you will, and I can't vouch for the safety of its contents if you take it with you. I am in the business of locking up criminals after all." Locking the bag in her car, Jo followed Karen through the endless maze of dull, winding corridors. "I must admit to a certain curiosity in seeing your wing," Jo said as they walked. "Well, you've been here a good few times to see Lauren, so I'm not surprised. Plus, both John and George have seen it, but you haven't. But be warned, you could see or hear absolutely anything, and I'm not going to apologise for any of it. Her Majesty's Prisons aren't very nice places." "Warning received and understood," Jo replied, thinking that after twenty years in the business of defending criminals, she had seen and heard every bad thing imaginable. But as they approached G wing, Jo became aware of the mingled sounds of women's voices, with insults, laughter and words of affection blending together to form an endless stream of noise.  
  
As Karen unlocked the gate and Jo followed her on to the wing, both sets of eyes made a rapid assessment of the surroundings. For Karen this was because she wanted an immediate view of how things were going on her wing, and for Jo, it was because she'd never seen such a sight before. It was clearly the time for association, the period in the day when the inmates were allowed to mingle, to take some time out from the never-ending monotony of being locked up. A few were watching TV, several were simply sitting around smoking and chatting, and a couple was playing pool. As they walked across the wing, Jo took in the thorough mixture of ages, skin colours and temperaments. But before they could reach the officers' room, their attention was drawn to Al McKenzie and Denny Blood. "Why the hell did they want you in the witness box, Denny?" Al called, a sadistic glint in her eye. "Is it because you're screwing that cell mate of yours? Giving her more than just a legal helping hand?" "You sick bitch!" Denny shouted, launching herself at Al, the rage clearly visible in her face. Reacting like lightning, Karen leapt forward, wrapping her arms round Denny, keeping Denny's arms fast to her sides. "Do you want to stay down the block till the weekend?" Denny tried to struggle. "No, Miss," She said, all the time fighting Karen's hold. "Well, bloody grow up then!" Karen said, tightening her grip on Denny so as not to let her go. "But you heard what she said," Denny said in offended dignity. "And you know she's only doing it to wind you up," Karen said gently, trying to calm Denny down. "Evil bitch! I'll friggin kill her for saying that. Lauren's like my sister, innit." "Denny, I mean it," Karen warned. "Either give this up now, or you really are going down the block for a couple of days, because I've had just about as much as I'm going to put up with this week. Now, you did really well in court this morning, so don't screw it up." "I only did it 'cos I want her to get off," Denny insisted, the tears now running down her cheeks. "I know," Karen said, loosening her hold on Denny but not entirely letting her go. "Now, go and have a cigarette, and take a few minutes to calm down." "One pissing morning," Denny continued. "That's all I got out for in 18 months. I'll have forgotten what the outside world looks like by the time I get out, if I get out." Realising that the stress and adrenaline of appearing in court had really got to Denny, Karen simply held her, not knowing what else she could possibly do. "Denny, listen to me," She said eventually. "I'm going to look at your sentence, and find out when you're next up before the parole board. I'm not making any promises, but we'll see what we can do. You've been pretty good over the last year or so, and that's got to go in your favour." "That's all you ever bloody say," Denny replied, the anger battling with the tears. "You always try to help me, but we all know it's the pricks in wigs who make the decisions." Swiftly detaching herself from Karen's grasp, Denny stalked off towards her cell. "That's right," Al jeered. "Go and get yourself a piece of the consolation prize." "One more word like that, McKenzie, and you'll be down the block even before your adjudication for dealing. Is that what you want?" Al looked enraged. "You what?" She shouted in disgust. "You heard, McKenzie," Came the powerful voice of Gina who had appeared to join the verbal fray. "So shut it. It's been like this all day," Gina added, coming over to Karen. "Little spats breaking out all over the place. The nearer Lauren's verdict gets, the more fired up they are." "Gina, this is Jo Mills," Karen said, introducing the two women. "Jo, this is Gina Rossi, my principal officer." The two women shook hands. "Aren't you Lauren's brief?" Gina asked in her usual succinct manner. "Yes," Jo replied, immediately liking the down to earth, no nonsense approach that was the first thing about Gina's personality to make itself plain. "Jo would like to talk to you and Dominic about Di Barker," Karen said, lowering her voice slightly. "Though it was me who suggested it in the first place. Di is being recalled, and Jo would like to learn everything about her that she didn't know the first time round." "Be my guest," Gina said with a grim smile. "I could bitch about her till the cows come home." "Well, it's facts I'm looking for," Jo said with a broad smile. "Well, Selena and Colin are quite capable of keeping this lot in order," Gina said, turning and walking towards the PO's room. "And the last time I saw Dominic, he was writing up the day's reports." As Karen and Jo entered the officers' room, Dominic looked up from the report book. "Has court finished early?" He said, giving Karen a smile. "Yes," Karen replied, and then introduced Jo. "It seems that Mrs. Mills would like us to give her the low down on Di Barker," Gina said with a certain amount of relish. "Di's going to get a second dose of the third degree, and not before time." "Jo will do," Jo said with a smile. "Would you like a cup of tea?" Dominic offered, getting to his feet. When he'd filled the kettle and retrieved a bottle of milk from the fridge, the three women lit up cigarettes. "I'm not quite sure what you think we can tell you about Di Barker," Dominic said carefully. "Oh, come on, Dominic," Gina put in scornfully. "She reeled you in just as much as the rest of us. I bet she had a thing for you, didn't she. I remember, she couldn't sing your praises high enough when you left." Dominic blushed slightly under the scrutiny of the three women. "She was a bit obsessed with me," He said eventually. "Yeah, like she was with every bloke in this place," Gina filled in. "I don't know what the opposite is of a serial womaniser, but that's what she was. She'd hit on a bloke, and wouldn't let him out of her grip until she'd forced him away from whatever woman he happened to be with at the time." "Dominic," Karen said, suddenly remembering something. "Why exactly did you quit the service so suddenly and go to Greece of all places?" "Jesus, you don't hang about, do you," Dominic replied, realizing what Karen was getting at. "It wasn't just Di," He said, beginning to look a little uncomfortable. I had a bit of a thing for Helen at the time." "Yes, I remember," Karen said with a fond smile, sometimes seeing Dominic as the son she'd wanted Ross to be. "And I think you found out about Helen and Nikki's relationship, didn't you." "Yeah," Dominic said, a little relieved to get this off his chest after all this time. "But even if Helen hadn't been with Nikki, what Di was doing wouldn't have helped. I'd never be able to prove it, but I'm fairly certain she took passport photos from my locker, and you saw what she was like at Sylvia's party, she was all over me." "Like she was with every other bloke round here," Gina said in disgust. "Would you say she threw herself at you?" Jo asked. "Yeah," Dominic laughed. "I was sick of all the attention she was giving me and I couldn't stay here and stay quiet about Helen and Nikki, so I quit." "And we're all bloody glad you came back," Karen said, trying to put him at ease once more. "What was she like after Dominic left?" Jo asked in to the silence. "Like a bitch constantly on heat," Said Gina matter-of-factly. "First Josh, then Mark, then god knows who else." Jo held up a hand. "Mark?" She questioned, thinking she might have heard that name before in relation to Larkhall. "Mark Waddle," Clarified Gina. "He was my bloke at the time." Jo thought for a moment. "Mark Waddle as in..." She stopped, but Karen had understood. "Yes, as in the Mark Waddle I was once involved with." "Let's go back to Josh," Jo said, trying to relieve some of the tension caused by the mention of Mark's name. "This would be the Josh that Crystal Gordon is now living with?" "Yeah, Josh Mitchell," Replied Gina. "Di tried to split them up by throwing herself at Josh. We obviously didn't know about Crystal and Josh, or Josh wouldn't have been allowed to stay in the service. But it was around the time that Di mislabelled the drugs tests. Crystal knew hers couldn't have been positive, so she went on hunger strike until she was proved right." "I know all about that," Jo said. "So, at the same time, Di was throwing herself at Josh. In what way?" "Making out they had some really hot date, plastering on the make up, making out she had this lover who couldn't leave her alone. I walked in on them once having a row, and Josh asked me if Di had been saying all this stuff about the two of them, and when I said yes, he made it pretty bloody clear that they weren't. I think that might be why she went after Mark, to prove she could get herself a bloke." "What happened with Mark?" Jo asked, seeing a brief glimmer of pain in Gina's eyes, which was suddenly hidden under the bitter, hardened outer shell. "I was pregnant," Gina said reluctantly. "And Di took advantage of the fact that me and Mark weren't getting on so well. She wanted to get one over on me because I knew what a tit of herself she'd made with Josh. So, one night when I was doing something else, she got him drunk, and got what she wanted. All that spite and vindictiveness just for a quick screw in the club toilets. Then, the next day, she kept rubbing it in. I didn't know who the hell she was talking about, but she kept saying how the bloke she'd been with couldn't get enough of her. Anyway, I found out I was pregnant, just before she dropped him in it. So, with no bloke on the scene any longer, I thought about having a termination. Di tried to give me this really pathetic apology, so I told her that there wouldn't be no baby, problem solved, and she tried to give me the old line about making a rash decision. Like she'd ever want a baby. It would cramp her style too much. Over the next few days, I found out from the Julies that she'd been telling all and sundry that I wasn't really pregnant and forcing Mark to come back to me by telling him I was having his baby. So, I did what Karen knows I'm famous for, I went looking for Di to punch her lights out. We got in to a fight in the locker room, and she pushed me over onto the bench. The fall I had made me lose the baby, when I'd only the day before decided to keep it." Brief tears rose to Gina's eyes, making her feel stupid and vulnerable. "I'm sorry," She stammered slightly. "Is that when you left Larkhall?" Jo asked gently, feeling and empathising with Gina's pain all too easily. "Yeah," Gina replied, lighting another cigarette. "I'm not the only one who Karen persuaded to come back." There was another short silence. "Any more men I should know about?" Jo asked, thinking that Gina would prefer the focus to be taken away from her. "Only Barry Pearce, but I think she got more than she bargained for with him, and Neil Grayling," Karen filled in, grinning when she saw Jo's raised eyebrows. "But I thought Neil Grayling was..." "Gay," Finished Karen. "Yes, he is, and I think it might have been Di that persuaded Neil to reveal himself." "Yeah," Said Gina with a grin. "It was probably the only way he could get a bit of peace." "So," Dominic said, finally getting a word in. "What's the other end of the bargain? I've sat through enough trials to know that when one side recalls a witness, the other side usually wants something in return." Jo looked extremely impressed. "I'm being called," Karen told him. "Actually, Gina, you can get your head round this one. You've got the most suspicious mind of all my officers so I'm sure you'll find an answer." "Oh, cheers," Gina said dryly and with good humour. "Jo is fairly certain that the prosecution has something big on me, only I can't for the life of me work out what it is." Dominic hurriedly rose to his feet. "I'm staying out of this one," He said. "I don't want to end up with the sack." "Sit down," Karen said good-naturedly. "Well, I'd have thought it was bloody obvious," Gina said matter-of-factly. "Work it out. Who was Fenner sleeping with before he died? Who, therefore, probably had instant access to all his stuff, including any memorabilia Fenner might have had from his relationship with you." Karen began putting the pieces together. When it dawned on her exactly what Fenner had kept in his possession, and therefore what Di would subsequently have had in hers, a look of shock passed across her face. "Oh, no," She groaned, putting a hand to her mouth. "Oh, come on, it can't be that bad," Gina said with a smile. "Thanks for the blind optimism, Gina, but it's pretty unfounded in this case." "What the bloody hell did you do?" Gina asked, looking very interested. "That's absolutely none of your business," Karen said. "Well," Gina said, glancing over at the rota. "If you're in the witness box tomorrow, it'll be Sylvia's business, and that's the last thing you want." "Not bloody likely," Karen said firmly, taking a pen from the desk and slashing a red line through Sylvia's name. "You can go in her place. At least you know how to keep your mouth shut." "So, come on then, tell me what I'm in for," Gina cajoled. "If I'm right," Karen said tightly. "You'll find out soon enough anyway." Seeing something in her face, Gina said, "Come on, Dominic, we've got work to do."  
  
When they'd left, Jo said, "So, what might the prosecution have on you that I need to know about?" Karen began to look very uncomfortable. She stood up and began walking round the room, stacking papers, putting things away and generally avoiding Jo's gaze. "Do you remember, I told you that Fenner tried to blackmail me into dropping the rape allegation, by showing Grayling some pictures of me?" "Yes," Jo said slowly, fully understanding now. "Well, I'm fairly sure that as Grayling wouldn't have had any use for them, he'd have given them back to Fenner. Knowing now how he definitely felt about me all that time, there's no way he'd have got rid of them, and going by what we now know of Di Barker, she'd love to use them to get back at me for always being the one he loved." "Precisely what was in the pictures?" "Trust me, you really don't want to know," Karen said, a blush staining her cheeks. "Karen, the whole court is going to know this time tomorrow, and that includes George. So tell me." "Why?" Karen said in enraged despair. "Why does this always happened to me? Every bloody time, something new has to come out about my past. Soon there'll be nothing left." "Karen," Jo said gently. "Whatever you did that Fenner had pictures of, it won't be anything I haven't heard before, you know." "I know," Said Karen uncomfortably. "I'm just quite ashamed that I did it, that's all. John's going to get a shock, that's for sure." Jo grinned. "Now I really am intrigued." "The pictures Fenner had," Karen began slowly. "Were of me either just wearing nothing at all, or of me doing various things that wouldn't look out of place in the Kama Sutra." "Okay," Jo said quietly. "I don't need to tell you that the prosecution is going to have a field day with this." Karen could see it like it was yesterday. Her standing in front of Neil's desk, of him showing her the photo that said "Enjoy," on it, and of him saying, "I enjoyed the ones of you in the shower too." "What are you thinking?" Jo asked, seeing that some memory had invaded Karen's mind. "I've just remembered exactly what is in some of those pictures, Fenner's favourite ones. Tell me this, Jo. Why do I always seem to do such stupid things without a care in the world when I'm doing them?" "I'm told it's part of being human," Jo said gently. "If I know the worst, I can prepare for the worst." "In a few of them," Karen said, standing in front of the window that looked out on to the exercise yard, so that she couldn't see Jo's face. "I was touching myself." She could feel the colour suffuse her cheeks. "That isn't anything to be ashamed of," Jo said quietly, having herself partaken of that particular delicacy in the sometimes lengthy period when she'd had no other lover, and had been keeping herself away from John's all too tempting bed. "It is, when it'll be on display for all to see," Karen said miserably. "Neumann will have to have a very good reason for showing that sort of picture," Jo said firmly. "And now that I know what to expect, I can object hopefully before he shows it."  
  
A little while later when they walked out of the officers' room and across the wing, they were stopped by Denny, looking a good deal happier than she had done earlier. "Oy, Miss," She called as Karen and Jo walked passed her. "When's Posh Bitch coming back?" Standing stock still in her tracks, Karen briefly thought she could strangle Denny. Jo might be okay about Karen and George on the surface, but Karen didn't especially want it broadcast to all and sundry that George had been with her at Larkhall last Friday. Having seen something of this in her face, Denny came over and said, "Shit! Have I dropped you in it, Miss?" "Not really," Karen said fondly. "But it seems to be one of those days." When she and Jo had walked through the gate and down the corridor, Jo said, "I'm assuming that's Denny's name for George?" "Yes," Karen said, briefly wondering if she was destined to look sheepish for the rest of her life. "I unexpectedly had to do two hours here on my own last Friday evening, and George offered her company. I don't know what made her do it, but I'm heartily glad she did. If George hadn't been here to be my runner and to look after a very distressed Tina Purvis, one of the other inmates, Buki Lester would have died." Abandoning any thought of worry for George's safety in a place like this, Jo asked, "What happened?" And Karen could see nothing but concern for her in Jo's face. "Buki is one of G wing's regular cutters. Whether she picked last Friday night because she knew I would be on my own, or because everything had suddenly got too bad for her, I don't know. But she took a razor blade to the main artery in her wrist. Not something I'm going to forget in a hurry." Jo could clearly see that whilst Karen might view this as an occasional part of the job, it had still greatly affected her. "I don't really know how to say it," She said eventually. "But from what I've seen and heard today, I know that yours must be one of the hardest and probably the least rewarding jobs anyone ever has to do, yet you put your heart and soul in to it. The way you looked round your wing when we first arrived, it was as if you were checking up on your flock, as though they were an enormous family who were all under your wing, including your officers. In your own way, and for different reasons, each and every one of them matters to you." Karen stopped in the corridor and stared at her. "No one's ever seen it like that before," She said, greatly touched by what Jo had said. "But yes, I suppose that's how I do see them sometimes. You can't help but be fond of some of them. Some, like Denny, or the Julies, or Buki, or even Cassie, Barbara and Nikki when they were here, and Roisin, and even Shell Dockley on a non-violent day. You get to know so much about them, especially the ones who are here for a long stretch, that you can't help but look upon them as meaning more to you than a job. I expect you feel like that about some of your clients." "Yes, occasionally there'll be one whose case I get far too emotionally involved with." "And I probably do the same with countless of my inmates," Karen said ruefully. "Though a good proportion of the time is spent thanking any remotely higher being that they aren't members of my family." Jo grinned as they kept on walking, but it wasn't lost on her that a large part of Karen resided within these walls, that a significant proportion of her psyche belonged to these women whom she showed so much maternal fondness for, in spite of their causing her no end of hassle on a daily basis. 


	41. Part forty One

A/n: A government health warning is attached to this piece for the reader This piece is based on Kristine's Part 19 before I warped the storyline.  
Arthur Conan Doyle's "The Hound of the Baskervilles" is quoted.  
Watching "Monty Python's Flying Circus" must be floating round my subconscious.  
  
Part Forty One  
  
It was another day for John in the Crown versus Atkins trial, where everything seemed normal, apart from one indefinable thing that was wrong, as Neuman Mason-Alan prepared to question his next witness. Something seemed strangely different…  
  
"Detective Inspector Sullivan, please could you tell the court about the day you arrested Lauren Atkins? What you did when you called on her? What she said to you?" DI Sullivan looked very smug and pleased with himself, to be up before Monty Everard who was well known to bend over in sympathy towards police witnesses.  
"Lauren Atkins wasn't very pleased to see me. She took a while to open the door, possibly taking the time to check out my colleague, Detective Sergeant Greer, first and then me, before allowing us entry in to her house. She told me that she couldn't guarantee my safety with her Alsatian dog. Lauren Atkins took my presence as an immediate threat, and used the threat of her dog's teeth to attempt to keep me and my colleague from questioning her." "How did Lauren Atkins react to your questioning?" Asked Neumann Mason-Alan. "She was rude, belligerent and utterly refused to co-operate." "My Lord," said Jo, rising to her feet. "This is a prejudicial statement against my client's character, which cannot be proved…" Jo started to say, before being rudely cut off by the man who had been judge before her also at the PCC hearing. He was after payback, however much he dressed it up in legal phrases.  
"Mrs. Mills, I feel that I am quite in order to hear evidence from the police as to the way she behaved. You will have the chance to cross-examine the witness later.  
Proceed, Mr. Mason Alan."  
  
"Not if I can help it or you will end up before me on a charge of contempt of court, DI Sullivan." John replied sternly. Stunned looks focussed in from all around him as his forceful words created a noticeable ripple of consternation. He looked around him but where were his red robes and wig?  
  
"Detective Inspector Sullivan," Mason-Alan returned to his questioning. "Did Lauren Atkins show any inclination to be co-operative once you returned with her to the police station?" "Not in the least," Sullivan replied, seeing in the prosecuting barrister a man after his own heart. "She refused to tell us anything. Not one single detail. Even when we offered her the advice of the duty solicitor, she refused to say a word." "What about when you presented her with the evidence of the gun, the spade and the empty cartridge case? Did this not provoke any reaction from her?" "No, not a thing. Miss. Lauren Atkins," Sullivan said, slowly spacing out the words, "has obviously been well coached in how to deal with a visit from the law. I have had occasion to question her mother, Yvonne Atkins, and neither woman has ever given the police the time of day." "A word here, DC Sullivan. You should take care not to use the word 'obviously' in court, as it is not in the language of a prosecution case." Monty Everard's tone was that of an indulgent parent, mildly and ineffectively administering a mild reproof to a spoilt brat of a son.  
"I apologise, my lord," DI Sullivan answered in smarmy obsequious tones. "Was there anything in the claimant's demeanour and the circumstances of the defendant's arrest, which gave you the slightest doubt that the claimant might be innocent of the brutal murder of James Fenner?" "None in the least. I felt that I'd got the right person banged to rights."  
  
"Detective Inspector Sullivan," Jo began, launching into the attack with the added venom of righteous fury unchained at last. "I want to come back to the matter of when the defendant let you in. Are you seriously suggesting that she used the presence of her dog to intimidate you? Did you not consider an alternative suggestion? That the defendant merely took the precaution of ensuring that a dog, though used to regular visitors, might react differently when a member of the police force calls at the defendant's house? It is the natural instinct of a dog to protect the home of his mistress." "You evidently did not see the dog, dear," Sneered DI Sullivan. "The animal was a huge black Alsatian, with a nasty look in its eye and bared its teeth and growled…a hound it was, an enormous coal-black hound, but not such a hound as mortal eyes have ever seen. Fire burst from its mouth, its eyes glowed with a smouldering glare, and its muzzle and hackles and dewlap were outlined in flickering flame…" Fear stared nakedly out of DI Sullivan's eyes and he shivered at the horror of that primeval scene.  
"I shall produce in evidence a full psychiatric report carried out by Dr Waugh on the dog concerned whose name is Trigger. You will find it in your bundle of evidence as item 3L.  
  
Trigger Atkins: psychiatric report  
  
Name: Trigger Atkins. Case Number: 240073. Date: 15/01/04. Attending Psychiatrist: Dr. Thomas Waugh.  
  
The witness's adoptive mother and his appealing eyes asked me to give evidence on his behalf, when they called at my office, in the case of the Crown versus Atkins. Neumann Mason-Alan QC, to examine Trigger Atkins. In performing this duty, I was invited to pay particular attention to the antecedents of the dog as an indicating factor in the probability or otherwise, of the said dog in threatening DI Sullivan when he came to arrest the defendant on the 12th of January 2004. It casts a light on the reliability of the arresting officer DI Sullivan and finally, as an indication of the background of the Atkins family in the newly evolving cross discipline of human and animal psychology.  
  
I have found that Trigger has a complex personality that has many layers. The underlying, primeval layer is, of course, the distant wolverine ancestry. This disposition is of the carnivorous hunter reliant on the cooperation of the pack for survival, with complex interrelationships of dominant and less dominant members. Strong loyalties bind the pack together and also a degree of affection between members of the pack. A perceived threat to individual members and to the pack as a whole will be met by such aggression by means of teeth and claws such as to drive off the assailant.  
Centuries of human socialisation will have tamed the native savagery and transformed the species into the Man's Best Friend, which we know today. However, this degree of socialisation will have only a contingent and not a necessary effect on the canine behaviour patterns. In short, the way the dog is treated will partly shape its response patterns and in particular, research has shown the strong connection between an aggressive and snappy household and an aggressive and snappy dog and vice versa.  
In Trigger's case, his adoptive father, Charlie Atkins, who named the dog, and trained him to behave aggressively on request, decisively shaped his upbringing as a puppy and as a whelp. There has always been a strong lurking need for affection which his adoptive mother and sister, Yvonne and Lauren Atkins respectively, provided.  
This secondary characteristic became of decisive importance on the death of Charlie Atkins and completed the degree of socialisation needed for a member of the Alsatian sub species. They also brought out a strong, playful and humorous side to his personality, whereby unwelcome guests would be made to feel the appearance of aggression while Trigger was only doing it for a joke, taking advantage of the natural human fear of apparently aggressive dogs. Trigger confesses to me that he finds such a reaction intensely amusing. Otherwise, Trigger is a benevolent, kindly dog whose wolverine ancestry is confined to leading various members of his pack around his territory, the confines of his house and exercises an entirely benevolent form of pack leadership. The fact that humans feel that they are in charge and the master /mistress is an illusion that Trigger is happy to exploit.  
  
This report does, of course, throw a strong light on the defendant's personality, who by studying Trigger's personality, is only driven to violence in extreme situations and whose decisive personality quirk is to appear tougher than she is, out of an ingrained family instinct.  
  
………………………………………………………………………………………………  
  
"I am ruling this ridiculously timewasting and irrelevant idiocy out of order. A psychiatrist cannot purport to produce a psychiatric report on a dog, which will have no command of the Queen's English. In all my years on the bench, there is no legal precedent to take evidence elicited from a dog," Growled Monty Everard. "Just whose trial is this, anyway?" "It should be mine and now is," Retorted John. "DI Sullivan, you have completely fabricated the evidence and, what is worse, you have stolen a passage in the writings of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's "Hound of the Baskervilles." I trust that the famous Sherlock Holmes story is not to be offered in evidence. Though, I don't know, the fictional work is more literary and more factual than the shaky evidence of this complete imbecile." John's force of personality grabbed hold of the court marginalising Monty Everard to a spluttering irrelevance. Everyone looked to him as always. "Jesus Nikki! The judge is more trouble than the rest of us in the gallery put together," Yvonne said anxiously. She had got brinkmanship down to a fine art but this guy pushes things further than she does.  
  
At that moment, a scratching sound could be heard on the exit door at the back of the gallery, at the top of the flight of stairs. It opened and the friendly looking Alsatian trotted down the steps, and leant his head on the balcony and draped his paws over the edge. His round eyes looked totally appealingly at the jury.  
"Good boy," Karen said and patted his flank as he made small joyful barking sounds, very politely being on his best behaviour. Though the jury weren't at the angle to see a happily wagging tail, they could sense it.  
"Hey Trigger, good boy Trigger." A member of the jury rashly called out before being silenced by a glare from Monty Everard. This anarchistic spirit was breaking out everywhere. Jo smiled, spread her arms in a theatrical bow and continued questioning the increasingly rattled DI Sullivan who was definitely confused by the way the trial was going.  
"When you asked Lauren Atkins if she had ever heard of James Fenner, what did she say to you?" "She put on this fake, innocent expression that was supposed to fool me, and said, 'oh, wasn't he the prison officer who was murdered last October.' Then she made the connection that he used to work on the wing where her mother had been incarcerated." "And does that response strike you as unco-operative?" "No, it strikes me as a pathetic attempt to fool me. One I might add that didn't work." "By attempting to prove that my client co-operated with you during her initial interview, she did agree to give you a full, fact-filled statement at a later date, 3L in your bundle, My Lord." "You call that little fabrication a full, fact-filled statement, do you?" Sullivan asked in amusement. "Of course," Said Jo without rancour, "Why, what would you call it?" "Mrs Mills," thundered Monty Everard. "While council enjoy the traditional freedoms to cross-examine witnesses, you will not be allowed to show any disrespect in my court for the police force who are only trying to do their job in the same way that you and I do. I rule this out of order as inadmissable evidence." "Isn't that the name of a famous play performed in the West End. I went to see it with my second husband, Peter. That was one of the best plays I've ever seen," Babs' Middle England voice chipped in. "What I would call Lauren Atkins' police statement couldn't possibly be repeated in present company," Sullivan drawled with nothing but malice in his tone. "With that in mind," Jo continued, sounding amiable to only those who didn't know her. "Wouldn't it be fair to suggest that your attitude to my client was prejudiced from the start, and that your sole reason for taking on this case was because you had failed to pin another death on Yvonne Atkins? A death that I should point out for the court to be the result of a fatally allergic reaction to nuts?" "Listen dear," Sullivan said, openly snarling at Jo who remained thoroughly unmoved. "Your client," Sullivan almost spat out the word, "Is the last in a long line of criminals. Her father was one, her brother was one, and her mother, who I suspect is paying your fees, is one. Even the dog has criminal, violent tendencies. To give Lauren Atkins her due, it would have been a miracle if she hadn't ended up becoming involved in violent crime." "Inspector, Yvonne Atkins was convicted of conspiracy to commit murder, not murder itself. Does that not suggest to you that if an Atkins were thinking of committing a murder, they would far rather pay someone else to do it for them? That is, if I am willing to go along with the assumption that my client is guilty, which of course I am not." "Now you're just playing with words, about all you defence barristers are good for." "This trial has gone far enough," Monty Everard attempted to thunder with the resonance of John Deed but not quite managing it. "It is patently clear that the defendant is guilty as charged and I direct that the jury retire at this point, to consider their verdict. I have heard quite enough to consider that this is an open and shut case. I expect you, members of the jury, to come back with your unanimous verdict of guilty, as otherwise, be sure that troublemakers will be remembered and your cards marked for life. I have to get away to a pressing engagement." Right, that will do," John roared. "I shall issue a writ of habeas corpus, immediately…" "…Ah, thanks, Coop," as she materialised out of nowhere with the necessary paperwork and promptly returned to her alternative reality of manning the fort in John's chambers………" "Inspector, release that woman or I shall hold you in contempt of court instead and you, sir, will be 'banged to rights.' If you should ever have occasion to be before me again, I insist that you will undergo stringent psychological screening checks before you are ever allowed in the witness box. In the meantime, release the defendant." The frozen grip of the Prison Officers was unleashed at the sounds of John's fury and an ecstatically grateful Lauren beat a rapid retreat out of the court and away. "This behaviour is entirely outrageous, Deed," Monty Everard shouted, red in the face. "I shall resort to force to restore the rule of order." "You personally? Don't make me laugh. I could knock you down as soon as look at you," John sneered contemptuously. "I bet he's in a hurry to get his leg over some bitch," George muttered out of habit. "I told you so once." "Did you really? I must have made my one and only error of judgement. Meanwhile, to the barricades. This reminds me of my sit in days when I was at university in the sixties," Enthused John, happy memories flooding back.  
"What happens if they send out for the Old Bill, Karen? We're right on their bleeding doorstep." "Well, we'll have a bit of time to play with. A couple of elderly ushers aren't going to argue with some of Larkhall's finest from both sides of the prison bars plus George if she loses her temper. I've heard that she's already broken down the door to John's chambers in an argument with John. I hate to think of what she'll do if she really gets worked up." That sent cold shivers down Nikki's spine. She was used to being the fiery orator and physically ejecting rowdy drunks from her club, not to mention getting physical with the likes of Dockley, Renee Williams and Maxi Purvis. However John Deed unchained, had a fearsome aura of uncontrolled fury, both physical and verbal which gained her awesome respect, but made her feel afraid for his total abandoned recklessness.  
  
"George, I was going to ask you for a bit of legal. If we sort of surround the judge and use a bit of gentle persuasion on the Old Bill, can we get off with self defence?" Yvonne posed the question.  
"An Englishmen's home is His Castle," John boomed, not having turned the volume down sufficiently from haranguing Sir Monty and the miserable apologies for barristers.  
"Or as I was telling the Warwick Conference, about the need for greater individual freedoms against the creeping state bureaucracy, which would strangle us from birth." "Jo's the criminal expert, Yvonne, but from what I understand, if we use 'reasonable force' we might get away with it," George answered at her most hesitant and unconvinced.  
Roisin shrugged her shoulders. The best thing she thought was to go with the flow, but she felt apprehensive about what to explain to Michael and Niamh in case they landed on the front page of the tabloids and first item on News at Six.  
"Hey, you guys, you're forgetting something," Chimed in Cassie. "Are you telling me that five, six of the gobbiest women can't talk their way out of this jam and get the pigs to go someplace else? We don't have to use violence. We just have to blag our way out of this one and sooner or later, the judge will wear himself out." "Don't count on that," Karen and George muttered under their breath.  
"I don't want to worry anyone but I can hear the sound of size ten boots clattering up the staircase. I fear that the police may try to remove us," Babs's quiet but carrying voice cut through the discussion.  
"Let's get out of here," Yelled Yvonne.  
  
Somehow the message from Sir Ian that he gabbled out on his rarely used mobile phone got distorted into the message received at New Scotland Yard and passed down to the nearest operations unit that a group of dangerous terrorists had invaded the Old Bailey for no very clear political purpose.  
"Are they Islamic Militants?" the overtired Chief Inspector asked.  
"They are some sort of militants, that's all." "Oh hell, scramble the helicopter and call for back up to stand by. Send the unit down with riot shields. We may need the S.A.S as well but for God's sake, they'd better be careful with the explosives. The Old Bailey is a Grade 1 listed building, and if we damage it there will be hell to pay from the National Trust."  
  
Yvonne, Nikki and Karen had manoeuvred John to the back of the crowd and penned him in against the wall of the foyer at the top of the stairs while Babs, Cassie and Roisin flanked George at the top of the staircase.  
"Sorry Judge, this is time for women's talk to get us out of this hole. Let George handle the pigs," Yvonne's smiling yet firm voice overruled John's insistence that he would issue a writ of habeas corpus to maintain the fundamental right of free speech.  
"I insist on being heard." "Look here, Judge, no offence but have you ever won an argument with George in your life?" "Well, no. I could never manage to pin her down," John admitted.  
"Seeing that you are a judge who has quite a good way with words, then what chance has that plonker of a plod got against George. Stands to reason." Yvonne's smile and persuasive voice wormed their way through his defences.  
"I'd put my money on George," Nikki reasoned. "In fact, if you are running a book on this, I'll stake five phone cards on it." "Done." "This is a total misunderstanding." George's operatic tones thundered from the top of the stairs at the crowd of metropolitan police assembled. "This is a public gallery and, we, the general public, have a perfect right to listen." "Sorry, ma'am, we have an obligation to investigate any threat to public order. We have a report that the Old Bailey has been occupied by terrorists." "My God, do we look like terrorists?" came George's crushing reply. "I mean, my suit from Harvey Nicholls. Costs a fortune and the hang of the jacket can be a little bit disturbed by slipping in a few hand grenades or petrol bombs. Look at the rest of us. I am a practising barrister, we have a Prison Wing Governor, a High Court judge, a Vicar's wife and other perfectly respectable women." The policeman hesitated. After all, he was the one on the ground and the instructions he was given were a bit vague.  
"Look here, let's get to the bottom of this," Demanded George in her most peremptory fashion. "Exactly who made the complaint against us?" "I don't know," The man was forced to admit.  
"It must be that fearful cretin, Monty Everard, the judge in the courtroom behind us. He is an utter bullying tyrant and totally incompetent. I know, as I was appearing before him in a court case only last week." "That's right, sarge. I got an urgent callout once as a traffic warden was being given a load of grief and a toffee nosed git of his name was effing and blinding and wouldn't act reasonable in taking the ticket. He thinks the law is meant for everyone except him. Threatened to report me to the Police Commissioner and get me sacked, he did." "Is that true? Well, we're off lads, let him sort out his own problems, as I wouldn't touch this one, not even for double overtime rate." The sergeant shouted in his stentorian voice the time honoured call of working class struggle everywhere, except that the police force were denied the right to take strike action in 1918. "Everyone out, lads." "I must admit, you police are extremely sensible and fantastic in an emergency," George drawled in her most enthusiastic tones. "Those wretched people who go round calling you a load of Nazis must want their heads examining." They could feel a sudden chilly silence as if it was a bucket of water thrown in their faces.  
"We've always had a great respect for the law," Gushed Nikki, appalled by George putting her foot in it and already feeling a pair of handcuffs round her wrists. "I watch The Bill and Crimewatch every time." "Keep smiling and walking slowly," Yvonne muttered to the others as they slowly edged out. "They might change their minds and throw us in the nearby nick after all. You too, Judge," hissed Yvonne under her breath.  
"But that would be terrible, Yvonne. I've only just started my latest Patricia Cornwell." Cassie, Roisin, Babs, George and Yvonne looked at Karen as if she was crazy. Then they carried on smiling.  
"But they can't do that," Protested John mildly.  
"Can't they? Rule number one, Judge, is never cross the nobbing police unless you've got a bloody good alibi," Cassie's precise tones lectured him.  
"Pardon?" "We've always had a good word for the police, haven't we girls," Karen's tactful voice broke in, followed by a chorus of agreement from the others, including John as smiles returned to the faces of the policemen. They were a weird unpredictable group of men who could change moods in a flash. Now their benevolent side came to the surface, they were happy to hang around while the sergeant went to tell Monty Everard the bad news.  
  
"You have behaved in an utterly reprehensible way in my court," Thundered Monty Everard as the back doors of the courtroom were thrust aside. "I demand satisfaction. I challenge you to a duel at dawn. Sir Ian, you'll be my second." "Er, what do I have to do, my lord," spoke a very nervous Sir Ian in lowered tones.  
"You don't have to do much, Ian," Sir Monty growled under his breath, "Just look after my weapon, hand it to me when I need it and be generally useful." "That lets you out," Jo's sudden blinding white sarcastic smile. "Why change the habits of a lifetime?" "Oh how so manfully very eighteenth century of you, Monty," George yawned theatrically with her most acid sarcasm.  
"Don't you smite me across the face at this point with your leather gauntlet? Or doesn't your wife keep you properly supplied? Oh well, I accept your challenge so long as I choose the weapons." "John, don't be foolish," Hissed Jo.  
"Just relax. I'm sure the Judge knows what he is doing," Yvonne spoke out of the corner of her mouth, a twinkle in her eye. She had seen a side of John's nature, which had peeked out in past trials before under the gravity of his robes, but this time in all its glorious anarchy.  
Jo shook her head as she was not so sure but from her experience of Yvonne, wheels started turning in her mind. "It will be pistols at dawn in the old fashioned way. I shall supply the weapons. And may the best man win," He intoned with a lurking smile on his face, which Karen picked up on. "Are you sure you are not pulling our leg, John? The more you appear to be serious, the more that I suspect you of pulling some underhand, tasteless trick on us all," Sir Ian hissed at John with narrowed eyes.  
"Come come, Ian, this is a serious matter. If I had suggested blunderbusses or tennis rackets, you might think that I was, in Joe Channing's immortal phrase, 'imbruting the bench'. In this case, I am merely intent on slaying a member of the bench at dawn, my accustomed hour for mayhem and murder." "The Judge is up to something, Yvonne," Nikki whispered to Yvonne.  
"Yeah, this is a dead giveaway. Pity those pricks in wigs are so brain dead they can't see this one coming except begging their pardons, the female members of the profession, one of whom I can see is pissing herself laughing," Yvonne's perfected soundless sideways whisper out of the corner of her mouth. Nikki nodded assent.  
  
At the appointed hour at the back of the grand mansion resembling a setting out of 'Brideshead Revisited' was where the duel was to take place. It was a flat close cropped grass wide pathway, stretching for hundreds of yards between two high yew hedges and a little way from an ornamental fountain, which marked the cross roads of the thoroughfares. The dawning sunlight cast a strong light on the site of the duel. On the one hand, Sir Monty was backed by Sir Ian who nervously handled his weapon. Lawrence James was quietly chatting to Brian Cantwell and the Lord Chancellor. They were all properly dressed for the occasion, stiff and formal in their best suits, while Monty Everard was resplendent in his robes of office. On the other hand, John was similarly attired but behind him was the motley band of female supporters. George and Jo's smart suits contrasted with Yvonne's leathers, Nikki's jeans and T-shirt, Cassie and Roisin's casual look and Karen's trouser suit. Yvonne performed the honours as John's second, as it was agreed that she was more familiar with firearms than anyone else.  
"Remember, Judge, keep your forearm straight and line the sights on him aiming about a foot up from his dick." "Assuming he has one," George added contemptuously. John nodded in acknowledgement. Yvonne's hints, crystal clear, in contrast to the bumbling advice given long ago at Eton. He smiled wickedly to himself as he had a surprise for all of them. He had up his sleeve the most superb practical joke of his chequered career.  
  
The two men stood, stiffly back-to-back, and on the word of command from Karen, took ten paces away from each other. Upon the word of command, each of them spun round and fired.  
Hearts leapt in their mouths, expecting one of the combatants to gradually collapse in a heap, a red stain spreading to mingle with the red of the ancient robes,and the ancient art of dueling to claim yet one more victim. Karen had her medical bag packed with all the necessaries for instant first aid should the loser still live.  
Instead, a thin stream of whipped cream from John's gun flew through the air and landed right in Monty Everard's nether regions, a foot lower than he had planned, while Sir Monty narrowly missed an inoffensive pigeon, which had fluttered his way too close.  
"Good shot, judge," Yvonne exclaimed. "You damned blackguard," Monty Everard exclaimed, red faced as he rolled on the grass in a foetal position, thanks to the piercing, cold, concentrated Mr. Whippy substance, which had disabled him so effectively.  
"You are a bounder, sir. You have broken the Queensbury Rules," Sir Ian spluttered.  
"You've got the wrong sport, Ian. If you do your researches properly, the Marquis of Queensbury formalised the rules for the ancient art of boxing. In any case, I make up my own rules and you, Ian Rochester, are next and it's been a long time coming." With a look of horror on his face, Sir Ian leapt sideways, knocking over Lawrence James in the process, Then a second and third shot hit them where they lay.  
Nikki danced forwards, her eyes alight with mischief and stood in front of Sir Monty, still writhing on the ground in agony.  
"That wig looks better on my head than yours, Monty whatever your name is. My idea of justice is far better than yours and I deserve to wear it." With that, she picked the wig off the grass, perched it on her head as a bizarre fashion accessory and pirouetted her way back to the others.  
"You pay the ultimate penalty for losing the duel, Monty," John said firmly as Karen Betts with her best menacing smile on her lips paced stealthily up to him, brandishing an outsized pair of scizzors which made Sir Monty feel apprehensive for a fresh assault on his nether regions. This was a fate worse than death, as he had a most important appointment with a woman called Julie, dressed in leather, who had conveniently arranged to bring along her own whips and handcuffs, back to his digs.  
She laughed contemptuously in his face, leant over and ceremoniously snipped off his Old Etonian tie half way down from his still firmly anchored knot, which had stayed miraculously in place. A collective gasp of horror could be heard from Monty Everard's helpers at this most dastardly act of desecration.  
  
"I am sentencing you, Montgomery Everard to the heaviest sentence that is within my power. To be laughed out of court as a total incompetent and money grabbing hypocrite," John Deed proclaimed in his most ringing tones, once more restored to his judge's throne and Monty Everard below him, and placed in the dock. "And an arse licker," Nikki's powerful voice added from the jury's box.  
George and Jo, both positioned out to the right and sharing the bench, nodded firmly in agreement. Sir Ian and Lawrence James on the other side were thumbing their way through the lawbooks in a last minute panic search for a plea of mitigation. Unfortunately, their practical grasp of law was extremely rusty; being mere administrators who imperiously ordered the practicing judiciary what establishment problem needed fixing.  
"Is all the jury ready now to carry out the punishment, on the count of three, one, two, three." A tremendous peal of mocking laughter rose up, like an eternal and heavenly choir echoing and re-echoing off the buildings. George's soprano glissando clearly audible above John's pronounced, emphatic thick chords. Yvonne's laughter ran free for the world to hear, while Nikki's wide smile and gleaming tones let loose a stream of celestial humour, rising close to George's top notes. Roisin's powerful Irish contralto weaved in and out of Cassie's irreverent tones.  
  
"John, John." Jo's urgent tones broke in on him and pulled gently at him by the shoulder.  
"Don't, Jo. I'm having such a good time," Came the tired reply.  
Oh, so this is what it is all about, Jo smiled knowingly. After a passionate night together, John always had that little contented smile on his face first thing in the morning with the sure accompaniment of a tell tale erection. "We've overslept. It's time for court for the Atkins trial in case you've forgotten." "But I've just released her," John mumbled.  
Perhaps it was the feel of Jo's hand on his bare shoulder that convinced him that he was not where he thought he was. A tiny sliver of sight between his heavy eyelids brought him back to the domesticity of Jo's bedroom and not the aftermath of the demonstration at the Old Bailey. "John, just what were you dreaming about?" "Well, you were in it…and so was George…and so was Karen…" Jo opened her eyes wide. This was sounding like a totally decadent orgy that John was dreaming of.  
"……….And Monty Everard. ……And Neumann Mason-Alan…." "John, what on earth was that dream about?" Jo asked in total astonishment.  
"Tell you later, remember, we're late for court," John finished, trying to work out just where the trial had left off the previous day. 


	42. Part Forty Two

A/N: The social worker report is reproduced from the profile on Di Barker in the original Bad Girls book written by Jodi Reynolds and Jamie McCallum in 2001.  
  
Part Forty-Two  
  
"The last thing I expected was to be up on the stand again," Di Barker raged. "I found those mucky photos for you and I've been on the stand once and said everything that needs saying. So why have you let that scheming woman twist you round her little finger?" "Di, I've already explained to you that I need Mrs. Mills' consent for Miss Betts to be called to give evidence. She won't agree to that unless I agree to a favour in return. That's the way it goes." "Can't you see what she's trying to do? She's going to spring a trap on me. I can tell that one a mile away. But you can't see that because you're a man and, anyway, nothing can disturb your nice cosy relationships with all the other barristers." Neumann Mason-Alan visibly winced at this. He had the feeling that sharing chambers with Mrs. Mills was going to be a highly uncomfortable matter after this.  
"What is the problem? So long as you have told me everything there is to know, however Apparently insignificant, then this case will be delivered to us on a platter. The largest part of the defence case to apparently justify the actions of the defendant will fall by the wayside…." "What do you mean justify? She's guilty. What that woman did was cold, calculating deliberate murder and she should go down for a long stretch. You promised me." "This is what we have to prove. At this stage in the trial, getting Miss Betts on the stand could be crucial. We have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Now please, you have to be calm and patient." Di Barker stalked away making her feelings plain to the whole wide world. If poor Jim's death was not avenged, then it was all down to this ineffective man.  
  
The first shock that Di Barker had that day was when she took the stand, and looked up and saw Gina and Dominic on prison escort for There was a knowing look on both their faces, even Dominic with his 'butter wouldn't melt in his mouth' expression, pretending innocence. Miss Betts must have planned that one specially and kept it secret from her best friend, Sylvia, who would have tipped her off. She looked up at the gallery and there were some of her worst nightmares in a line. There they were, Babs, who is too good to be true, Roisin and Cassie whom in some sentimental moment she'd suggested to be pardoned and next the mother of that murdering woman just as bad as Jim always said she was. Her blood started to boil over. It took her all her strength to look at the rest of them. There was Miss Stewart who blackened her name over that mix up over the drugs tests, and next to her, that stand-offish woman who she was personal officer for and some glamorous woman and doesn't she know it. Last of all and to one side, came that man who had wrecked her life, Neil Grayling, who was gloating at her. This isn't justice, this is calculated intimidation.  
  
"Excuse me, my lord," Di interrupted the judge and turned on her sweetest smile.  
"Is it strictly necessary for all those people to sit in the gallery. I thought trials like this were private." John looked down at this woman and noticed the uncomfortable expression on that fatuous man on the opposite side of the bench from Jo Mills. Has he put her up to this foolhardy course of action as surely, he must have more about him than that? The expression on his face was convincingly blank and he was studying his papers. He turned his attention to this woman. Something about her manner did not quite ring true.  
  
"Allow me to inform you that they are not private. Members of the public can come and go as they please, so 'necessity' does not come into the picture. They have the right to sit in the gallery, so long as they behave themselves accordingly. I can only have someone removed at my discretion if their behaviour warrants it. I would advise you anyway that it is for your counsel to make such representations." "I don't want to be awkward but it's just that I feel intimidated." "Have you proof that you have been intimidated, Miss Barker?" "No, it's just that….." "Then there is an end of the matter unless there is cause for me to change my mind. You may proceed, Mrs. Mills."  
  
Jo turned to face Di Barker and a slight smile was fixed to her face. It was certainly not a pleasurable reaction to the woman's company, in fact quite the opposite.  
  
"Miss Barker, I have asked that you are recalled to the stand as the course of the trial has raised questions since you gave evidence earlier on." "I've been as open as I can possibly be. I thought that if you had anything to say or to ask me, you would have asked me at the time." Damn that woman, Jo thought. She is a slippery customer.  
"If you bear with me, all shall become clear. Were you ever given a written warning for mixing up the results of drugs tests that you supervised, of two prisoners under your charge?" "I'm not sure. I've been in charge of many drugs tests in all the years that I've worked at Larkhall." "I'll refresh your memory then. I am producing as evidence, Miss Stewart's written record of the interview dated August 13th 2001 which I presume would have been copied to you at the time."  
  
……………………………………………………………………………………………  
  
"I have interviewed Miss Barker and drew to her attention the discrepancies between two of the tests of urine samples supervised by Miss Barker, and a check made later. This retest confirmed that Miss Charlotte Middleton and Miss Buki Lester showed positive for drugs, with negative results for Miss Crystal Gordon and Miss Sharon Wiley. I asked her for an explanation and Miss Barker could not provide one. She asked me if I was accusing her of deliberately switching the samples, in which case she would seek representation by the Prison Officer's Association. I denied making such an accusation, but asked her to explain how a strict step by step procedure could have broken down. She explained that she was under extreme pressure from domestic responsibilities of looking after her disabled mother. I advised her to be more careful in future and administered a written warning under the Staff Rules Paragraph 173 and terminated the interview."  
  
H Stewart Acting Governing Governor Date August 13th 2001  
  
………………………………………………………………………………………………  
  
"Is this an accurate record of the interview and of the related incident?" "Yeah, well, it may have happened that way. Mistakes can happen, you know. It was a long time ago. A lot has happened since then and, anyway, I was under a lot of stress at the time." "What I cannot understand is why you should have gone out of your way to deny that you had deliberately switched the samples. Perhaps you can explain this?" "You weren't there, however smart you are at jumping to conclusions. It was the way that Miss Stewart looked at me. That doesn't go down on the official records."  
  
In the gallery, a surge of violent anger pulsed through Helen at this blatant smear on her integrity.  
"I swear I'll swing for her. I actually felt sorry for her at the time and guilty that I couldn't tell her how I felt." Nikki reached out for Helen's hand as she clutched tightly onto the rail as if her hands were round Di Barker's throat. Even in looking at Helen's profile, she could feel every emotion behind that fixed glare that focussed down onto that fairly plain, ordinary curly haired woman.  
"Helen, look at me, sweetheart. Jo Mills will finish her off for you, for all of us." "I know but it's not the same as me doing it." "That's how I felt when I threatened to bottle Fenner after he assaulted you, or frightened him with the thought that I might. You understand?" Suddenly all the anger drained out of Helen and she turned to Nikki with a smile of understanding after all this time. She felt and understood it all now.  
"Jo is doing superbly, Helen. I'm really proud of her," George spoke into Helen's ear. "Is it true that you hated each other's guts once." "Believe it or not, we did. But time passes, it changes people." Nikki nodded in understanding at this calm embracing philosophy expressed with George's smiling incredulity. This matched Nikki's experience of life.  
  
"Was your mother living at home at the time of the interview? It makes no mention that she lived elsewhere." "As far as I remember, she was at home." "How long after that interview was she taken into care?" "I don't know, not long after." "Both in court and in the record of this interview, you have stated that you looked after your disabled mother until she was taken into care. Exactly what led up to that change in care for your mother?" "I don't understand." "Let's arrive at the truth by a process of elimination. Either your own ability to look after your mother declined, or else your mother's health got worse or both." "My mother had a bad fall." "Can you describe the sequence of events after that until she went into a nursing home?" "Mr. Fenner gave me a lift home one night, and we both found my mother lying on the floor. He called the ambulance and he took me down to the hospital. He talked to Social Services and fixed everything up for me. He was a tower of strength acting above and beyond the call of duty. That's Jim Fenner all over and I miss him." "Weren't you involved in this. After all, she was your mother." "I wasn't well enough to handle it." "For the benefit of the court, I am submitting evidence from the Social Worker who is attached to St. Martin's General Hospital. I would draw the attention of the court to the date of the report, August 24th 2001 which is eleven days after the written warning." … Social Worker's Report on Miss Diane Barker  
  
Name: Di Barker  
  
Aged: 32.  
In service: 8 years Grade: Prison Officer Previous Occupation: Jobcentre Clerk Personal background: Di is single and lives with her invalid widowed mother, Dorothy, in a terraced house in Tooting.  
  
…….On the surface, Di is a jolly person who enjoys the cameraderie of her colleagues and genuinely feels for the inmates. Di likes to think that her sunny nature bathes G- Wing in a warm friendly glow. She wants everyone in the prison to be part of a happy family - with her wrapped in its bosom.  
  
Her home life, however, provides an entirely different view. After years of dutiful self-sacrifice, looking after her mother, Di is desperate to find a man who will help her escape to a new and fulfilled life. She blames her mother for spoiling her chances, and her mother suffers for it.  
  
The tedious drudgery of Di's life infects her whole outlook. The bright smile is a front for deep-rooted hysteria, which leaks out from time to time when things go wrong on the wing. Di has no social, sex or love life. Her home is her personal prison. Larkhall is her only place of freedom. The demands made on her by her dependent mother eat away at her, until she's verging on a serious nervous breakdown. All this, she keeps hidden from the world.  
  
It's not just that Di pretends that things are all sweetness and light, she pretends to herself as well. She doesn't know that she's full of self-loathing. She sees her obsessions with men as adult, reciprocated relationships. She sees potential rivals for her affection as two-headed monsters. Her desperate need for love makes her a ruthless enemy if anyone gets in her way.  
  
Despite her mental health problems, Di is a survivor. Her mind becomes calculating when she's cornered and she can speak up for herself if she doesn't go her own way. Di works hard at her job, she loves it and she's good at it. If she could only be free of her burdens, she might grow into a normal human being……….. ……………………………………………………………………………………………  
  
"I put it to you, Miss Barker, that the date that your mother suffered a fall came remarkably soon after you were given a written warning at work and, in turn, when you stated that you were under extreme pressure. The close sequence of events seem very suggestive." "It's a lie. I never beat up my own mother. I would never, never do that to my own mother. I had looked after her for years, sacrificing myself so that she could stay at home. Anyone else would have dumped her mother into the first place they could find. That social worker has twisted everything I said to her." Tears ran down her face as her outburst rang round the court.  
  
Jo paused for a few moments, marvelling at the way that the words that came out of this devious woman's mouth had confirmed what Jo only suspected and couldn't prove. The night before, Jo had got worried when her feelings of boundless confidence when she had learned the truth about Di Barker had to be coldly analysed in terms of what she could prove in a court of law. "Miss Barker, do the names of Josh Mitchell, Mark Waddle and Dominic McAllister mean anything to you?" "Only as workmates of mine. What else would they mean?" "Let me put it another way. Can you explain what involvement you had in the break up of Gina Rossi and Mark Waddle?" "Mrs. Mills, can you explain where this line of questioning is leading to?" "Only that Miss Barker in her earlier evidence has given glowing testimonials as to the character of James Fenner which, in turn, reflects on the motives of the defendant's actions. If, as I am seeking to demonstrate, Miss Barker has been less than frank in the evidence she has given, then her claim as to James Fenner's noble character is similarly shaky. I made the point earlier that, of all the Prison Officers at Larkhall, only James Fenner has been seriously assaulted. That would become of particular importance." "Go for it, Jo," Yvonne said under her breath with glee. The way that Jo Mills liberally poured on the sarcasm about that bastard Fenner was revenge enough for her.  
"That woman will burn in hell for her lies," Said Crystal.  
"Well, Jo's serving her up on a platter nicely toasted right now," Grinned Cassie.  
  
"On that basis, you may proceed, Mrs. Mills," Came John's dry response.  
"Why should I have anything to do with it?" Di answered sulkily.  
"In that case, by your leave, My Lord, I ask that I can question Gina Rossi on that very limited matter. She is in court right now, standing to the left of the defendant." "I shall allow that if Miss Rossi is willing to give evidence." "For obvious reasons, might she be permitted to give evidence from where she stands?" "So long as she can be clearly heard by the court, I shall allow that." A broad smile spread across Gina's face. She usually found court was pretty boring, feeling like a spare part watching a lot of highly paid barristers waffle on. This one was different but being told at short notice that she was going to be a part of the proceedings felt like a jolt of electricity. It dawned on her that she could settle a few old scores and that turned the shock into adrenaline fuelled pleasure.  
"Miss Rossi, can you describe your relation with Mr. Waddle, and how Miss Barker became involved in it." "I was going through a bad patch with my fella, Mark Waddle. One night when I was at aerobics, Di Barker wormed her way up to Mark when he'd had a skinful, and they ended up shagging in the gents toilet of the social club, only I didn't know that. Next day, she made out to Mark that I was getting off with Josh Mitchell, and he goes off on one. That's the way she works, she'd play me off against Mark and then come over to me like Julie bloody Andrews, like she was my friend." "Why do you think she wanted to do that?" "I stuck up for Josh once when he said that Di Barker made out that he fancied her, and she'd had a hot date with him. The truth was that she'd been throwing herself at him and he didn't want to know. He'd got Crystal Gordan but that didn't matter to her. So yeah, it was revenge and being obsessed with Mark." "The Lord is my witness that Miss Barker tried to split me and Josh Mitchell up just like Miss Rossi says. I'm Crystal Gordon." The rest of the gallery froze in shock as Crystal's preacher voice outpowered even Gina's carrying voice. They mentally flinched, waiting for the heavens to fall in on them.  
"Miss Gordon, while I accept that a Divine Providence may sit in judgement in all eternity, I as a lesser mortal sit in judgement for the duration of this trial. I think that the conduct of the trial can now revert to more conventional lines. I ask Mrs. Mills to continue uninterrupted with her examination of the witness. Miss Rossi, you may metaphorically stand down." "I think there must be a bleeding God," Yvonne muttered out of the side of her mouth. "Everything comes to he who waits," Crystal declaimed.  
"Yeah, great stuff but you and Babs are the only signed up members of the God squad. Anyone else would have been banged up by the judge for what you did." "Me most of all," laughed George.  
"He wouldn't, you're one of them barristers." "You don't know George," Yvonne winked. "Never mind, if anything actually happened to you, we'd put in a good word." "Oh, thank you," George drawled ironically. Her easy smile showed that she thrived on this light hearted banter.  
  
"Miss Barker, what was the price you paid for James Fenner keeping quiet about the circumstances of how your mother came to be taken into care?" "I don't know what you mean," Stammered the increasingly confused witness.  
"Oh come now. You and James Fenner are two of a kind, both deceitful, both able to present a plausible front to the world whilst the truth is elsewhere. Everything the Social Worker said has been proved to the hilt. I quote. 'She sees potential rivals for her affection as two-headed monsters. Her desperate need for love makes her a ruthless enemy if anyone gets in her way.' So therefore, isn't Karen Betts and anyone associated with her seen by you as a ruthless enemy? It is interesting what a little detective work has uncovered and who knows what more skeletons are lying in the closet. It does explain, for example, why you came forward to give evidence on his behalf, so that your involvement in the secretive life of James Fenner does not come to light. Pity the truth has to be dragged out of you." "No, no, it didn't happen that way," Di Barker collapsed in hysterics as Jo Mills' stern tones beat down on her to the wonder and astonishment of the gallery. Roisin glanced sideways and she saw Grayling's profile, for once revealing unambiguously, his triumph at seeing that woman who he bitterly regretted having entered his life. Somehow everything that he heard about Di made things that much clearer, so he could come to terms with his own past.  
"Have you any questions, Mr. Mason-Alan?" "No, my lord." Di Barker shot him a look of pure hatred. She knew that he had treated her as expendable in return for the last card he planned to play when Karen came to take the stand. All his concentration was on her, that hated rival who Fenner had loved. The attention ought to have been on her, so that she could convince the jury of her truth. She felt robbed and she didn't even have Sylvia to commiserate with when she got back to Larkhall. All she had to show for the morning's work was an expenses claim. "Court is adjourned." With tears running down her face, she shuffled out of the court unregarded. Gina grinned at her when she passed while the gallery started to empty.  
  
George made her way ahead of the others down the staircase and intercepted Jo in the foyer.  
"Well done, Jo. I never saw anything better in my life in the way you handled the case. "I couldn't have done it without your help, George." Replied Jo. "Who knows, we might make a good team one day." 


	43. Part Forty Three

Part Forty-Three  
  
After the lunchtime adjournment, Karen took her place in the witness box, feeling inwardly nervous of what was to come, but outwardly exuding nothing but calm detachment. She had been surprised to see that Neil had been in the gallery, and she found herself hoping against hope that seeing Di being thoroughly humiliated would be enough for him. But there he was, sure enough, sitting up there on the front row, on the other side of the aisle to the others, with only the width of the steps separating him from George. Karen could see them all from where she was: George, Nikki, Helen, Yvonne, Cassie, Roisin and Barbara, and she didn't want any one of them to witness her undoing. But most of all, she didn't want George to see those pictures, to see what a complete and utter slut she must have been to do the things she'd done for Fenner, and in front of a camera of all things. But never mind George, what was John going to think of her after this.  
  
But her musings were cut short, however, when John, with a swish of his robes, appeared through the door behind the judge's bench. Neumann Mason-Alan was so eager to begin his tirade, that he was back on his feet again before everyone else had time to sit down. John held up a hand. "Mr. Mason-Alan," John said in sonorous tones. "Whilst such a level of enthusiasm would usually be a credit to you, the gleam in your eye leads me to believe that on this occasion, your motivations may be somewhat different. Please remember the warning I gave you yesterday." Neumann didn't let this deter him in the slightest. "Ms Betts," He began, mentally stalking her in the manner of a particularly vicious, though slightly inept tomcat moving in for the kill. "Precisely why did you initiate an affair with Ritchie Atkins?" "Do you know something," Karen replied conversationally. "On both occasions that I have been called to give evidence in this court, it's that old chestnut that has been uppermost in the minds of the opposition. It's getting a bit old hat now, don't you think?" Jo laughed before she could stop herself, and John struggled to hide a smile. "However dated you feel the question may be, Ms Betts," John said trying to keep a straight face. "You must give the court an answer." "I initiated an affair with Ritchie Atkins," Karen said, spacing her words carefully. "Because I found him attractive. What other reason could there be?" "And you did not think it wise to steer clear of the son of someone whom you were locking up at the time?" "Not in the least. I was led to believe that Ritchie Atkins had absolutely nothing to do with the family business, a fact which I found to my cost to be fictitious." "Roughly how long did this affair last?" "A matter of a few weeks." "And it is on the basis of this squalid little affair, lasting no more than, a few weeks, that James Fenner, a principal officer in one of Her Majesty's prisons, is brutally murdered?" "Oh," Karen drawled almost seductively. "There was nothing squalid about an affair with Ritchie Atkins. That's the point, he was as believable as the bible on which I swore the oath." "During this trial," Mason-Alan continued. "We have heard of two men's love for you, that of Ritchie Atkins, and that of James Fenner. We have also heard how both of these men in some way did you harm. Please could you tell the court what it is about you that first makes a man love you, and yet then makes said man hurt you?" "I'd have thought," Karen said coolly. "That such a question might more usefully be put to someone I've slept with, not to me." "Well now, is there anyone in this court whom you have slept with?" "Cut it out!" John snapped before Karen could answer. "I do apologise, My Lord," Neumann replied, insincerity dripping from every syllable. But his clear intention to insult Karen at every possible opportunity had well and truly set the scene for the rest of the afternoon. "Ms Betts," Neumann continued blithely. "Please could you tell the court, what Yvonne Atkins' reaction was on hearing that you were having an affair with her son, who was, let us not forget, ten years your junior?" "If I remember rightly," Karen said slowly and deliberately. "Her words were, I ought to scratch your bloody eyes out." There rose a titter from the gallery, and a muttered exclamation of "Typical," From Nikki. "And yet little more than a year later, you decided to pursue an affair with another Atkins. Only this time, it was with Yvonne Atkins who, by your own admission, threatened to scratch your bloody eyes out." "People change," Was Karen's unequivocal reply. "Do people change so very much in such a very short time?" "A year's quite a while in love and war," Karen commented dryly. Again, the murmur of nervous laughter rose from the gallery. "Wouldn't it be more accurate to suggest," Neumann continued stonily. "That you insinuated yourself in to Yvonne Atkins' bed, because you knew that she still had the means of removing James Fenner from your life?" "You devious little worm!" George said none too quietly. "This man, whom everyone believes raped you, was, until he was killed, haunting your every waking, or should I say working moment." "And how do you know he still isn't?" Karen asked derisively. This seemed to throw Neumann for a moment. "So," Neumann said, ignoring her last remark and desperately trying to regain the reins. "Was Yvonne Atkins' criminal potential the reason why you began an affair with her? After all, if anyone could remove James Fenner, it was her." "I began an affair with Yvonne Atkins," Karen replied, looking down her nose at him in disgust. "Because on getting to know her after she was released from prison, I discovered the warm, funny, incredibly sexy personality that Yvonne often keeps away from prying eyes. On the surface, Yvonne can appear brash, tough and without a remotely gentle bone in her body. But take away that layer, and you'll find the strong, loving woman who has given her life to her children, and who, even now, would do anything she possibly could for them." There was a short silence after Karen had said this, and George looked along the row to see that Yvonne had tears in her eyes. "Was Yvonne Atkins the first affair you'd had with a woman?" "Yes," Karen replied, now getting tired of the questions this pathetic little man was throwing at her. "And is Yvonne Atkins the only woman you've had an affair with?" "I'd have thought that was my business, not the court's," Karen said tartly. "Where are you going with this, Mr. Mason-Alan?" John asked, sounding just a little bored. "My Lord, I am simply trying to establish whether the removal of James Fenner was Ms Betts' intended goal in becoming sexually involved with the mother of his killer." "And I believe that your argument to that effect has been shot clean out of the water," John said decisively. "So please move on to something else, because I am getting tired of such pointless questions." "Very well, My Lord," Neumman replied, and the gleam of entrapment became perceptively deeper. "Ms Betts, Ritchie Atkins most pressing motivation for asking his sister to kill James Fenner, appears to be because he was aware of your having been raped by James Fenner. Now, as I understand it, you didn't actually ever tell Ritchie Atkins as much, now did you?" "Mr. Mason-Alan, I have warned you before about leading the witness," John said disgustedly. "I apologise, My Lord, I will rephrase the question. Ms Betts, did you ever actually say to Ritchie Atkins, that James Fenner had raped you?" "No," Karen replied, knowing exactly what was coming. Why, when Fenner had been the perpetrator of the crime, was she always the one having to justify her actions? "So, the main reason behind the brutal killing of James Fenner was built on nothing more than supposition, was it not?" "Did you not hear what I said only three minutes ago?" John asked scathingly. "Do not lead the witness. You know better." "What I am trying to ascertain," Neumann persisted. "Is whether or not there is any actual proof that this crime, supposedly committed by James Fenner, ever took place. I believe the jury may find it interesting that after reporting this crime to the police, you then retracted your statement, just days before the CPS were to inform you that they weren't taking up the case. What I shall endeavour to prove," He continued, now really getting in to his stride. "Is that this crime had never taken place, and that on the contrary, your relationship with James Fenner, your sexual relationship that is, was one of immense enjoyment to you both, including I might add, a certain amount of sexual experimentation." Here it comes, Karen thought in resigned acceptance. Fishing something that looked suspiciously like a packet of photographs out of his briefcase, Neumann walked over to the overhead projector and switched it on. "My Lord," Jo said, hurriedly getting to her feet. "Yes, Mrs. Mills, I know what you're about to say," John replied, waving his hand to her to sit down. "I do hope this is both relevant and necessary, Mr. Mason-Alan, or you will have a lot of explaining to do." "I believe it is the witness who will be providing the explanations, My Lord," Neumann replied jovially. The first picture that was projected on to the blank wall of the court, was of a very suntanned Karen, lying on a sun lounger, completely naked. An indecipherable murmur rose from the gallery, because none of them had been expecting anything like this. "Ms Betts, do you recognise this?" Neumann asked, the glee prematurely lighting up his face. "Well, seeing as it's what I have the pleasure of looking at in the mirror every day," Karen said scathingly. "Yes, I most certainly do recognise it." The hearty laugh at Neumann's expense that came from the front row of the gallery, made Karen briefly smile. "And how about this one?" Neumann asked, ignoring the laughter and putting a second photograph under the light. This one, showed Karen lying on what looked like a hotel bed, leaning up on her elbow in the direction of the camera, a soft, sultry smile on her face, leaving the viewer in no doubt of what was to come. "I would be very interested to know where you got those pictures," Karen replied, bypassing his question altogether. "Because as far as I was aware, they were last in Jim Fenner's possession, and as he is now dead, I believe they belong to me, seeing as I am the person featured in them." "Mr. Mason-Alan," John intervened. "Precisely what are you trying to achieve by all this?" "My Lord, I am simply enlightening the jury as to the fact that Karen Betts is no rape victim..." Before he could continue, there was a flurry of outrage from the gallery. "...And that if such a crime did not take place," Neumann raised his voice above everyone else's. "Then the main factor which forms the backbone of the defence can no longer be called an extenuating circumstance. Look at this for example," He ploughed on, ignoring any effort from John to silence him, and putting yet another picture under the light. Karen's face burned in mortification when she saw which one it was. She recognised the place as the balcony of the hotel room they'd had on holiday. She was naked yet again, but this time leaning up against the rail that ran round the top of the balcony wall. But it wasn't the surroundings that were catching everyone's attention. Modesty hadn't been allowed a look in on this one. It was plain to see that Karen had been sunbathing naked, and that she liked to be as hairless and smooth-skinned as possible when with a lover. The long, well-defined fingers of her left hand were playing over her left breast, and her right hand was resting casually on her hip, leaving the viewers in no doubt as to what would be in future pictures. As Karen stood and stared at the picture of herself, feeling her face flaming with colour, she heard a mixture of responses from the gallery. George's, "Good god," Yvonne's, "Bloody Hell," And Nikki's "Jesus Christ," Were just some of the reactions to her shame. But Neumann still wouldn't let up. "I would ask you, Ms Betts," He continued, now feeling that he had the backing of his audience. "Does this look to you like a woman who would refuse any kind of sexual intimacy from a man who was once her lover?" Karen knew she couldn't speak. No way could she stand there and face this man out. Taking the only refuge left open to her, she turned about, stepped down from the witness box, and stalked purposefully out of court.  
  
After a moment's appalled silence, Cassie quickly rose to her feet and squeezed her way along the row, clearly with the intention of following Karen. When Cassie moved passed her, George attempted to go with her, but Cassie said very quietly, "Leave this to me. Anything resembling a lover is the last thing she'll want to see right now." George knew it had been meant kindly, but it didn't prevent her from feeling totally useless. John, on the other hand, simply stared at Mason-Alan, giving his level of anger and loathing a few brief moments to mature. "Hand me those pictures," He said, the quiet, almost deliberately spaced words belying the anger about to erupt. "But my Lord," Neumann tried to protest, but he was cut short. "Do it!" John roared, in a voice that nailed every other person to the spot. After removing the picture of Karen from under the light source, Neumann put all the pictures back in their envelope, and walking up to the bench, handed them to John. "Never," John continued once he'd received the pictures. "Have I witnessed such a blatant disregard for dignity and human decency. Did it not occur to you that Karen Betts is actually a human being, with possible feelings of shame and embarrassment just like the rest of us?" "My Lord, I was simply trying to..." "Don't interrupt!" John bellowed, far angrier than anyone, Jo and George included, had ever seen him. "I warned you yesterday, didn't I. I warned you not to intimidate any witness under any circumstance. You have completely and unreservedly ignored every word I have ever said to you regarding your treatment of witnesses. What will it take, for you to learn that you cannot treat a witness, especially one whom you specifically asked to be called, in the manner of a dumb animal that can be bent and manipulated to suit your purpose? Are you even aware, that by introducing that ludicrously cheap and degrading evidence, that you have contravened the Criminal Procedures and Investigations Act?" "My Lord, I..." "In section 3 subsection 1, it categorically states that the prosecutor must disclose to the accused any prosecution material which has not previously been disclosed to the accused, and which in the prosecutor's opinion might undermine the case for the prosecution against the accused. As a regularly used puppet of the prosecuting establishment, you ought to know this Act inside out and be in the habit of using it to the letter. As I understand it, you have not, on any prior occasion enlightened the defence as to the existence of these pictures. Therefore, I am declaring any inference drawn from them as null and void. This will include all the evidence you have ruthlessly drawn from Karen Betts during this afternoon's session. This is because, and only because of the way you have persistently undermined my authority in this court, and such an exhibition of defiance and plain ignorance of procedure and common decency, I will not have. I will be informing the Professional Conduct Committee of your behaviour this afternoon, and you can be sure that you have not heard the end of this. Now get out of my sight."  
  
When Cassie reached the foyer, she saw the front doors of the court building swinging shut, and ran hell for leather to push them open. Karen was striding purposefully towards her car. Cassie called out to her. Karen turned, and waited until Cassie caught up with her. "Where are you going?" She asked, catching her breath. "Anywhere away from here," Karen answered curtly, wanting nothing more than to be left alone. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right," Cassie said quietly, not wanting to aggravate Karen's clearly volatile state. "I know," Karen replied, calming down ever so slightly. "And it's very sweet of you, but I just need some space. I'm not sure if I can look anyone in the face right now." "Especially George?" Cassie cut to the chase. Karen kept her expression blank. "If it makes you feel better," Cassie continued. "She wanted to see how you were too." "I'm amazed those bloody pictures haven't frightened her off," Karen said bitterly. "I barely know George," Cassie replied confidently. "But you can see a mile off that she's made of tougher stuff than that. She isn't going to be frightened off just because you posed for the camera." "I hope you're right," Karen said, not entirely believing her. Then a thought struck her. "Oh, no," She groaned in realisation. "Grayling was up there with you. That's all I need." "You leave him to me," Cassie said, determination clear in her voice. "Listen," She added, giving Karen an impulsive hug. "Wherever you're going, just take care." As Karen spun the wheel and roared out of the car park, Cassie stood and watched her, wondering just how much intrusion one person could take.  
  
When Cassie returned inside, she found the others descending the marble stairs, and saw Jo and the prosecuting arse-hole emerging from the door reserved for barristers. Once out of the courtroom itself, Jo turned to Neumann and hissed, "You really are a spineless little cretin, aren't you." Neumann halted in his tracks, for a moment surprised by the venom in Jo's voice. "Only doing my job, Jo, you know how these things are." "Oh! Oh, do I," Jo replied in disgust, her voice rising with indignation. "Well, let me tell you that never in a million years would I stoop as low as you did today. You just haven't got a remotely sensitive bone in your body, have you. You're a worthless, pathetic individual who has to get his kicks from humiliating women who are far stronger than you will ever be." "Jo!" George interrupted, touching her arm to get her attention. "Come on," She said a little more gently. "It's really not worth it. He'll get his comeuppance when the PCC start digging their claws in." "I hope they take you well and truly off the road," Jo said over her shoulder as she allowed George to lead her away. But he hadn't finished. "What's a hearing with the PCC like, Jo? I'd almost forgotten you'd had one yourself." This was just too much for Jo, swiftly turning round, she was about to deliver either a verbal or possibly even a physical rejoinder to this very accurate jibe. But George, seeing something akin to the Atkins wrath in Jo's eyes, grabbed her hand and virtually dragged her away. "Jo, he's simply not worth getting into trouble over, not a pathetic little time server like him." "Oh, and this is the voice of reason speaking?" Jo flared, her blocked fury being displaced on George. "Jo, you know what you have to do," George explained patiently. Inwardly she winced as she saw a reflection of herself in the way Jo reacted. "Your quickest way to take your revenge on him is to defeat him in open court. How it will go is anyone's guess but, thanks to you, we've made most of the running. We've seen those fearfully obsequious friends of my utterly despicable ex, sitting behind us and looking as if they are going to their own funeral." Jo's rage started to dissipate as she realised what was getting to her. Every time she came to a long trial, she started out enthusiastically, thinking that sheer will power could slog her way through any obstacle. If it meant spending day after day in court, evenings poring over the evidence, continually rethinking her trial strategy as she went along, she never noticed how this was driving her down. Always at the same energy and emotional low water mark, she was apt to flare up, usually at the point shortly before she came to deliver her closing speech. That last attempt to tip the balance of the trial always had the secondary effect of pulling her together and refocussing her own sense of conviction in the justice of her case. Once she finished the trial, she physically and emotionally crashed out over the weekend, tired but with that triumphant feeling that obliterated the memory of the mid trial slump.  
"You're right, George. I'm sorry." "I understand. In any case, I've always believed that revenge is the dish that is best eaten cold. I'm very good at that as you should remember." "I'll see you, George. I need to go home and rest." Jo suddenly felt exhausted when she stopped fighting that need for rest. She smiled at George's little joke, gathered her very full brief case, heading off to the exit.  
"Hey, that's Grayling over there. I promised Karen that I'd have a word or two to say to him." "I'll join you and help keep you out of trouble," George offered generously, seeing the determined look in Cassie's eye. In turn, the other woman grinned broadly at George's unintentional joke but said nothing.  
"We'll see you at the pub and get the drinks in for you both," called out Yvonne.  
The two women made a line to intercept Grayling before he had a chance to slink off. His smile of greeting when they had homed in was insincere even by his standards.  
"Ah, Miss Tyler. I hope you and your partner are making your mark in life outside Larkhall." "I hope you have properly recovered from that terrible injury you had at the time of the fire, Mr. Grayling." Fifteen all and her turn to serve, smiled George as she noticed the way Grayling's mouth was pursed up tight.  
"We wanted to have a quiet word with you, Mr. Grayling, about the totally scandalous way that the prosecution barrister exhibited those photographs in an open court, with the risk of them falling into the hands of some sleazy Fleet Street hack." "I can't see what that has to do with me, Ms Channing, though it is interesting what you learn about your staff." "You might be less casual about it if naked pictures of you were exhibited in court for everyone to see. In any case, you ought to start wondering how those photos came to light, who had most to do with Mr. Fenner." "I see your point," Grayling said cautiously. He hadn't thought that the photographs were anything to worry about. The idea of it happening to him made him suddenly think of all sorts of jeering comments being made behind his back. That made it a different matter altogether. He started wondering who would be petty and malicious enough to slip the photos to the prosecuting barrister and he came up with a short list of one.  
"So one thing I suggest that you do is to stamp very hard on anyone exercising their squalid little imagination, like Di Barker for example. You're the Governing Governor, aren't you?" "Yeah, like that spiteful old witch, Bodybag, mouthing off like she always does. She's another stirrer." The insolent way that Cassie spoke made George grin to herself. Grayling couldn't work out for the life of him who this troublemaker was talking about except that it had to be one of his prison officers.  
"Just who do you mean by Bodybag?" "Sylvia Hollamby, of course. All the girls have called her that name for years. I'm surprised you of all people didn't know that one. After all, you're the Governing Governor." "Let's get to the point. No one, I repeat no one at Larkhall gets to hear about those photos, and anything remotely connected to them, and the prison officers who were at court today should be quietly advised to keep their mouths shut." "I didn't know that Miss Betts meant so much to you," Grayling muttered in a meaningful way. It had come to his ears that a female barrister of her name was on hand when Buki Lester cut herself so tragically. It was irregular for her to be on the premises but if it meant that his name and Larkhall's wasn't bandied about in the corridors of power at Area, he was content to let matters be. That story makes sense when put together with the way that she is being so persistent about something that isn't her business. Being a gay man had long since taught him that people aren't as they seemed. Miss Tyler sticking her oar in is easier to explain as she's a natural troublemaker anyway. "Never you mind just why we're taking an interest in the matter. If anyone talks out of turn, there'll be hell to pay from me, and you know what that means." George's words spoken in her most precise, iciest tones worried Grayling as to the possible consequences of his actions. He paled at the vague but very real threat from this dominant forceful woman who had once given him a roasting in court.  
"If you see Miss Betts before I do, can you pass it on to her that I shall see to this request." All the time he spoke, his eyes were flitting sideways to the right of George. When he finished speaking, he shot off like a rocket.  
  
"Are you sure that it is all right for me to come and join you?" George asked Cassie in an uncharacteristically shy fashion. They were walking side by side as they made their way from the court towards the pub.  
"Of course it's fine, George. You're one of us. Besides, there's a large dry Martini waiting to be drunk by you." A warm smile spread across George's face at the kindness and unquestioning sense of acceptance in Cassie's voice. It was only now that George worked out where this social insecurity came from as it was totally unlike her reputation for carrying off social affairs so splendidly. She remembered when she first started at boarding school, everyone had grouped themselves into cliques and she vividly remembered her first awkward steps to be accepted by the other girls. She never forgot the feelings of rejection when she was spurned by the more vicious, petty girls in her form who liked shutting people out. When puberty came and, with it, her attractiveness to the opposite sex, she became the life and soul of the party. It came to her, not the other way around and she could forget the past. Now after all the years of handling every largely male dominated social occasion, it was as if she had come round full circle. This time around, her reasons for wanting to be accepted were a much more mature need to be accepted by a group of like-minded people with whom she felt she belonged. "Just thought I'd say, George, before we go into the pub, that I know that you and Karen are together……." "Am I causing any problems?" George asked anxiously.  
"There's no problem for me. Karen is really gorgeous and you've sure got good taste. I just thought you ought to know that not everyone knows, especially Yvonne." The others had occupied a large table in the corner of the room, enough for the seven of them to gather round comfortably. They were greeted by a row of smiles and there were two empty chairs saved for them.  
"Did you get to talk to Karen?" "Yeah but not too much. She wasn't in a talking mood and she wants to be left on her own for a while." "I can understand Karen walking out of the court. Bastard." "Are you sure she will be all right? Ought one of us to phone her and see how she's going on?" Babs anxious voice followed Nikki's sympathetic anger.  
"Leave it for later. Give her some time on her own and then we'll phone." "What about Grayling? He'd love to spread malicious gossip around Larkhall. You can tell that sort." The image of Grayling's profile sprang into Babs memory as she had sat nearest to him during the trial that morning. The expression on his face had been suspiciously blank. "George and I caught up with him. He won't squeal, not after George and I gently persuaded him to keep his mouth shut if he knew what was good for him." "Oh, and how gentle was gentle, you mean like the Kray brothers?" A wide smile spread across Yvonne's face as she contemplated how that formidable double act would have operated on Grayling.  
"As if I would? George is a respectable barrister so I couldn't let her down." They all laughed out loud at the way Cassie played to the gallery with her unconvincing air of innocence. "I had to drag Jo away from that barrister of theirs. She came very close to striking him," Volunteered George. She had kept deliberately quiet when all the discussion centred on Karen for fear that she would betray her real feelings for her. It was a new experience to be able to sit back and quietly listen to what others were saying. She didn't have to be the centre of attention.  
"I didn't think that barristers did that sort of thing." Helen's mouth was wide open in astonishment at the prospect of that apparently very respectable and, by definition, law abiding profession going to such extremes. "It was a close thing. I know Jo of old. She has very strong feelings for what is right and what is wrong. He offended every sense of decency that she possesses. When she does lose her temper, which is not as often as me……" and George smiled at this point. "…..that person had better take to the hills." "What a total slimebag that bastard was in raking up those photos of Karen. That was a calculated stroke as ever I've seen for a long long time…" "…..ever since you were in Larkhall," Finished Yvonne. "Memory fades, you know, of just how bad things can get." "I've never thought about it before but Karen must have a far easier time of it now with Fenner no longer around. Bodybag's a nasty piece of work but she's stupid." "You're forgetting Di Barker. She's off the wing for now but I imagine she'll be coming back some time. She's down but not out and can still cause trouble especially when she isn't known for what she's really like." "You sound as if you couldn't wait to get back to that dump and sort it out, Nikki." "What, the pie and chips special, lockups at night and no Helen to keep me warm at nights. That will be the day, Yvonne. There were good times there but I can remember the bad also." Nikki smiled at Yvonne's joke but finished on a reflective note as she became aware of her ambiguous nature of her feelings for Larkhall that she had hidden from herself for years.  
"I think we could do without talking about Di Barker and her crocodile tear routine. The less said about her the better." They all fell into the sort of contemplative silence where no one has to speak. The quiet sounds of the pub and the comfortable chairs, so much more relaxing than the stiff benches, was soothing and restful.  
"Those photos of Karen were rather tasty, you have to admit, oh sorry Babs, I forgot." "You can't take her anywhere. Just how do you manage her with your kids around." "She's quite a different person, Yvonne, believe me." "Oh really?" Helen's mind had suddenly become troubled, the thought of them all laughing and joking together at the pub and that, in the past, Karen had been part of the crowd. She was painfully conscious that they had given Karen quite long enough for even the most dedicated recluse.  
"Look here, I think we've left it long enough. If it's OK with the rest of you, I'll talk to Karen on the mobile. I'll pop outside where it's quieter." "I'll join you," volunteered George. 


	44. Part Forty Four

Part Forty Four  
  
At first, Karen drove with no particular direction in mind. She just knew that she needed to get away from anyone who knew her, anyone who might have seen those pictures. She drove pretty aimlessly for a while, the rain pattering on the windscreen like a thousand tiny fingers, all knocking for her to let them in. Why could she never be allowed to leave Fenner and what he'd done to her behind? She kept asking herself this as she drove. When she was mulling over a possible answer to this question, the idea occurred to her. If there was one consistency throughout everything to do with Fenner, it was that she hadn't had any control over any of it. That was one thing she was determined to change. Turning off at the next roundabout, Karen drove towards a house she hadn't seen in nearly three years. When she reached it, she simply parked outside and switched off the engine. She was thankful to see that its current occupants were probably at work, no cars sitting in the driveway. Karen stayed where she was, just contemplating the house through the still falling rain. She had moved here with Ross when he was fourteen. She'd just been made a senior officer, and could just about afford the mortgage. She had many happy memories of this house, of Ross, of Steve, and of Fenner. Had that bastard prosecutor shown the entire packet of photographs, they would all have been treated to a few that had been shot in this house, a few of the later ones. Ross had made the transition from child to man in this house, and she'd been so proud to see the son she'd fought tooth and nail for over the years, finally leaving home to go to college. Everything had seemed to be going right until Fenner had come back on the scene. But from then on, her world had been turned topsy turvy. It hadn't been anything truly enormous to start with, really just the clash between Jim and Helen, and she, Karen, had taken Jim's side. Then, Virginia had been drowned and Karen had found Maxi's knickers in her in tray. She'd stood in the living-room of this house, going through Jim's bank statements. She'd afterwards felt guilty for not trusting him. God, what a fool she'd been, she thought contemptuously. All the time, all the bloody time they'd lived together in this house, shared her bed and eaten at the same table. All the time they'd done all those things, he'd been playing her for the fool she'd been since day one, just as Helen had said. She'd had to move out of this house after the rape, because it was just too close to home to be haunted constantly by memories of the times they'd had here. She'd even bought a new bed when she'd moved to the flat, because never again could she have slept in the bed she'd once shared with Jim. Mark hadn't questioned either of these changes, either realising that she needed to do it, or simply knowing that his opinion was neither wanted nor required. Poor Mark, Karen thought as she switched on the engine and drove away. Poor Mark for having been caught up in her anger and disgust for Fenner, because that's what he had been. Mark couldn't do a thing right for her in those few weeks after he'd looked at her as though she was a whore, and that hadn't been his fault. If it had been anyone's, it'd been hers, not his. But she couldn't tell him this at the time. All she'd known was that she didn't want him anywhere near her. She'd slept with him that one last time, in a fruitless attempt to prove she could still enjoy it. Maybe if she had, she might have tried to mend things with Mark, but she hadn't, and he'd known she hadn't. There was no going back after that.  
  
The second time Karen drew her car to a stop, she was looking at an altogether far more dismal house than the one she had just left. In one of the seedier parts of Shepherd's Bush, it stood in the middle of a row of other anonymous looking houses. There was the overgrown hedge, as much a part of the scenery of her nightmare as the house itself had been. She'd pushed Fenner in to that hedge when he'd followed her, when he'd tried to stop her from leaving. Then she'd roared away from there like a bat out of hell, feeling like she was flying for her life. Karen made herself look at that house, forced her unwilling eyes to take in the dingy facade of the B and B where Fenner had retreated after being kicked out by Grayling. From where she was sitting, she could clearly see the front door, and remembered how she'd left it swinging as she'd dashed to her car. But if she raised her eyes to look above the front door, she could see the window of the room where it had happened, behind whose curtains the bed might still be. That bed where he'd held her down, ignored every one of her protests and forced his way inside her.  
  
Everything from the last ten days finally catching up with her, she let the tears flow. It wasn't wrong to cry, not when there was no one to see her do it. She'd cried in front of Jo after reading Fenner's forensic report, but part of her wished she hadn't. If she didn't do this now, she wouldn't be able to keep up the vague pretence of her usual strong persona with anyone. She wanted no one to see her like this, not one single person of all those she knew. This was the start of her finally beginning to let go of Fenner. Karen wasn't stupid, she knew it would take far more than this, but at least she'd taken that initial step towards closure. The last time she'd been outside this house, had been on the day after Ritchie died, when she'd had a flashback in the car with Yvonne. That had been because she hadn't expected to be confronted by the set of her most deeply wounding drama. But this time, she was here because she had chosen to be. That was a one-fingered salute to Fenner for a start. Never again would she come back to this place, but she had needed to see it for one last time.  
  
It was during this moment of contemplation, that Karen's mobile rang. Digging it out of her handbag and trying to stem her tears, she saw it was Helen's number and answered, knowing that Helen would be worried about her if she didn't. "Helen," Karen said in greeting. "Karen," Came Helen's concerned voice. "Where the hell are you?" "You'd think I was completely mad if I told you," Karen said with a watery smile. "Well, as long as it's not at the top of a metaphorical cliff, it doesn't matter where you are." Standing next to Helen, George looked aghast when she heard this. "No," Karen said with a nervous laugh. "Fenner might have made me do some bloody crazy stuff in his time, but he'll never make me do that." Helen gave George a reassuring smile, having forgotten that everyone else was used to her calling a spade a spade way of talking. "Well, I'm glad to hear it," She said sincerely. "We all just wondered how you were." "Right this minute, I feel just about as bad as I've ever done in my life, but I'll get over it. Who's with you?" "I'm stood outside with George. She's smoking, I'm talking to you and the others are inside." "I don't know what I'd do without you all," Karen said, wholly unable to stop crying now she'd started. "You'd probably have a very quiet life," Helen said fondly. "Did you want to talk to anyone else?" "No, but thank you for checking up on me. I just need some space, that's all." "Sweetheart," Helen said gently. "If space is what you want after today, then you'll get it."  
  
When she'd said goodbye to Karen and switched the phone off, George asked, "Is she all right?" "No, she's not," Helen said worriedly. "But from the sounds of it and from what I know of Karen, she'll want to hide somewhere, get it out of her system, and come back tougher and more emotionally closed off than she was before. One thing you're going to have to learn and accept about Karen," She continued, feeling that this was as good a time as any for saying this to George. "Is that since Fenner totally reeled her in and broke her trust, she doesn't allow anyone to get very close to her. She's kept too many feelings locked away for far too long, and unless she's forced to by something unexpected cropping up, she never lets them out." "I'm not a stranger to hiding how I really feel about a lot of things," George said with a rueful shrug. "Then you might have more luck than most in persuading her to open up," Helen said gently. "I think she sees expressing her feelings as a type of vulnerability, as a way for someone to hurt her all over again." "But I wouldn't," George insisted. "I don't know you well enough to agree or disagree with you," Helen said matter-of-factly. "All I'm saying is, don't." "Warning received and understood," George replied quietly. "Though I didn't expect it to come from you." "After what happened with Fenner, you mean? Well, I had Nikki to help me lay Fenner to rest, to hold me through the nightmares, and to stop me from feeling guilty for leaving Karen to it. But Karen had no one. By all accounts she pushed Mark away, and you know what happened with Ritchie. Yvonne would have been good for her in time, but that got shot in the foot before it had barely got going." "And she even slept with John after finishing with Yvonne as a sort of cure." "I know. She told me about that soon after it happened, and at the time I think it was something she needed to do. But that's the point, she pushed Mark away because he was too close to her. She tried Ritchie because he didn't even know about Fenner, and yet he worked it out anyway. With the Judge, I think she just wanted something normal." "And which category do I fall into?" "Do you really want me to have a stab?" "If I've learnt anything in the last ten days," George said with a smile. "It's that I'll get nothing but an honest, unvarnished opinion from each and every one of you. So yes, I'd be interested to know." "You're very pretty," Helen said with a smile. "And you're someone she can spar with, and for Karen, I'm guessing that will always be a plus. From what I remember of Mark, he really wasn't strong enough for her. But you are. You don't take shit from anyone, and she likes that. You've also got absolutely nothing to do with her job, and after all the problems I had with Nikki, I know how important that is, and because of both this trial and the one where you defended Ritchie, plus the work you and Jo were doing for her, there isn't anything you don't know about what happened with Fenner, which means that she doesn't have to explain any of that. It also won't have gone unnoticed that none of that has frightened you off. I could go on, but I think you'd quite like your head to fit through the car door some time today."  
  
After Helen had hung up, Karen sat staring at the phone. She couldn't have faced talking to George. Karen Betts, Wing Governor Betts, who dealt with a lot of volatile prison inmates every day of her working life, didn't quite have the guts to talk to the woman she was getting close too, and all because said woman had seen a few dodgy pictures of her. She really was cracking up if she was being as pathetic as this. Drying her eyes, and reapplying her make up, she put the car in gear and drove away, looking back at the scene of her undoing for the very last time.  
  
John was sprawled full length in an armchair in the dimly lit chambers, not being in a frame of mind to move anywhere for a long time. The last time he had been so incandescent with anger was the Brooklands trial. Instinct told him that he couldn't safely drive his car through the busy streets of London but that he needed to be removed from the world, somewhere he could calm down. While he lay, looking upwards at the faint pattern on the ceiling, that clearly wasn't happening as his anger burned through him like a white hot flame. The court was utterly quiet with no sign of human life and time passed slowly. Eventually, his mind wrenched itself away, as if by protective instinct, to someone, something more congenial and Karen floated into his mind. He admired her presence of mind to take herself out of court and not blindly accepting that the full majesty of the court had to be obeyed, come what may. The fact that it was his court that she had walked out of mattered not a jot to him. If he were in her shoes, he would have done exactly the same. He made a mental note that the least he could do was to tell the court that her examination as a witness was concluded. His sense of honour owed her this much and a lot more besides.  
He was just beginning to slide down peacefully into the frame of mind so that he could deal with matters around him until the sharp clicking sound down the long corridor awakened a horrid suspicion of what may be in store for him. They wouldn't dare have the nerve and insensitivity to disturb him after a day like this.  
"Ah, John, we thought that we would pop by your chambers on the off chance." Sir Ian tried his best to sound nonchalant as if seeing John was the purest accident.  
"Our business took us in this direction," Added his faithful sidekick. Oh no, this is all I need, groaned John to himself. I can't exactly bounce the pair of them out of my chambers by the scruffs of their necks, much though I would dearly love to do so. "Take a seat if you must," He gestured unenthusiastically.  
"It has been most productive of our time to follow this trial closely rather than let it come to us by the normal channels." "I was only saying to Sir Ian the other day that we don't get out of our offices enough and that we should adopt a more 'hands on' approach," Lawrence James added.  
"I am gratified that you are devoting so much time to my cases when there are other judges whom you could visit." John's smile was stretched tightly across his face but not in easy mirth and in a mood of intimacy. The hardness in his voice had none of his usual courtesy and affability. Already, he could feel his anger welling up inside him. By what right did they think they could intrude on him? One's company, two's a crowd let alone three.  
"Ah, but we are concerned for your welfare and that the judgement on a delicate and complex case will be sound." "Proceed," He was fed up of the flowery false sentiment and wanted to cut to the chase.  
"You will have no doubt as to the veracity of thew evidence given by the last witness, Ms Betts." "You're right. I don't." "The woman was clearly as guilty as sin of fabricating her evidence against James Fenner. Her lack of modesty shows the sort of woman she is. There can be no doubt as men of the world that the woman could not possibly have been raped." "Ian, you are clearly talking the language of 'disgusted of Tonbridge Wells.' What two consenting adults do in the privacy of their home is their private business." "You miss the point, John, it is about credibility." "It is about arriving at the truth. Neil Houghton, for instance, appears perfectly credible being interviewed by David Frost as he has been trained in techniques of appearing before the media and feigning sincerity. From my past acquaintance with the man, I know him to be untruthful and his word not to be relied upon." Both sir Ian and Lawrence James were so locked up in their desperation to put pressure on John at their last opportunity that they failed to notice John's dry clipped emphasis on the consonants as the first stage in his gradual ascent to the explosion of anger to come.  
"My Lord, my wife would never allow herself to behave in such a manner. The postures were brazenly immodest, and what is worse is that she consented to a photographic record to be kept. It tells me that she is a loose woman who deceived Mr. Fenner as to her intentions when she called round to visit him. To say she was raped is surely crying wolf." It was Lawrence James's loud hateful tones that caused the dam to finally burst.  
  
"I really don't know whose behaviour is more morally corrupt, that pathetic apology of a man who obviously gets a kick out of humiliating women……" "Your words come straight out of some cheap romantic fiction, John……" "Silence, the pair of you. As I was saying, I consider two sycophants like yourselves whose only thoughts are how to satisfy the whims of your lords and masters, be fair means or foul. You two, I fancy, come off worst. Having heard that spineless wretch and what I had to say about them, you could have maintained a decent silence and let justice be done. But no, you choose to immerse yourself totally in the filth and slime which pervades this society, further than you have ever done before. Your mere presence in coming to see me condones that man's foul actions or you would have spoken about this matter at the very first instance. Before you ask the next, very predictable action, Miss Betts will not be recalled to the stand and I shall explain to the court exactly why, first thing. You have the audacity to slander a very courageous woman who stands head and shoulders over any of you, and your cronies. Your sickeningly prim and puritan attempt at 'morality' disgusts me to the bottom of my soul, when I see the way you have sold your souls to climb the greasy ladder of success. You, Sir Ian and you, Mr. James, have shamelessly prostituted yourselves for years, And finally, I shall make it my life's mission to ensure that that puppet of yours is arraigned before the PCC and is suitably dealt with." Sir Ian blanched before the tirade of anger which poured over him especially as John's forefinger stabbed his indictment of them in their direction. He waited a few seconds until he conceived the reason why John was apparently so defensive of her. If Laurence James could have turned white, he would have done and he kept out of the slanging match.  
"Don't think we don't know why you are being so absurdly quixotic. You must be having a cheap affair with Ms Betts." For one second, Sir Ian regretted his actions as he saw murder in John's eyes. With an enormous effort of will, he firmly suppressed what impulse came into his mind and was abnormally calm and quiet.  
"I thought it was Mrs. Mills whom you thought I was having an affair with." "We can't keep up with your outlandish lifestyle," snarled Sir Ian.  
"What's the matter? Are you jealous? Is that what your morality is based upon? Do those photographs give you an inkling of what I might enjoy with Ms Betts?" John enquired teasingly.  
"We're getting away from the point," Sir Ian eventually said after a coughing fit. "We came to be assured that you not hold back in your summing up and when you come to deliver your verdict." "You can be assured that I shall treat the defendant justly as I always have done. Now get out, you are making the place untidy." After the two luckless men made their exit, John sighed. He needed peace of mind desperately right then. 


	45. Part Forty Five

Part Forty-Five  
  
When Karen drew up in the car park of the Old Bailey, it was almost five o'clock and most of the cars had gone. Fervently hoping that none of their little clan was still there, Karen walked in through the heavy front doors. There were a few people in the foyer, but none that she knew. After having blatantly held the court in contempt by walking out, Karen was feeling extremely self-conscious and just prayed that she wouldn't see anyone she recognised. As she climbed the familiar marble stairs, it struck her that this building was becoming almost as well known to her as Larkhall was. She walked along the seemingly endless, silent corridor, all the time hoping that John wasn't about to be cross with her.  
  
After bawling out Neumann Mason-Alan, John had retreated to his chambers, to hopefully, simmer down slightly with the cup of tea provided by the ever thoughtful Coope. But that wasn't to be. His anger had been further tested by the arrival of those two imbecilic dolts from the LCD, Sir Ian Rochester and Lawrence James, and when Sir Ian had attempted to question his authority, John had again let his anger fly. But they'd all gone home now, even Coope, after first saying that she was worried about him. He'd dropped the packet of pictures in the top drawer of his desk, and once all and sundry had stopped knocking on his door demanding answers, he'd taken them out again and examined them. After all, he did want to know exactly what he had in his possession. They were all incredible, as he'd first suspected. But he was relieved that Mason-Alan hadn't got as far as revealing some of the later ones, because they were clearly of Karen in the pursuit of her own pleasure. She had been touching herself in a manner so wickedly sinful, that he had been forced to exert an enormous amount of willpower, not to become aroused by them. He could remember the feel of her body as though it was yesterday, its different textures and tastes all rolling into one height of passion that he would never forget. He'd thrown the pictures back into the top drawer of his desk before he could be tempted into making a copy of them.  
  
A good while later, when he'd calmed down, both from the anger and from the near sexual arousal, there came a knock on his door. Thinking it must be Jo or George, or someone else on a mission to irritate him, he bade the person to enter. When Karen appeared looking almost shy, he rose hurriedly from his chair and walked towards her. "Hello," He said as she came in and closed the door. "I was worried about you." "I thought you'd be cross with me," Karen said a little sheepishly. "For turning your back on that mouthpiece of the justice system? Not in the slightest. Are you all right?" "No, not really, but I will be. I just came back to apologise for walking out of your court." "Well, there's no need," He said gently but firmly. "Would you like a drink?" "No thank you. I feel unstable enough already. What happened after I left?" "Ah," John said, half in triumph, half in embarrassment. "Suffice it to say I lost my temper with Neumann Mason-Alan, and I don't think the way I roared at him will be forgotten in a hurry." "Oh, John," Karen said in a mixture of amusement and concern. "I do hope you haven't got yourself into trouble on my account." "It'll blow over," He said nonchalantly. "But he had it coming." "What happened to the pictures?" "I confiscated them." He reached in to his desk drawer and retrieved them. "Had a good look, did you?" Karen couldn't help demanding as he handed them to her. "Only briefly," He said mildly, knowing that she would probably feel highly sensitive to the contents of that envelope. "I'm sorry," Karen said, knowing he wouldn't have meant her any harm. "Everything's finally catching up with me, that's all." "Would discussing it help?" He asked gently. Karen shuddered. "Thank you for the offer, but no. Talking is the last thing I want to do today." Walking over to where the paper shredder stood in the corner, Karen began systematically removing each photograph from the envelope, taking a brief, last look at it, and then feeding it into the shredder's waiting jaws. John watched her as she did this, seeing in an instant that this was part of the grieving process, the removing Fenner once and for all from her life, and the inevitable moving on that she must do. Karen couldn't help but grin at a couple of them. God, what a treat the court would have had if they'd seen some of the later ones. She was saying goodbye to a tiny portion of her past, but everyone had to start somewhere. When she reached the last photograph, she also made fast work of shredding the negatives. After dropping the empty envelope in the bin, she turned to John and said, "Any copies lying around I should know about?" "Well, I did consider making a copy of them, but I didn't think Jo would be too amused." He said all this with such a straight face that Karen gave him a small smile. "I doubt she'd have been all that surprised," Karen said dryly. "But I'm glad you didn't." "I took some pictures like that of George once," He said, trying to put her at her ease. "Well, just be careful they don't ever fall into the wrong hands," Karen said with a small smile. "Where did you go when you left court this afternoon?" "I did something I should have done a long time ago. Strange as it seems, I think the re-emergence of those pictures gave me the push I needed. I paid a visit to the house where I lived with Fenner, and to the house where he raped me." Even now, even after all that had happened, she still loathed and detested the word rape, and hated every time she had to say it. "Was that wise?" John asked carefully. "Yes, it was. The last time I saw that B and B where Fenner had been staying, it was very unexpected, and just seeing it made me have the one and only waking flashback I've ever had of that night. I probably scared the life out of Yvonne because I was behind the wheel at the time. Quite how she managed to get me to pull over is anyone's guess." "So you thought you'd visit it on your own terms?" "Yes. It was something I needed to do. Like those pictures, I needed to consign it to the past. Whether I've achieved what I wanted to achieve, I suppose I'll find out in due course." "What did you want to achieve?" "I'm sick and tired of dreaming about everything to do with him. Not just what he did to me, but things he did to other people, things I did and said when I was living with him." John pondered this for a moment. "You probably won't ever entirely get away from that." "I know, but I had to do something." John walked over to her, suddenly catching a glimpse of the vulnerable Karen, the Karen who hadn't quite been able to regain her outer composure. Slowly putting his arms round her, he could feel her tense, taut body, eventually begin to relax in his hold. "I was extremely proud of you today," He said, his face in her hair, breathing in the familiar scent of her perfume mixed with cigarette smoke. "I thought you were going to charge me with contempt of court," Karen said with a small smile. "You hadn't actually been issued with a formal summons, so I couldn't." "I wish I'd seen your explosion," She said fondly, an embrace from this man always making her feel safe. "I've heard it was a sight to behold. But when you were still there, giving him more hell than either Jo or George ever would have done, I kept thinking that, no matter how wonderful you are at your present job, I wished with all my heart that you'd trained as a barrister." "Please don't be nice to me," She said, unable to suppress the tears that rose to her eyes. "It's what I thought," He said quietly. "And it's what I'll go on thinking, every time I see an imbecile like that on the bench." "I wish Fenner had come under your cosh, just once," She said in to his shoulder. "I know," He said, gently running his fingers through her hair, feeling the shudder that ran through her body as she tried to regain control. "I'm sorry," She said, loathing herself for falling apart like this. "I should go." "Sh," He said, as she moved to disengage herself from him. "It's really quite all right to do this." "No," She said more firmly, as she finally freed herself. "I am this close to cracking up completely," She continued, holding her thumb and finger about an inch apart. "And I don't want you to see that." Making purposefully for the door, she wrenched it open and almost fled from the room. He didn't attempt to follow her, realising that this would only make things worse. If Karen didn't want him to witness her undoing, then he wouldn't force his company on her. But that didn't prevent him from being incredibly worried about her. Karen was a live wire at the moment, liable to spark in any direction at the least provocation. As he slowly walked round his chambers, he breathed in a deep sigh of concern. His musings were cut short when, with the action of breathing in through his nose, he caught the waft of Karen's perfume tinged with cigarette smoke that had not entirely departed with her. That reminded him of something, but what. Standing perfectly still to allow his thoughts to sort themselves out, he opened his eyes wide when the pieces finally fitted together. That smell, that wonderfully familiar, and at times erotic mixture of Karen's perfume and cigarette smoke, that was what had struck him when he'd entered George's house a week last Wednesday, the night he'd caught her fantasising in the shower. When he'd let himself into the hall, that was the aroma he'd detected. As it further occurred to him what this must mean, he stared at the place where Karen had been standing. Karen had been in George's house that evening, Karen had left only perhaps half an hour before he'd arrived. Karen, therefore, was the person, no woman, whom George had bottled out of sleeping with. Karen, was George's new lover.  
  
A little after eight that evening, Jo was sitting at her home computer, hammering out the bones of her closing speech, to be performed on the Friday morning. She'd been so angry with Neumann for pulling such a despicable stunt, but in provoking John so far, he had provided her with an answer to a question that had been nagging at her for some time. There was no doubt in her mind that John wouldn't have put up with that kind of behaviour from anyone, but it was the fact that Karen was the victim of Neumann's barrage which had really pushed John over the edge. John hadn't just been professionally defending Karen, but personally standing up for her as well. When had it happened, she wondered. When had he slept with her, because only that kind of intimacy would have made John act the way he had? Whenever it had been, it was definitely quite a long time ago. The friendship that existed between John and Karen was incredibly strong, perhaps even stronger than hers had been with John in the early days and possibly because they had got the inevitable sexual attraction out of the way at the beginning. But Jo couldn't help wondering just what Karen's now being George's lover would do to that friendship. When John was made aware of that fact, he would almost certainly require a good deal more love and affection than he usually got from her. A slow, sleepy smile crossed Jo's face as she remembered what had taken place between them the evening before. She could never get quite enough of making love with John, a fact that she realised would probably one day be her undoing. She'd said to him on the Tuesday that she wanted to become more sexually precocious, though that was really the wrong word. But it was all well and good saying a thing, she had to somehow start actually putting it in to practice.  
  
As if conjured up by her thoughts, the doorbell rang. At this time on a Thursday evening, it could only be John. When she opened the door and saw him standing there, she could see immediately that something was wrong. "What's happened?" She said as he came into the hall. "I've just had my eyes opened," He said, his tone made up of slight bewilderment, a lot of hurt and a little anger. "Well, I say just, it was more like three hours ago, and I've been mulling it over ever since." "John, stop talking in riddles and tell me what's happened," Jo cajoled, walking in to the kitchen and pouring them both a glass of wine. John followed her and stood in the doorway. "Well, I don't need to tell you, do I," He said almost sulkily. "Because you already know, don't you." "What do I already know?" Jo asked, handing him the glass of wine and walking in to the sitting room, and getting a horrible feeling that she knew exactly what was coming. "George and Karen is what you already know," John retorted, pacing round the room as Jo sat on the sofa. "Why, Jo, why couldn't you tell me?" "How did you find out?" Jo asked quietly. "When I went to see George last week, I knew I could smell a different perfume in the house. But I didn't think any more of it at the time, because other considerations got in the way." "Clearly," Jo said dryly, receiving a stony glare from John. "Then, Karen came back to court to see me later this afternoon, to apologise for walking out. After she'd gone, it dawned on me where I'd smelt that mixture of perfume and cigarette smoke before, in George's house, on the night she'd said she'd been out with a new lover who, funnily enough, she'd bottled out of sleeping with. Not something I think George has ever done in her life." "Typical," Jo said with a wry smile. "What is?" John asked, taking a sip of his wine. "Trust you to find something like that out, just by the aroma of a woman's perfume." "This isn't funny, Jo. Why, why could neither of them tell me, or you for that matter?" "Have you stopped to think for one moment why I didn't tell you?" Jo asked carefully. "I haven't got a clue," He said, clearly having not thought about it at all. "I didn't tell you, John, because George asked me not too. She wanted to tell you in her own time, when she was ready to tell you, and not before." "So why did she tell you then?" "She didn't, and wouldn't have done if I hadn't found them kissing." "Did you really?" John said with a little smirk. "Yes," Jo said firmly. "And I've never seen George look as uncomfortable as she did then. Probably for the first time since I've known her, she really didn't know what to say. That's why you've got to accept that she will only tell you when she is good and ready. George is still trying to get used to the idea." John walked over to the computer, and began reading what was on the screen. After altering a word here and there, he said, "Why are you so calm about it?" "Because I've got no reason not to be," She said gently, seeing that this had thrown him more than he liked to admit. "It, surprised me," She hovered over the word surprised, "That George was kissing a woman, not that the woman was Karen." Once he'd moved away from the computer, Jo walked over and removed his alterations, perhaps preferring what he had put, but not willing to let him see it. "That doesn't make an ounce of sense, Jo," John said, watching her with a slight smile. "Yes, it does," She replied, sitting down again and taking a swig of her wine. "Didn't you once ask yourself why George has stayed for this much of the trial? She would have been there even without my asking her to be on the first day." "I still don't see why you didn't tell me," He said petulantly. Jo looked slightly exasperated with him. "This relationship isn't just about you, you know, John." The slight edge to her tone brought him up short and he just stared at her. "Oh, it might have been at first," Jo continued. "But not any more." "Why, are you going to tell me you're sleeping with George as well?" "No, I'm not," Jo said, trying to hide a smile. "Last time I checked, women weren't my cup of tea. What I meant about this relationship not revolving entirely around you, is that you're not the only one whose feelings have to be considered. By extension of the fact that we both sleep with you, yes, George and I have grown closer. It's not something I envisaged happening, but this whole set up has been a learning curve for both of us. It seemed far more important to allow George to deal with this in her own time, than to satisfy your curiosity." John looked very uncomfortable. "I don't think I thought that your loyalty to me would ever be tested." "Loyalty is something that does occasionally have to be earned, John." "That was said very ominously," He observed. "Well, you're not the only one who's had a question answered today," Jo said, her slightly clipped tone making him wary. "How long ago did you sleep with Karen?" "What?" He asked, taken completely off guard. "When did you sleep with Karen? Was it a few weeks ago, a few months ago, or even further back than that, because after this afternoon's performance, you're surely not going to tell me you never have." "It was a little while before we embarked on this three-way thing," John admitted. "It can't have been that long before because you didn't know her." "It was the week before George fainted in court, a few days after we put her through the third degree." "So, George really was right about that," Jo said in amazement. "She knew right from the start that you had something like that in mind." "Jo," John said wearily. "It was a very long time ago, and it's never happened since, I promise. But yes, you're right, what happened today probably did get to me more because of that." "I know," Jo said quietly. "And I'm sorry. I just hate finding out things like that when I'm not expecting them. With you, it's often a case of wondering just who's name is going to crop up next." "I have remained completely and utterly faithful to this relationship," He said, sitting down beside her. "And nothing, absolutely nothing would make me go back on that." "I do hope so, John." As they moved together, arms going round each other and mouths seeking out familiar territory, Jo just prayed that he really meant what he'd said. "Am I so frightening that she didn't feel able to tell me?" He asked after a while. "Just try asking yourself two things, John," Jo said in slight annoyance. "How long did it take you to tell George about me, and how long did it take you to tell me about what had happened with your therapist." John stared at her, realising in an instant that she was absolutely right. He hated it when Jo was right, especially over something like this. "Okay, point taken," He said grudgingly. "That isn't what's really bothering you about all this, is it," She said quietly, laying her head back on his shoulder. "Would I be right in thinking that this has made you feel just a little insecure?" "I loathe that word," He said by way of an answer. After a short silence, he added, "I don't want to lose her." Jo had suspected something like this. "As far as I'm aware," She said to reassure him. "You're not about to lose anyone. As far as you're concerned, George isn't going anywhere. The only difference is that she will be dividing her time between the two of you, very much as you do now," She finished firmly to make the point. "This is going to get complicated," He said ruefully. "I thought that about you, me and George, but it wasn't too bad. You'll just have to learn the art of communication, as George and I have had to." "Am I being stupid?" He asked, knowing he was, but hoping she wouldn't think so. "Only slightly," Jo said with a smile. "You'll get used to it because there's no other way forward. If you want George to remain a part of your life, then you'll have to accept Karen as part of the package. For quite a long time, George and I did have some difficulty accepting each other as part of you, so maybe now you'll understand how that felt." "I owe you and George a hell of a lot, don't I," He said in dawning comprehension. "Don't think of it like that," Jo said gently. "Just try and accept that George is spreading her wings in a direction that you didn't expect her to. It doesn't mean she's going away from you, it doesn't mean that either of us will ever go away from you." "I don't deserve you," He said between kisses. "No, you don't," Jo said with a soft smile, taking his hand and pulling him up from the couch. When he raised an eyebrow at her, she said, "I'd quite like you to finish what you started in chambers yesterday." Grinning to himself, John said, "And your wish, is as always, my command," Entirely ignoring the fact that they had finished what they'd started last night. After all, who was he to complain?  
  
When they reached her bedroom, John decided that something was different about tonight. Jo was actively taking the lead, reaching to undo his belt and the buttons of his shirt before he could get his hands on her. But, if Jo wanted to be in control, he wasn't about to stop her. When they were at last under her soft, feather duvet, her hands were all over him, teasing erogenous zones he'd forgotten he had, all the time keeping her full, pliable lips dancing with his. "There's something different about you tonight," John murmured as her hand crept downwards. "Not really," Jo replied. "I'm just following some advice I was given a few days ago." "By whom?" John asked suspiciously, now thoroughly intrigued. "That's absolutely none of your business," Jo said with a cheeky little smile. As she began kissing her way down his torso, he realised what her intended goal must be. "I thought you didn't like doing that," He said, not wanting her to do this unless she was absolutely sure it was what she wanted. "And the last time I tried it was a very long time ago, and not with you," She replied, eventually resting her cheek on his hip, taking in the sight of his clearly aroused length right before her eyes. She placed delicate, butterfly kisses all the way from the base to the tip, taking in the smooth, firm, heavy texture of this perhaps most active of John's organs, which she had only previously explored with her hands. When she gently took him into her hand, and guided the head between her parted lips, he sucked in a breath through his teeth, making her wonder if she'd hurt him in some way. As her mouth was otherwise occupied, Jo simply raised an eyebrow at him. "That feels incredible," He said, thinking that her enthusiasm definitely made up for her inexperience. John had never tried to persuade Jo to do this for him, accepting without question her dislike for it. She'd made her dislike of it plain when he'd begun sleeping with her all those years ago. He could remember the very sweet way in which she'd assumed that if she wouldn't do that for him, he wouldn't want to do the same for her. But having always loved performing that particular speciality for most women, John would never have not done so just because Jo didn't like doing the same for him. Never taking more than the head into her mouth, Jo moved her hand luxuriously along his length, occasionally flicking out her tongue to tease the underside. She wasn't naive enough to think she was very good at it, but everyone had to start somewhere. It wasn't Jo's level of expertise at this little delicacy that was inflaming John's passion, but the fact that she was doing it because she wanted him to think she was becoming his equal. This thought made John feel extremely humble, telling him in no uncertain terms that she loved him and that it was about time he appreciated that fact. She continued with her ministrations for a while, until he gently detached her from him, and persuaded her back to lie beside him. It took an enormous amount of willpower not to immediately take what she was clearly offering him. He refused to be one of those men who made love to a woman without even considering her pleasure. "What brought that on?" He asked with a smile as he turned his attention to her beautiful body, gently massaging her breasts and bringing her nipples to a diamond-tipped hardness. She smiled secretively. "I wanted to," She said simply, not able to explain that it was something she felt she needed to do, to bring her a little closer to George's and perhaps even Karen's level of sexual experience. As he slipped a hand between her legs, she really began to relax. What was it George had said to her on Monday? That half John's pleasure was in how much enjoyment he could give. "Who knows," She said lightly, as John inched two fingers inside her. "I might take you all the way like that one of these days." John had been kissing his way across her chest from one nipple to the other, but he moved back up to look her in the eye. "Don't be too eager for that," He said gently, admiring her courage, but not wanting her to do anything she wasn't entirely comfortable with. "Does George do it?" Jo couldn't help asking, though she thought she already knew the answer. Withdrawing his hand, John put his arms round her. "Is that why you did this?" He asked gently, feeling terrible that Jo needed to compare herself to George like that. "Hey, don't stop," She said, taking his hand and leading it back to its former occupation which made him smile. "I'll answer your question if you answer mine," She said mischievously. "Yes, she does, occasionally, and though she likes doing it because she says it makes her feel slightly bad, she can't stand the taste, and always has a glass of something to knock back afterwards." Jo smiled broadly, and then remember her side of the bargain. "Whether or not either George or others have done that for you wasn't entirely why I did it, but it probably had something to do with it." "Jo, I love you," He said firmly, kissing her long and hard as his hand increased in speed. "And I love you for exactly who you are now, so don't ever think you have to change just for me." A little while later when he slid inside her, she clung to him, just for an instant revealing her fear that his insecurity over George and Karen might push him back into his old ways. She couldn't bear having to go back to that level of uncertainty again. Being able to feel secure that John was definitely sleeping with her and George and no one else, had allowed her to relax, so that for once in her life she could feel really settled. The way she saw it, the more she could do to prevent John from taking up his old pursuits the better it would be for all concerned. 


	46. Part Forty Six

Part Forty Six  
  
"The judge asked me to give you a message that you should wait outside the back door of the court, and that you will be unable to go to the visitors' gallery until the judge has made his opening statement," Explained the kind faced court usher, who was draped in a simple black cloak of office. "If all goes according to plan, I'll tell you if you can go into the gallery." "See you later, hopefully," Karen called out to the others as they were making their way up the staircase. She was tense with anticipation. The chances were very high that she would not have to go on the stand again, and this was a formality, but she wasn't going to bank on it, even on a stone cold certainty. "For the benefit of the court, and particularly for the jury, I am giving a formal direction arising out of the events of late yesterday afternoon. Ordinarily, Miss Betts, like any other witness, would be compelled to return to the witness box until I had given leave for her to stand down. Due to the extraordinary circumstances of how her cross-examination was conducted, I am directing that she will not be required to take the stand for the duration of this hearing. She is welcome to sit in the visitors' gallery as a spectator, free to come and go as she pleases. If she were to decline that option, - or indeed to never voluntarily set foot in a court of law anywhere in the United Kingdom, - I would perfectly understand and respect that choice. I am now directing that Mr. Mason-Alan proceed to his closing statement."  
  
John's voice was low pitched and perfectly controlled in its delivery. The words hung in the air deliberately, while he paused, giving a chance for any objection to be raised. Neumann however, pretended to be having a last minute look through his well-thumbed paperwork, and John nodded to the clerk who was waiting in the wings. She slipped out the back and Karen, with a grateful smile, walked light-footedly up the stairs and took her place in the spare seat next to Nikki. She had just enough time to get settled when Neumann started his address.  
  
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you will have heard an extraordinary volume of testimony and evidence, which can be reduced to its essentials. There has been no real disagreement that the defendant, Lauren Atkins, did take the life of one James Fenner. Witnesses for the defence, and even my learned friend, though they have avoided mentioning the unpalatable fact as far as possible, have been unable to dress up their words to avoid making repeated statements to that effect. The question you have to ask yourself is why? I would urge you to consider that the direct interaction between the defendant and the deceased has been limited by the necessarily infrequent occasions that the defendant actually had meaningful contact with Mr. Fenner. The most contact the defendant had with the deceased was second hand, via her mother Mrs. Atkins, whose acquaintance with the deceased for her entire three year spell in Larkhall, was one of mutual loathing. It must, therefore, have indirectly influenced the attitude of the defendant upon Mrs. Atkins' release from prison to the same house where the defendant lived.  
  
The extraordinary planning that went into the taking of James Fenner's life must be seen in this context. The evidence is overwhelming that this was no casual killing. The run up to this event took place when the defendant was a busy woman, running the family business. It appears that the defendant was somehow, encouraged to kill the demonised version of the deceased. It is not the case of the prosecution that Miss Atkins deliberately set out to take the life of the deceased. It is readily conceded that the defendant's brother did encourage the defendant to act in this way. However this same brother was the one who the defendant actively wished to see behind bars, for the betrayal of the close-knit family, yet the defence would have you believe that the defendant forgave her brother. I am asking the jury to question, why would the defendant be compelled to take the advice of her late brother and father, where evidence has been given that they were hardly model citizens, to be revered and looked up to? In fact, evidence has been given that the opposite was the case. Every person has free will. It cannot be otherwise, as this is the foundation of the whole of criminal law. Evidence has been given as to the character of the defendant since the killing, yet this hardly precludes the defendant of a propensity for violence. On the contrary, it is the submission of the crown that the defendant, and not members of her family, either directly, or indirectly, was responsible for the taking of James Fenner's life, and as a result, the charge of murder is laid against the defendant."  
  
Neumann promptly sat down, having played his final card. He was making the best of a bad deal, and now he was done. He could pick up his fee and would soon be out of the courtroom. He did not bother looking up at Sir Ian and Laurence James, who had sat like threatening statues throughout the trial. What was to happen afterwards, he did not care to think.  
  
"What the bloody hell do twelve men and women really think of my Lauren? They look like the sort of people who don't know any more about villains than what they watch on the Bill," Yvonne muttered, her face as rigid as a carved statue.  
"You can't carry all the shit that's ever happened to you on your back for the rest of your life, Yvonne." "It ain't always as easy as you think." Yvonne's mournful tones answered Nikki's heartfelt sympathy. If only Nikki were right, she'd be the first to hang out all the party balloons and send out invitations. All this deep stuff aside, she'd got the jury to think about, and what the hell would happen to Lauren? This was getting too bloody close to when she'd know the result. What that wanker of a barrister said scared the shit out of her. 


	47. Part Forty Seven

Part Forty Seven  
  
When Jo rose to her feet, she looked cool, confident and thoroughly at ease, a million miles away from the angry woman near to striking her colleague of the day before. Her lovemaking with John the previous evening had meant that she'd had a very good night's sleep, held safe and content in his arms. This was usually a sure-fire way of putting her into the perfect mood for professional success.  
  
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," She began, in that strong, fairly self-assured tone that had promised Yvonne she would do all she could, over a year ago. "The defendant before you, has been charged with murder. This, by definition, means that she has been charged with possessing the intent to fatally wound James Fenner, and that she carried out this intention. You would not be criticised for having approached this case with a certain amount of expectation that it would be an open and shut matter. Did Lauren Atkins kill James Fenner, and if she did, did she intend to do so. This, ladies and gentlemen, is exactly how the prosecution did approach this case. My learned friend has gone out of his way to persuade you into believing that Lauren Atkins is a cold blooded killer, and that whilst committing this act, she was in full command of her mental faculties. I, however, have attempted to give you an entirely different view, a view of the Lauren Atkins who has been put under extreme pressure throughout her childhood, to commit crime and to see the committing of serious crime as a normal part of her daily life. I have also done my utmost, to illustrate to you via my witnesses, that Lauren Atkins, could not in fact possibly have been entirely mentally or emotionally stable, during the weeks that led up to James Fenner's death. You have heard from a psychiatrist, the defendant's mother, two of the defendant's closest friends, and let us not forget from the defendant herself. During your deliberations, you will again be given the opportunity to examine the documented evidence of the letters received by Yvonne Atkins and Lauren Atkins, after the suicide of Ritchie Atkins. As part of the evidence given by my client and by her psychiatrist, it has been explained to you that the contents of the letter written to her by her brother, following so soon after her brother's sentence and subsequent suicide, put Lauren Atkins under extreme emotional strain. Lauren Atkins was being pulled in two different directions, to continue to go straight by her mother, and to commit one last, brutal act by the dying wish of her brother. The testimony given by Dr. Margaret Richards, made it abundantly clear to the court, that Lauren Atkins was not in her right mind during this time. Ladies and gentlemen, Lauren Atkins was being compelled from beyond the grave to commit this crime, not simply being asked to do it by someone with whom she might at least have been able to discuss it. Try for a moment, to put yourself in my client's position. You have been raised, alongside your older brother, in a manner befitting the higher echelons of the mafia. Your family means everything to you, your father's rigid family values contributing to both the moral code by which you must live, and to the bread and butter that adorns your table. Part of you longs to live up to your father's expectations, and yet part of you cannot condone the way he treats your mother, forcing her by threats and physical punishment, to adhere to his unbending philosophy that the law is there to be manipulated. Then comes the first crisis. Your brother has attempted to go his own way, to compete with the father who has taught him everything he knows. Your brother is cast aside, made to stay well out of your father's reach, and to make his own way in the world. By extension, you then take on the status and inherent expectations of the son your father no longer has. This further intensifies the desire you have to please your father, because you don't want to be faced with the type of threat which has been part of your mother's life for years. However, you don't really find out what you are made of, until you are obliged to continue your father's work when he is taken into custody, as your mother is also behind bars at this time. When your father comes to trial, he is killed, shot on the steps of this very court. by whom, you have no idea, because your father had any number of enemies who could have taken the opportunity to get rid of one of their greatest rivals. Eventually, your mother is released from prison, though by this time, your brother is back on the scene and is himself being detained at Her Majesty's pleasure. You sit up there, in the front row of the visitors' gallery throughout your brother's trial, all the time feeling torn in two. You are there because you are supporting your mother, and because you know that for justice to be done, your brother must be found guilty and sent back to prison, possibly for a considerable stretch. But the rest of you, the human, family-oriented sibling part of you, desperately wants your brother to be free, to be back home, and to be the brother he used to be. But things do not go quite according to plan. Your brother is found guilty, and is sentenced to ten years, and on returning to his cell after receiving his sentence, your brother takes an overdose of barbiturates. You are devastated, and quite rightly so. Whatever his faults, he was still your brother, still your mother's first born child, and once your father's pride and joy. When your mother returns home from identifying your brother's body, she hands you a letter, a letter written by your brother on the eve of his suicide. This letter would have looked fairly innocuous from the outside, written on prison issue notepaper and in an envelope containing the address of one of Her Majesty's prisons. But its contents were to set you on a course of action that would eventually put you in the dock. Try and picture Lauren Atkins as she reads this letter. You have seen this letter and heard it read aloud, so you know what it contains. Ask yourselves, how would you feel, if you were presented with the dying wish of one of your loved ones. Lauren Atkins comes from such a close knit family, that immediately dismissing her brother's wish, purely on the grounds that to fulfill it would constitute performing an illegal act, was not an option. Should she betray her brother's memory by not doing what he asked, or should she risk her own freedom and sanity by following his instructions. Ladies and gentlemen, you have heard an unending array of reasons as to why my client did what she did, and I beseech you to think long and hard before passing your verdict. This is not an open and shut case, and requires maximum attention from each and every one of you. You may feel, that you have served your purpose by sitting through this trial, but your work is just about to begin. Lauren Atkins' life, freedom and emotional welfare, depend on the verdict you will give her. It only remains for me to entreat you to find her not guilty of the crime with which she is charged."  
  
Jo had looked intently at every single member of the jury as she said this, fixing them with her hypnotic gaze, playing on every theatrical ability she possessed. When she reached the end of her closing statement, there was a long, echoing silence. "I will commence my summing up this afternoon," John's voice intoned. "Court is adjourned." As everyone filed out, it occurred to all of them that there was nothing more any of them could do. It was up to the jury now. Up to twelve ordinary men and women to decide Lauren's fate. 


	48. Part forty Eight

Part Forty-Eight  
  
That feeling of life turning over a leaf which ran round the court was one, which Jo was slowest of all to catch up with. Her footsteps out of the court were hesitant, uncertain. Day in, day out, she had been driven to shut herself away at lunchtime and, at the end of the day, take herself back home to pore through the trial documents, to run through her memories of the day to pick out any vital clues to build into her trial strategy as it evolved. That Thursday when John unexpectedly landed himself on her doorstep was the only break in her almost monastic existence. That compulsive driving force within her that drove her relentlessly onwards was suddenly disconnected from her and this left her stranded. Waves of tiredness broke over her and she could not for the life of her work out what she should do next.  
"Do you want to come for a drink, Jo?" Yvonne enquired in an unusually diffident tone of voice, so unlike her. "That is, if you want to." "I don't know, there must be something I ought to be doing but I don't know what," came a vague reply a million miles away from that familiar sharp precision of tone.  
"You look knackered, Jo. You deserve a proper break." Christ, she's as bad as I am, or Helen used to be, Karen thought sympathetically. She's another potential workaholic whom I can give the sort of sensible advice to that I can't ever follow myself.  
"'Too much work and too little play makes Jill a dull girl.' That's what my mum always told me. Of course, she got more than she bargained for when I became a teenager." Cassie's wide grin drew a general laugh from the others while Jo smiled openly for the first time for ages. The gates of freedom were half-open and the view of the other side looked vague, indistinct but definitely promising.  
"We really would like you to come for a drink with us, Jo. After all, you've done all the hard work." It was the voice of the tall, elegant woman with short-cropped hair that decided her. The gates swung wide-open and golden sunlight of the dawn illuminated the scenery. It looked and felt good.  
"All right, I'm persuaded." They threaded their way through the crowded foyer and out into the cold, bracing air of a sunny winter's day. The wind blew Jo's hair back and the sun dazzled her eyes, blowing the cobwebs out of her mind. Cassie was out front next to Yvonne, being the thirstiest for a drink. Tall as she was, Jo was outpaced by them and was content to follow wherever the others led her. It made a nice change to just go with the flow and follow the crowd.  
  
Soon, they were glad to come into the warmth and comfort of the pub from the wind blasted streets and sitting comfortable.  
"I feel like I'm taking time off school," Jo confided to Roisin.  
"It's best to make the most of it. Cassie and I have a few hours before we've got to pick up the children from school. Until then, I've learnt from Cassie to enjoy yourself while you can." It was automatic habit that prompted Jo and Roisin to exchange details of their children like any mother would. This experience was a rarity in her normal daily work. It was decades since the first female barristers and solicitors had appeared in the 'old boys clubs' of chambers. Even now, women were in the minority and the typical conversation at chambers reflected that.  
"I've got two sons, Mark and Tom. One's at university and the other is ready to spread his wings. The most I see of him is a pile of dirty washing, his music on loud and when it stops, the blast of air and an open front door, tells me that he's shot out somewhere for the day." "I get the opposite," laughed Roisin. "As soon as we get home, it's 'mum' for me and 'Cassie' for Cassie depending on whom Michael and Niamh want. I must say that it's so much easier than when I lived with my ex-husband. He couldn't boil an egg much less than deal with the hundred and one things that you get called on to do as a parent. That slice of time when the children go to bed can be sheer bedlam. You'll know that, won't you." "I remember." That faraway look in Jo's eyes told Roisin of a whole wealth of memories, buried deep and that only a slight prompt would make them come to life.  
"I used to get dragged in to the local park and kick a football with them. I wasn't that much good though." "That doesn't matter. You were there for them." Roisin's brilliant smile only made Jo feel more uncomfortable.  
"It doesn't seem like that sometimes. When they were small, I had a rough patch when my husband was dying and I started an affair with John. It wasn't anything cheap, though. I was in love with John and I still am." Jo's hasty defensive interjection was followed by a dreamy reflection on the present.  
"When I was younger, somehow my sons appeared to sail through everything even though I wasn't coping properly. Looking back on it, I wonder how I managed to keep everything together. It was only when they got to that difficult age when I started having blazing rows with them. They changed overnight into moody hyper-sensitive teenagers. A hard day at court seem easier to handle than hormonal teenagers and, only now, I'm back where I started in figuring out what I want out of life. I feel that somehow whatever I didn't deal with as a young single woman all those years ago, I'm destined to deal with now." "You shouldn't worry, Jo." That comforting Irish brogue wrapped itself round her senses. "I've done time for helping Cassie take money from the firm we both worked for, and was suddenly snatched away from the children I loved. I was helpless to stop my ex husband filling their heads with all sorts of hurtful things about Cassie, that I was taking drugs, which I was when I was in prison. You can't rewrite the past, Jo. You have got to use whatever instincts you have to mend what you may have done wrong. If you do that, they'll forgive you." "Michael is twelve and Niamh is nine," Roisin added conversationally.  
"You wouldn't think that I could be a responsible parent from what you've seen of me in court, Jo," Cassie teased. "Oh, I think I could. Anyone who is a good mother can spot another one a mile away." The other mothers sitting round the table picked up immediately on Jo's warm smile and the obvious sincerity and knowledge that only comes from personal experience. The brief silence that followed wasn't one of those embarrassing silences when everyone had run out of something to say and there had to be the need for some kind of spoken word, no matter how trivial or inconsequential. Nothing needed to be said amongst such strong-minded women.  
  
Karen broke in on their conversation with a determined smile on her face and in her tone of voice.  
"What are you drinking next, Jo? I remember the last time you came here that you were fidgeting all the time, guilty as hell that we'd lured you away. This time, you're not sneaking away back to some non existent work that you are nearly sure is waiting on your desk. I have a wing to run but Gina Rossi will take care of everything till I get back. I'm sure your junior will be able to do likewise. That's what they call delegation." "Is she always like this?" Jo asked Helen, amazed with her force of personality.  
"Only some of the time, but then again she can be worse. I used to be her boss once." Helen's exaggerated stage whisper made Karen grin. Helen's years at Larkhall had not helped making her very carrying Scottish brogue the worst whisperer in the world.  
  
"Did John get it right, that you are the Nikki Wade whose court of appeal hearing was all the talk of the legal profession?" Jo asked suddenly. "Is there more than one of me?" quipped Nikki.  
"Hardly. I don't think Larkhall would have coped with two of you." Jo could hear Karen's voice behind her as she was bringing a trayful of drinks and couldn't resist the lighthearted remark, which was accompanied with a raised eyebrow.  
"In that case, you couldn't have managed with two of me either. Bodybag would definitely have died of heart failure. What do they get up to these days? I'm sure it can't be anything like that………" "….Babes behind Bars scam," Finished Karen dryly. "That just had to be the all time record." "Babes behind Bars? What on earth is that?" "Oh nothing much," Deadpanned Yvonne. "I got the idea that some of the girls could get a nice little earner paid directly to add to their personal spends. Personal spends is the name for the weekly pocket money you get in goods from the prison shop. Babes behind Bars was the name for a telephone sex line operation that I set up." "You can't be serious?" grinned Jo. "It was dead easy. Babs here was our computer expert who stuck an advert on the net…." "Babs did indeed. Getting past the password was easy," Babs looked over the top of her spectacles and smiled in fond memory. "I was quite proud of that. It was an intellectual challenge when I had run through most of the books in the Larkhall library and wanted something to occupy my mind." "Anyway, I got Crystal's Josh to sneak the mobiles into Larkhall in his lunchbox, state of the art stuff they were. They looked like a set of headphones and no one noticed a thing till one of the Julies messed it up." "What happened?" Jo asked questions periodically and, for a moment, she wondered if her ears and memory wasn't playing tricks. She looked again at Yvonne and realised that Yvonne was as honest as they came, more so than some people she could think of. Everything here wasn't smudged in various shaded of muddy grey but was in sharp contrasting black and white. It made her feel comfortable. A stray thought crossed her mind that George will have experienced this for herself and would definitely be the better for this highly nurturing, female company. All of them periodically glanced sideways to check anyone out on the fringes of the conversation wasn't left out and ensured that everyone was looked after. "Julie Johnson got one of the punters to come and visit her, as she had some stupid romantic idea about him. She was broody and she gave him a hand job under the table, but dropped the yoghurt carton. She was a bloody fool as the punter blabbed and it led the trail straight back to her mobile. We had to dump the rest of the mobiles and fast. Denny stashed them in a cistern in the ladies." "So that's where they went. I had G Wing turned upside down to find them and never found a trace of them," Karen exclaimed. This was one of those little puzzles that periodically nagged at her and even at the time she sensed that Yvonne had something to do with it. "You could have asked me. I would have told you," Yvonne answered pertly, a slight smirk on her face.  
"At the time?" "Ah well, that was different. We were different then." Karen's mind drifted back in time to the days when her time was cut out wondering what else this very mischievous woman would get up to next, audibly sighing when Sylvia was banging on about the "gangster's moll", accompanying her to Yvonne's cell when she carried a drooping bunch of dried out, wilted flowers to Yvonne and hearing her crudely and pathetically explaining what had happened to them. She had instantly disapproved of the petty and malicious way she had behaved. Yes, even then it was bloody Sylvia. That was the only thing in her life, which hadn't changed.  
  
"I remember those mobiles," Nikki chimed in out of nowhere. "You, Nikki?" Helen asked, her eyes wide open and eyebrows raised. She thought she knew everything about Nikki but this was something she'd never told her about. Nikki Wade, telephone sex line operator? This wasn't her style.  
"I only saw the others at it." "Why did you do it?" Jo asked out of curiosity. "I was bored. One of the biggest problems in prison is boredom. Your brain stagnates if you let it. Karen will agree that prison spends aren't exactly generous. If you've got someone on the outside who will take things in, you are fine but women like Denny and the Julies haven't got anyone. It helped them out. Apart from that, it was a laugh. You need all the lighter moments in prison that you can get. Any one of us will tell you that."  
  
"I thought you were Wing Governor and in charge of G Wing." "Don't you start, Jo. At least you've only got John and some prat of a barrister to deal with." All the others laughed outright with Karen's mortification. It was a good cover for their collective unspoken wish to avoid any mention of the trial and keep everything light. Inwardly, everyone felt a moment's unease as Karen had inadvertently dragged matters back to the present and away from the warm safety of nostalgic reminiscences about the lighter side of prison life.  
  
"And what did you get up to at Larkhall, Nikki?" "Oh, not much. I can remember stashing some home made hootch in the potting shed." "You never told me that one, Nikki. Tell us about it," Helen grinned.  
Nikki was about to remind everyone that it was just before Monica's son Spencer died when she remembered how scarred Helen was by that experience to this day and stopped herself in time.  
"I think it was just before your time, Yvonne, but the Julies had this totally mad plan to brew up some jungle juice and as there wasn't anywhere safe to hide it, they came to muggins here…….." "……..Behind your hard exterior, you were always as soft as grease…" Nikki smiled and nodded in agreement at Yvonne's very affectionate and very accurate description and continued.  
"….and I came up with the idea of camouflaging it in the compost heap outside so that it would generate heat. Better than their daft idea of taking turns to hug it. Anyway, Dockley heard about it and grassed us up to Fenner." "That's typical Dockley for you. How the hell did you get out of that one?" "Dockley couldn't have known exactly where it was as Fenner and a sidekick came lumbering up and tore the shed apart. They never even took one glance at the plastic bag which was bubbling at the top. I really enjoyed myself taking the piss out of him." "What did the booze taste like, Nikki?" "I never had any of it. I wasn't in the mood for a party. Dockley was going to be there at the piss up so I gave it a miss. From the drunken sounds I heard from my cell, it was pretty good stuff." A vague ghost memory drifted across Helen's mind of that dreadful day when she had done her best to be sympathetic. "If I had been there, Nikki, you would have been." Nikki smiled brightly at Yvonne. She was a good mate of hers and Yvonne being there would have made that difference. Besides, Dockley might not have come along to the party if they were both there.  
  
At that point, Jo stood up to fetch the next round of drinks when Cassie nearly dropped them in it. She was never known for her sense of discretion and the alcohol had loosened her tongue.  
"I've got a good story to tell," Cassie said brightly. She was about to enlarge on it when Yvonne caught her eye and discreetly elbowed her in the ribs. "You and me are going elsewhere to talk," She hissed into Cassie's ear and gestured to the toilet. "Same again, Jo for both of us," Yvonne smiled. Jo shrugged her shoulders and headed off to the bar. It was a private matter and experience had taught her not to ask too many questions.  
  
"Are you mad? You were about to tell everyone about that scam we pulled on Bodybag's computer." "Yeah, I was going to as it happens." "Jo Mills is a bleeding barrister. Sometimes people get sent down after what she does in court. Karen Betts? She's Wing Governor of the very prison we scammed. It happened a few years back but that doesn't matter." "Are you going back to the 'screws against cons' thinking? I thought you'd moved on from there." "I ain't going to dump on either of them so that they know something that they'd sooner not want to know about. That way, they might make it official. What they don't know about, they won't grieve over and they know it. It was enough for them to know what my Lauren did to Fenner. I lost Karen over that. I could have lost my freedom." Yvonne's blazing anger squashed Cassie's defiance.  
"Oh shit, I nearly landed us all in it." "Oh shit indeed. Let's get back and join the gang." Yvonne smiled encouragingly at Cassie who looked very crestfallen as she realised what she had nearly done. "Don't worry, you daft sod. We all make mistakes sometimes. I married Charlie for instance. Cost me half of my bleeding life."  
  
"You were inside much longer than Roash and I. Tell us some more stories, Nikki." Nikki hesitated. She found it easy to recount the more humorous side to life in prison to those who she felt comfortable with, but some instinct inhibited her from blowing her own trumpet.  
"Well, don't expect me to tell any stirring stories about rescuing damsels in distress. I did start a couple of demonstrations, one of which turned into a riot, thanks to Maxi Purvis and her sidekicks," Nikki started nervously. "I was standing up for a point of principle." "That reminds me of John. In his younger days when he was a student, he was once involved in a sit in at his university," Broke in Jo.  
"So the judge has been a bad boy in his time. I might have known. You tell us more about it." The more she considered the judge, the more Yvonne reckoned that he was a man totally outside her experience and was way different from the bastards she had known.  
"But I'm interrupting, Nikki," Jo apologised. "You carry on with your story first." Nikki sighed inwardly. It made her out to be some kind of hero when all she thought was that she'd only acted in a way that she thought right.  
  
Half an hour later, Jo smiled in a dazed kind of way and sipped her drink as she was called upon to start her story. This afternoon was certainly an eye opener on all sides. It wasn't the alcohol that made her feel different as she was clear headed enough. She made a mental note of one thing as she launched into the story. In future, she would never open a carton of yoghurt and think of such an inconsequential item of food in quite the same way and likewise, when she put on a set of headphones to listen to some music. 


	49. Part Forty Nine

Part Forty-Nine  
  
When they took their places after the lunchtime adjournment, it only remained for John to sum up the case for the jury, and to direct them to begin their duties. An air of tension had seeped into every person in the courtroom. Both barristers had done their best, and in Jo's case more than their best, and all the witnesses had given their evidence. It was now up to twelve ordinary, average citizens to assimilate all the facts, and to decide whether or not Lauren was guilty or not guilty.  
  
"Members of the jury," John began once everyone was seated. "Mrs. Mills put it very eloquently, when she said that your task is about to begin. You have sat through a fortnight of opening speeches, evidence provided by various witnesses, and finally the closing speeches, earlier today. It now falls to you, to wade through everything that has been placed before you, in order to make your decision as to whether the defendant, Miss Lauren Atkins, is guilty or not guilty. You will have access to all documentary evidence, all physical evidence and all photographic evidence. As it would be entirely inappropriate to expect you to remember every word you have heard during this trial, you will also have access to the trial transcript, which will contain every word that has been said in this court, whilst the court has been in session. I ask you to take your time over the decision that lies before you, because the defendant's freedom depends on your verdict. I do not expect you to arrive at a decision today, though if you do, I'm sure that all concerned will appreciate it. I will be available if at any time you require any guidance or advice during the progress of your deliberations. Above all, you must be totally, and utterly certain, when you do eventually return with your verdict. As a result of the enormous press attention that this case has attracted, I will not at this stage even consider accepting a less than unanimous verdict. It only remains for me to say, that I wish you luck, because you will not find this decision an easy one."  
  
When the clerk called out "All rise," and John swept out of the door behind the Judge's bench, the women on the front row of the gallery began making their way downstairs. They were silent, all far too aware that not one single one of them could do any more for Lauren. As if of one mind, they all trailed immediately outside, the need for nicotine fixes common to all except Barbara. Every one of them bar Karen and Helen, had once been at the mercy of a jury such as this, having to wait those interminable hours for their fate to be decided, the motto of all juries being, to free or not to free. They weren't surprised when Jo joined them, her addiction having brought her outside the same as the others. "I know it's a pretty pointless question," Yvonne said to her. "But have you got any idea how long they'll take?" Jo looked at her sympathetically. "I couldn't possibly say," She replied. "Every jury is different. But I think John was right. It's pretty unlikely that they'll come back with a verdict today." "Well, what's one more weekend of not knowing?" Said Yvonne, the bitter, flippant words cutting through them all. "I'm sorry," Yvonne added, realising how her words must have sounded. "I know you've done all you could, and don't think I'm not incredibly grateful. I just can't handle waiting for twelve complete strangers to decide to set my Lauren free or not." "I know," Jo said gently. "But we're nearly there, and if you want my honest opinion, the longer they take, the better. It'll mean they're considering everything, not just making a snap decision as many juries do." As Yvonne ditched her cigarette, Coope popped her head through one of the doors. "Mrs. Mills," She said. "The judge would like to see you in chambers." "You in trouble again?" Asked Cassie with a grin. "I don't think so," Jo replied, playing along with her. "But with this particular judge, you never know." When she'd gone inside, Yvonne turned to Karen. "Can we go somewhere to talk?" She asked. "Yes, of course," Karen replied, seeing something in Yvonne's eye that told her this was serious.  
  
When they were seated at a table in a corner of the cafeteria, Karen having bought them both a coffee, Yvonne said, "Tell me about George." Karen's face was a picture. She'd had no idea in the world that Yvonne had figured out why George had been in court this week. Karen looked very uncomfortable, immediately confirming Yvonne's suspicion. Yvonne gently touched her hand. "Don't look like that," She said quietly. "This is me you're talking to," She added with a soft smile. "I didn't mean this to happen, not now anyway," Karen said slowly. "Oh, I know that," Yvonne said, a hint of sarcasm in her tone. "Just like we didn't mean us to happen in the middle of Ritchie's trial." "Yvonne, I'm sorry," Karen said, feeling immense regret that she'd been forced to hurt Yvonne yet again. "Are you?" Yvonne asked without hesitation, perhaps taking some of her frustration of waiting out on Karen. "Yes," Karen insisted. "The last thing I would ever have wanted, is to hurt you, you know that." "Only, that's how it always is, isn't it," Yvonne replied, not taking any time to analyse her thoughts before they came out of her mouth. Karen winced. "That's to the point, I suppose," She said dryly. "I didn't mean it like that," Yvonne said in contrition. "Well, I probably wouldn't blame you if you had," Karen said regretfully. "I will never forgive myself for having finished things with you just when you really needed me. At the time, the reasons I had might have been good enough for me, but I do know how much it hurt you. I also know, that whilst I might have to some extent moved on, you haven't, which is why this is bound to hurt you, make you angry with me, and possibly make you regret ever having had anything to do with me. But I haven't moved on quite as much as you probably think I have. I will never, ever forget those few weeks I had with you, Yvonne. You were the first woman I slept with, and that will always be incredibly special to me." "I ain't angry with you," Yvonne said, touched to her core by what Karen had said. "Yes, I might be initially hurt, and I might think she's the luckiest cow on the planet, but that's mainly because I haven't had time to get used to the idea. I think part of me has always thought that somehow, one day, you'd come back to me. But I don't, under any circumstance want you to feel guilty about it. If you think you can be happy with her, then that's all that matters. I know you never wanted to hurt me, and I know why you had to end it with me, perhaps more than you think I do." "Yvonne, I really am sorry," Karen said, brief tears rising to her eyes. "Hey, sweetheart, don't cry," Yvonne said, gently taking hold of Karen's hand. "I know that no matter what happens, I'm not going to lose you as a friend, and that's what's really important. You've stuck by me all these months, and you'll never know how much I appreciate that." "I wouldn't have done anything else," Karen protested. "I know you wouldn't," Yvonne answered gently. "So please, no more feeling guilty." Karen really didn't know what to say. She'd ideally wanted Yvonne to have chance to get over the verdict, whatever that might be, before dropping this new bombshell on her. But Yvonne had been her usual intuitive self. "How did you find out?" Karen asked after a moment's silence. "There had to be a reason why she was here for most of the trial," Yvonne replied instantly. "And you should see the way she sometimes looks at you when she thinks you're not looking." Karen couldn't help smiling. "She's pretty bloody gorgeous, I'll give you that," Yvonne continued almost conversationally. "And I guess with her, you won't ever wind up perverting the course of justice again." She added this last remark with a level of seriousness that reminded them both exactly where they were, and why they were there. "Yvonne," Karen said carefully, giving her hand a squeeze. "Whatever happens, I will still be here, you know. Just because of what may or may not be happening with George, doesn't mean that I wont still be here for you, if you should ever need me." Yvonne gave her a small, soft smile. "I know," She said. "And the closer it gets, the more I'm convinced that Lauren is going down for life." "No one can predict what the jury will do," Karen replied. "The only thing we can all do is to let them do their job, and to wait and see." 


	50. Part fifty

Part Fifty  
  
When Karen and Yvonne rejoined the group, the wind suddenly blew chill as Yvonne sensed the imminent parting of the ways. It was not just because the week was coming to an end, but the trial also. She had always been social and outgoing and even in the days before Larkhall, even Charlie's dickhead friends gave him some sense of satisfaction in just being there. Larkhall introduced her to en entirely new circle of female friends and those dearest to her were around her, day by day. That both Helen and Karen had once locked her up for a living wasn't real to her anymore. "Anyone want to come back to my place. I like a good party, girls." It took a lot that second to prop up that feeling of self-confidence with that broad smile stretched across her face but it worked at least for others.  
"I'd love to but I have got to work at the club tonight. For the last day or so, I've had that sneaking feeling at the back of me that if I'm away for too long, Trisha will get ideas. She'll think that she can just take over and run the place the way she wants to and not me. It isn't easy at the best of times." With a look of real regret, Nikki kissed Yvonne on the cheek and gave her a quick hug until her face suddenly brightened.  
"What about you, Helen?" "I'm up for it. There's a first time for everything." Babs and Karen graciously declined and Yvonne's face fell.  
"Why doesn't everyone come back to my place. It means us more time and the kids don't see enough of you." Cassie's remark touched Yvonne and gave her flagging spirits the boost they needed while Helen smiled her agreement at the change in plan. She felt fresh and alert and the day hadn't finished for her.  
"OK you guys, you follow our car while we pick up the kids," Cassie yelled out before ostentatiously revving up the car and zooming off.  
  
Helen and Yvonne stepped through the great divide into the warm cosy domesticity from the cold air outside and flopped into the welcoming armchairs. At the same time, the noisy innocence of the two little beings who burst in on them made Helen feel strangely distanced to begin with. That didn't matter as they homed in on Auntie Yvonne whose red Ferrari they had immediately spotted when they came out of school. Her big smile and welcoming arms greeted them and entertained them with the latest jokes which none of their schoolfriends had heard. She was, of course, a grown up but she wasn't like those starchy strangers they came across from time to time who held themselves stiff and upright and talked a foreign language, they didn't understand. They glanced carefully at the lady and, as she had a nice smile, they thought they would give her a chance. Besides, she was a friend of Mum and Cassie.  
  
Cassie and Roisin took themselves into the kitchen to knock up a dinner, pleasantly surprised that that ministering to the needs of their children had been taken off their hands.  
  
"Did you used to be a prisoner with mum and Cassie?" Michael asked after Helen had introduced herself. There was no trace of the Helen that had once asked Nikki to call her 'ma'am' when she was made Acting Governing Governor. This woman knew that she had nothing to offer but herself.  
"She was on the other side, Michael, but she's apologised enough times for being very bossy and locking us up at nights that we've forgiven her. She lives with an old friend of mine called Nikki Wade." "Like Mum and Cassie are?" Niamh piped up.  
"That's good then," Michael responded.  
Helen blinked with astonishment that in two seconds flat these children had more wisdom in their accepting eyes than decades of living by Sylvia's curled lip of disapproval and that bastard Fenner's evil sneer. That moment of revelation washed over her.  
"We sure are," Helen said with a flourish. "Have you got any children?" "Sorry, Niamh, Nikki and I haven't got round to that." Helen blushed slightly, not being used to the directness of children after her hours of work sifting through the labyrinthine defences and distortions of her patients. She was the one who was used to asking questions and not being asked. The week or so of Larkhall honesty had only got her used so far to conversation with children. Real feelings of affection spread through her and the thought that this was Cassie and Roisin's upbringing, bearing fruit.  
Yvonne smiled and sat back as Helen started a conversation, initially uncertain as she felt her way but the important thing was that they liked Helen. It was curious to remember that forceful and decisive woman, dressed in a two piece blue suit, being so shy and bashful.  
"Do you play draughts?" Helen asked after the conversation started to run dry. "But only two can play?" "Nonsense. Why don't you both make up a team, take it in turns to play and that way you'll be sure to beat me." Helen's challenging grin surprised herself and the way she had pulled the idea out of her hat. Yvonne gave Helen full marks for resourcefulness. "It'll do you good to play together instead of arguing," Sang out Cassie from the other side of the wall to the kitchen.  
Helen picked up the round, patterned counters and a strange feeling ran through her fingers as it brought back many memories to her mind and the long buried game techniques. Michael and Niamh's combative instincts were roused and they knew that they felt comfortable to play with this lady. She was nice and that was what mattered.  
Helen let the children move their first piece and the battle for mastery of the board commenced.  
  
"Can I take that go again. I didn't mean it. It was Michael putting me off. Please, Helen, please." A real feeling of tenderness and affection ran through Helen. This innocent joy in playing with these adorable children was all the more as this was totally outside her past experience. She generously let them take the move again so that Helen did not leapfrog her piece across three of theirs and take them. Yvonne grinned in memory of the stern way that Helen used to enforce rules and regulations at Larkhall.  
  
The evening felt complete as they settled down to dinner round the table, Michael and Niamh crowing to all and sundry that they had beaten Helen six games to five. It really brought the sort of family feeling to Helen that she had never known since her mother was alive. It made more sense to her as a felt experience of what mothers at Larkhall lost when they became separated from their children. She was glad that she had done right by them even if she had never felt what they had felt.  
  
"Come on, kids. Time for bed," Called Cassie while Yvonne topped up Helen's glass and they lay back in piece and contentment.  
"Will you come round another time, Helen. We like you." Niamh's tired childlike voice called out to her as she grabbed her favourite fluffy toy to hug.  
"I can't say when but I promise I'll come again soon. I'll try to bring Nikki as well." The children spun their bedtime with a series of 'night nights' to Yvonne and Helen and Helen and Yvonne.  
  
There was a warm smile on Yvonne's face and they exchanged smalltalk with Helen while Cassie and Roisin were upstairs. Instinct told her to keep it light and avoid anything heavy. Take life a bit at a time over this weekend and she might get lucky at the other end unscarred.  
"Helen's getting broody," joked Cassie to Roisin as they walked downstairs after settling two happy but tired children to bed. They had watched Helen's transformation in total fascination.  
  
"What were you going to tell us at lunchtime, Cassie, before Yvonne frog-marched you out of the way?" "Subtlety ain't my strong point as you know, Helen, if someone's about to plonk their big foot in it as Cassie was. She was about to spill the beans on something which Jo and Karen wouldn't want to know about. Cassie will explain." "I worked out how to scam the computer programme that worked out our weekly spends." Roisin smiled at the deceptively casual way that Cassie spoke while Helen wondered if she was hearing things right. Even Larkhall couldn't let that sort of thing happen. Mind you, when she looked back on her time at Larkhall, it refused to drag itself into the modern age. 'We've always done it this way,' was Sylvia's favourite obstructive tactic that used to drive her to distraction.  
"I had to audit the accounts before they had computers and grind my way through all the bloody figurework." "All totally fiddled, I'm sure. I can see her getting a real kick out of straining her brain adding up ten and ten and take away four if she didn't like the look of your face. I've often wondered how much we got robbed," interjected Yvonne sarcastically.  
"Surely that sort of thing couldn't have happened?" questioned Helen. "Are you telling me that some of them wouldn't have cooked the books?" "All your figures would only be as good as what some bent screw put down on the books, if you don't mind me putting it that way." Helen nodded. Now she came to think of it, it might have happened that way. She remembered Nikki's sarcastic description of the 'personal incentive scheme which meant if that screw liked your face.' What Cassie and Yvonne were suggesting was only a small logical step forward. She remembered with fury the hours she had spent at home trying to get the books to balance.  
"Anyway how in hell did they ever get computers at Larkhall?" "That was Grayling's doing. From what Karen told me once, it was Grayling's bright idea and he soft-soaped Bodybag into it. It was her pet personal project." Helen's face was twisted in total shock and incredulity.  
"He must have taken leave of his senses." "But it made it so much easier for us." "Ah. I can see what's coming." "You don't mind us talking about something ever so slightly not quite legal to Miss Helen Stewart of all people." "That was a long time ago. I'm Helen Wade now, don't forget. It happened after my time any, anyway, I don't owe the Prison Service any loyalty except to those I've got to make friends with." "It could never have happened if Bodybag knew one end of a computer from another even down to how you switch it on," Cassie said scornfully. "Anyway, Babs unpacked the computer and set it up so that someone like Miss Barker and Bodybag could work it if they followed the idiot sheets that she wrote out for them. It was easy for Babs to reprogramme it and switch the plusses and minuses as it adjusted the weekly spends that were available from week to week." "So the more you spent, the more you had left to spend on from the prison shop. It would only take a few weeks and you would really clean up. Didn't anyone notice how fast the stock was disappearing?" Two broad smiles answered Helen who shook her head.  
"Anyway, enough talking about Larkhall. I really meant it when I said that I'd come again and bring Nikki. Your kids are adorable." "They're not usually as angelic as tonight. It isn't that easy bringing up children." Helen's soulful smile remained on her face for the rest of the evening as they sipped their drinks and chatted. Tonight was a new experience to her and it helped to soothe away the cares of the week. It brought back the memories of that day in the art room at Larkhall when she had first dared to think what a life with Nikki might be like and told Nikki that she wanted kids one day. Of course, it might be just a romantic dream when both women were working at opposite sides of the day and their time spent together was far less than they wanted. 


	51. Part fifty One

A/N: One of these lines is shamelessly borrowed from Henny's Handle With Care. so thanks to her for being a genius.  
  
Part Fifty-One  
  
When Karen drew up outside George's house after nine on the Friday evening, she was relieved to see that George's was the only car in the drive. Karen knew that tonight, what she really needed was some warm, sensitive, female company. She hadn't spoken to George since the revelation of those pictures yesterday, and she knew that this needed to be sorted out. Karen was absolutely not, going to let something she'd done in a moment of insanity, spoil anything she might have with this beautiful woman. She just hoped that George would want to see her.  
  
George hadn't gone to court on the Friday, because she'd respected Karen's need for space, that had been expressed to Helen on the Thursday. George was very well aware that Karen would feel a certain amount of embarrassment and self-disgust, after having those pictures displayed to all and sundry, at the mere whim of Neumann Mason-Alan. George seethed whenever she thought of him, conveniently forgetting that not so long ago, she might have done something similar. So, she had worked solidly all day, trying to clear her desk of the work that had been piling up for most of the week. Apart from Tuesday afternoon and Wednesday afternoon, she had spent her time in court, and it was beginning to show. She'd stayed at the office until seven that evening, wanting to be able to go home, and not think about work for the whole weekend. If Karen didn't contact her by tomorrow, George knew that she would be the one to make the first move. What she'd seen in those pictures wasn't anything out of the ordinary, even John had once made some pictures of her that were pretty similar in content. George smiled, wondering if he still had them. On returning home, she poured herself a glass of wine, and began wading through the e-mails that had been sent to her home computer. Some of her regular clients often contacted her at home, knowing that they were more likely to get a rapid response that way. After dealing with those clients who were demanding her attention then and there, she stretched, feeling the ache in her back and shoulders from sitting at a computer all day. Refilling her glass, she went upstairs and filled the bath with hot scented water, the combined aroma of geranium and sandalwood soothing her senses and making her relax.  
  
When she heard the ringing of the doorbell a little after nine, she groaned with irritation. Who could that be, disturbing her like this on a Friday evening, after a hard week's, or in her case, hard day's work? She had half a mind to leave whoever it was freezing on the doorstep, but as usual, George's curiosity won out. Dragging herself regretfully out of the far too inviting bath, she dried off, wrapped herself in a towel, and took a quick look out of the bedroom window to see who might be about to incur the Channing wrath. A broad smile spread over her face when she recognised Karen's car in the gleam of the street lamp. Running quickly down the stairs, she opened the front door to let her in. "Do you always open your front door dressed like that?" Karen asked with a smile as she came into the hall. "Not usually, no," George said dryly. "How are you?" "All the better for seeing you," Karen replied quietly, almost testing the waters, to see just how much George really did want her to be there. "Good," George said as she moved into Karen's outstretched arms. After they'd kissed each other long and hard, George said, "I didn't come to court today because I thought you would almost certainly want some space." "That was probably a good idea," Karen admitted. "I wasn't sure if I'd be able to look you in the face after yesterday." "Oh, come on, darling, give me some credit," George said a little scornfully. "Do you really think I'd think any less of you just because of a few dodgy pictures?" "I wasn't sure," Karen said truthfully, showing George just how low her self-esteem really was. Standing wrapped in only a towel, George shivered. "You'll get cold," Karen said, noticing the goose flesh on George's arms. "I'd only been in the bath about ten minutes," George said, the suggestion dancing in her eyes. "Would you like to join me?" "I can't think of anything I'd like better," Karen replied, her sultry tone caressing George's senses. After pouring Karen a glass of wine, George led the way upstairs. "I posed for John once," She said when they were in the bedroom. "If I know him, he's probably still got that extremely incriminating evidence somewhere in his possession." When George removed the towel and hung it back over the radiator, Karen stared at her. George's nipples were as hard as bullets. "Was it cold downstairs, or are you pleased to see me?" Karen couldn't help asking. "Both," George replied with a laugh. They made swift work of Karen's clothes, and when they were reclining deliciously in the hot, scented water, Karen sipping from the glass of white wine, they both privately thought they were in heaven. "How did it go at court today?" George asked. "Nothing unexpected. Jo gave the most almighty closing speech, really had the jury under her spell. I wouldn't be surprised if it's what she said that sways them. Then, after lunch, John gave his summing up. Jo doesn't think the jury will be back till at least Monday." "I knew there hadn't been a verdict because if there had, I'd probably have heard from someone." "Sorry I disappeared yesterday," Karen said a little sheepishly. "I couldn't believe it when you walked out of court, though I didn't blame you. Neumann Mason-Alan always has been a spineless creep. Jo tore a strip off him afterwards. I thought at one point that she was going to slap him." "Fenner's pictures are certainly not worth anyone getting into that kind of trouble over," Karen said sternly. "Oh, I know, and I think I managed to calm her down. But she wasn't amused to say the least." "Two years ago," Karen said slowly. "It would have been the other way round. You about to fly off the handle and Jo being the calming influence." "Not at the same time it wouldn't," George said with a smile. "I think this trial might be getting to her more than usual," Karen observed. "Very occasionally, Jo does get far too emotionally involved with a case. Everything she's done, she's done for Yvonne, not for Lauren. I know that much." Karen looked astonished. "Yvonne's a mother, just like Jo is, and I think Jo thought about what it would be like to be in Yvonne's shoes. The last case I saw her throw herself into with so much zeal, was for another mother. Only that time, Jo's client died before the outcome of the case. I was leading the defence, and by the end, I found that I was working on the same side as Jo, something I would never have thought remotely possible." George looked a little wistful as she said this. "Did you regret being on the side you were?" "Yes, I did. Half way through the case, the CEO of the company I was representing, managed to put child pornography on John's computer, mainly because they knew he wasn't going to support their case in any way. He made it pretty obvious that he was not open to persuasion." Karen could see that this had greatly affected George when it had happened, and that George sincerely regretted representing anyone remotely connected with something like that. "So," Continued George after taking a swig of her wine. "When it came time for One Way to provide some compensation for Diana Hulsey's seven-year-old son, I did a little gentle persuasion of my own, and managed to get them to stump up over two-and-a-half million." Karen was extremely impressed, having thought that George's powers of persuasion would in all probability be the most ingenious she'd ever come across. "Where did you go yesterday?" George asked, clearly wanting to change the subject, except that this meant that now it was Karen's turn to be under the spotlight. "I did something I should have done a long time ago," Karen replied, hoping this wouldn't make her sound completely insane. "I went to see two houses from my past, the one where I lived with Fenner, and the one where he raped me." George drew slightly back from her, examining her face in infinite detail. "Oh, I know," Said Karen, interpreting George's stare. "Sounds totally mental, doesn't it. But the last time I was unexpectedly faced by the B and B where Fenner had been staying, I might have got me and Yvonne killed. I think that after what happened yesterday, I decided that if there was ever a time for some choice where Fenner was concerned, it was now." "You're very brave," George said, leaning forward to kiss her. "Reckless and stupid you mean," Said Karen, kissing her back. They lay there for a while, the warm, fragrant water lapping around them, gently kissing each other, and tasting the wine on each other's lips. "Do you know something," George said with a soft smile. "I was unequivocally warned off hurting you yesterday." "Oh, no," Karen groaned in resigned acceptance. "Which one of them was it?" "Helen," George replied, her smile growing wider. "Really?" Karen was surprised. "Yes. She told me that you would want to hide somewhere, get it out of your system, and then come back tougher and more emotionally closed off than you were before." "That's what you get for having a psychologist as a friend," Karen said ruefully. "And was she right?" "Probably, though I wouldn't have put it quite as bluntly as that." "I don't want you to have to hide from me," George found herself saying, much to her amazement. "I'm not going to make you any promises I might not be able to keep," Karen said gently. "I know, and I don't expect you to, and this is probably getting far too deep and meaningful for both of us," George responded, accepting the situation as it was, because she liked Karen far too much to push her away by needing more than she was prepared to give. "Tell me something," Karen said, trying to move the conversation on to an entirely lighter footing. "What's the sexiest thing you've ever done, that you wouldn't mind repeating some time?" George grinned wickedly. "I do occasionally enjoy being tied up." "Oh, you should have said," Karen teased. "I could have brought my prison issue handcuffs." "No way," George said with a laugh. "Silk scarves are fine. But handcuffs are definitely far too weird. Have you ever tried it?" "No, being restrained, however flimsy the restraints, just isn't for me." "Why?" George asked, thoroughly intrigued now, because she loved being treated like a recalcitrant schoolgirl. "Not being able to fight against it once in my life was quite enough," Karen said simply. "Oh, God, I'm sorry," George said, feeling utterly stupid. "It doesn't matter," Karen tried to reassure her with a soft smile. "So, tell me what you do like?" George asked, wanting to get them back on safer ground. "Ah, well, what I would really like, right this minute," Karen said, looking George straight in the eye. "Is to taste you." "Oh, would you now," George drawled, her eyes widening with lust. "Is it really that good, giving it I mean?" "Oh, yes," Karen replied with utter certainty. "It's wonderful." "This will probably sound stupid, but did you ever think you might not like it?" "The first time I did that was definitely an experience I'm not likely to forget, and it is without doubt an acquired taste that I suppose some like and some don't. But I approached it with the philosophy that it was certainly worth a try, and if I didn't like it, I would cross that bridge when I came to it. Just because I would love to do that to you," She added, having correctly interpreted George's question. "Does not mean I expect you to do the same. That decision has to be yours and yours alone." "Would it bother you if I didn't?" George asked, wanting to get this hurdle out the way as soon as possible. "Remembering what you were like last week," Karen replied, taking George's hand and running her thumb over the knuckles, "it wouldn't bother me in the slightest." When their lips met this time, they both discovered that the heat had been turned up somewhere along the line. "Can we go to bed?" George asked, trying to hide how much she wanted what Karen wanted to give her, and failing spectacularly. "It's your house," Karen said seductively. "We can do whatever you like." "You should never, ever give me free rein with anything," George said with a smirk as they got out of the bath and dried off. "You never know what it might lead to." Karen laughed. "Is that right," She murmured, running a finger over one of George's breasts and then following her into the bedroom.  
  
They moved as if of one mind towards the bed, drawing back the duvet and meeting each other in the middle. Their hands were on each other, their mouths deliciously entangled, both enchanted with the other's body all over again. When Karen realised that their touching was about to take an altogether downwards turn, she gently pushed George onto her back, took her hands and carefully lifted her arms so that her fingers became entwined with the interlocking carvings of treble and bass clefs, that made up the head board. "That's so you don't make me lose my concentration," She said with a smirk. "You do like being in control, don't you," George drawled, loving every second of it. "I want you to enjoy this," Karen replied. "And if you keep touching me, I'll forget what I'm supposed to be doing." "I can behave, I promise," George said with a deceptively innocent smile. "I'll believe that when I see it," Karen said dryly, having realised that George liked to be treated as the occasionally naughty schoolgirl that she'd probably been. When George capitulated to her request to keep her hands out of harm's way, Karen began kissing her again, and moving her hand so delicately over George's breasts that she was barely touching her. The more George would let herself be teased, the more explosive her orgasm would eventually be. Karen steadfastly avoided coming into direct contact with George's nipples, making her inwardly scream with frustration. George was torn. Her natural impatience making her want to urge Karen on to further endeavour, and her insatiable curiosity to see what Karen would do next, vying for dominance. When Karen faintly trailed the very tip of her finger across George's nipple, she gasped, having until then attempted to stay quiet. Karen laughed softly. "As I said last time, there's no need for you to stay quiet if you don't want to," She said between kisses. "Then please, will you stop teasing," George said with a grin. "It's driving me mad." "Oh, you'd prefer this instead, would you?" Karen asked, making her caress of George's breasts a lot more assertive. "Yes," George responded with alacrity. "You know patience isn't one of my virtues." "Then perhaps it's one you should learn," Karen said, sounding almost serious. "John tried that, and I can assure you it didn't work," George said through almost gritted teeth, Karen's touch inflaming her senses so that she was likely to give Karen far too much vocal encouragement if she wasn't careful. Relenting slightly, Karen detached her lips from George's, kissing her way down until she was firmly sucking on George's left nipple, sweeping her tongue across the tip, which made George cry out in total abandon. "I'm not going to ask where you learnt to do that," George said, knowing that she was in serious danger of losing control altogether. Karen laughed. "Think about why you managed to be very good at it when you'd certainly not done that before," Karen replied as she moved over to George's other breast. Karen took her time over this one, gradually encouraging the nipple to an almost painful hardness, soothing its rock hard surface with her soft warm tongue. Facing the fact that even if she felt self-conscious about being noisy, she wouldn't be able to restrain herself much longer, coupled with the realisation that Karen found the sounds she made extremely erotic, George decided that there really wasn't any point in trying to keep quiet. Karen seemed to feel a sudden change in George, a letting down of all her barriers, the total abandonment of herself to whatever Karen might do to her. The vocal restraint in George was gone, to be replaced with all manner of indecipherable sounds, which Karen found incredible. Taking slight pity on her, Karen detached her lips and began kissing her way down George's body. Obviously realising what was to come, a wicked smirk of anticipation spread over George's face. "Do you have any idea just how delectable you look?" Karen said, briefly looking up at her. "About as much as you do," George replied, no longer thrown by being caught expressing herself. As she moved down over George's waist and hips, Karen was briefly brought back to Earth by just how thin George was, when she wasn't even in the middle of an anorexic cycle. Trying to quash her feelings of stern protectiveness and to return to those of giving pleasure, she kissed and nibbled her way along George's left thigh, and back along the right. George's whole body was slightly quivering with surprised frustration, knowing she must wait for what she wanted, but finding the waiting increasingly difficult. As Karen kissed her way along the crease at the top of George's right thigh, she spared a thought to wonder if George would taste any different to Yvonne.  
  
At the first touch of Karen's tongue on her clitoris, George let out a cry of sheer ecstasy. She couldn't believe how incredible this was, or how thoroughly naughty it felt to have another woman doing this to her. Karen was pleasantly surprised. Whilst George did taste certainly different to Yvonne, it wasn't so different that she didn't like it, it was just different. Now knowing that she was definitely going to thoroughly enjoy doing this to George, Karen settled down to try and make it her best yet. She hadn't done this since the break up with Yvonne, but this was another of those skills that really was just like riding a bike. She couldn't have forgotten how to do it if she'd tried. When Karen dipped her tongue into George's entrance, George was certain that if this wasn't heaven, she didn't know what was. "God, you're incredible," She gasped out. Karen would have replied, but her mouth was otherwise engaged, taking George to heights she wouldn't really have expected with another woman. Karen reached up with her left hand, and began massaging one of George's breasts, giving her nipple some stimulation at the same time as sweeping her tongue across her clit. Using her other hand, she inched two fingers inside her, adding a third to increase George's feeling of being filled. She smiled when she felt George running her fingers through her hair. She might have known George couldn't keep her hands to herself for long. When she grazed George's G spot, her breathing quickened in earnest. George took her hand away from Karen's soft, blonde hair, remove Karen's hand from her breast and simply held on to it, needing something to keep her grounded, as she approached an orgasm that ever so slightly scared her. The feelings Karen was inducing in her were incredible, her tongue moving back and forth over her clit without forgetting any of the surrounding nerve endings, and her fingers moving to and fro inside her. When both Karen's hand and her tongue increased their speed, George gripped Karen's other hand, as if to prevent herself from becoming totally lost in sexual oblivion. Karen squeezed her hand back, letting George know that she was also still there. When George came, she internally clamped down on Karen's fingers, making a sound somewhere between a cry and a sob. Her whole body stiffened, every muscle stretching to its limit, afterwards leaving her twitching from the adrenaline coursing through her veins.  
  
She lay afterwards, replete, satiated, and with her body glistening with perspiration. Karen moved back to lie beside her, just watching as George's breathing returned to normal. When George leaned over to kiss her, she could taste herself on Karen's lips. "Now tell me what you were scared of," Karen said gently. "Oh," George said, looking a little shame faced. "I wasn't really. It just felt as though I might not come back to Earth, that's all." "I never knew I was that good," Karen said with a smile. "You were incredible," George said seriously. "And don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise." As they moved back into each other's arms, Karen felt extremely touched by George's sincerity. They lay there for a while, softly kissing and occasionally talking, George seeming to need some down time to recover her energy. "It's about time I returned the favour, isn't it," George said, dragging herself out of the relaxation that would send her to sleep if she wasn't careful. "That's up to you," Karen replied, not wanting to put George under any pressure whatsoever. "After what you just did for me, are you joking?" George said with a broad grin. She began touching Karen with greater confidence, her recent orgasm making her feel as though she could do almost anything. It gave her an enormous sense of power and achievement to know that she was hopefully making Karen feel as good as she'd felt earlier. What she'd said to Jo had been right. Turning on any man was easy every time because they all reacted in exactly the same way to pretty much the same kind of stimulation. But bringing a woman to a state of arousal was a challenge. After all, she knew that from herself, and with someone else, it was even harder. But Georgia Channing had always risen to a challenge. She just wondered if she could rise to this one. When she found herself suckling on one of Karen's nipples, it occurred to her just what Karen had meant earlier. Detaching her lips, she stared up at Karen in realisation. Karen raised an eyebrow at her. "It's just dawned on me why we're both pretty good at this," She said, gesturing to the nipple she'd been mercilessly bringing to its peak. "Yeah, I can see you giving a bloke oral," Karen said contemplatively. "And being very good at it too." "You'd have to ask John about that," George said as she returned to her task. As she exchanged one breast for the other, she inched a hand between Karen's slightly spread legs. She'd done this left handed last time, and she was certain that she would be even better using the hand she normally used on herself. Karen sighed in utter contentment as George slid two fingers inside her, bringing them back up to massage her clit. She was a lot quieter than George, the luxurious feeling of George's soft, delicate touch giving her the sensation of floating on sheer pleasure. When George abandoned Karen's nipples in favour of kissing her way down her ribcage and across her stomach, Karen gently removed the chignon that had been keeping George's hair dry in the bath, running the silky strands through her fingers. When George reached the level of Karen's hip, she stopped. As she stared at her steadily wandering hand, and at what her hand was caressing, she wondered if she could really do this. Karen had said it was an acquired taste, and what if she, George, didn't like it. She'd hated it when Neil had refused to even contemplate doing this for her, but she knew she would have hated it more if he'd tried it and not liked how she tasted. Realising her dilemma, Karen gently detached George's wandering hand from its quest. "Come here," She said gently, and when George again lay beside her, Karen put an arm round her. "Talk to me," She suggested. "I'm probably worrying about something and nothing," George began, feeling more ridiculous with every word. "But I don't want to not like how you taste." "Would it matter so much if you didn't?" Karen asked gently. "Yes," George insisted. "I would feel terrible if someone attempted to do that to me, only to find that they loathed how I tasted." "George," Karen said slowly, trying to reassure her. "I won't be offended, I promise." "Are you sure?" George asked, not wanting to hurt her feelings in any way. "Yes," Karen said firmly. "Don't even think of trying it unless you're absolutely sure you want to. I'm not so naive to think that just because it's something I enjoy doing, anyone else I'm with will too. Your hand will do fine," She said with a sultry, sexy smile, touching the hand in question. When Karen began kissing her again, George returned to her former endeavour, allowing Karen's clear pleasure at what she was doing, to stop her from dwelling on what she wasn't. But as she moved her hand, now almost familiarly between Karen's legs, an idea occurred to her. Sliding out of Karen's arms, she sat up slightly, looking down on Karen's beautiful body, contemplating what she was about to do. Realising that George obviously had something in mind, Karen just watched her. Removing her hand, two fingers of which had been caressing Karen's internal walls; she ran a fingertip across her lips, flicking out a pink tongue to sample the result of her labours. Karen couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. It looked so exotically sexy that she gasped at the same time realising that this was as good a way as any for George to put an end to her concerns. The intense look of sheer relief that passed over George's face made Karen smile. "Thank god for that," George said, the relief evident in her tone. "That's as good a way as any, I suppose," Karen said with a smile as George lay back down beside her. "John made me taste myself once," She admitted, feeling slightly silly that she'd worried about this. "Typical," Karen said with a laugh. "But why?" "It was the night he was telling me about you," George replied. "I asked him if he'd given you oral, and when he said he had, I wanted to know why he liked doing that so much. So, he thought that showing me was better than telling me." "Actions speak louder than words and all that," Karen said dryly. When George's hand again returned to prolonging Karen's pleasure, she kissed her way down to join it with a lot more confidence. Yes, what she'd tasted had been a little odd, but it did bear a significant resemblance to what John had made her taste from herself all those months ago. It was a taste she could certainly get used to, unlike the sexual secretion produced by any man, which she could never, ever come to like. When Karen felt the sensation of George's tongue tentatively graze her clit, she groaned luxuriously. George was initially very cautious of doing this, but Karen didn't care. George's enthusiasm definitely made up for her lack of experience. With the knowledge that George had taken the plunge and tried something so new with her, combined with what she was actually doing to her, Karen's breathing quickened. The sweeps of George's tongue over Karen's clit became more erratic, her silky fingers persistently thrusting inside her, causing Karen to cry out when her G spot was discovered. "George, please," Karen gasped out, not really knowing what she was pleading for. To add to Karen's pleasure, George reached up with her left hand to firmly stroke one of Karen's already erect nipples, this unexpected, additional stimulation serving to push Karen finally over the edge. George could feel Karen's internal muscles squeezing her fingers, her whole body momentarily stiffening. When she relaxed, her orgasm crashing over her in waves that seemed to rock her entire soul, she was vaguely aware of George gently removing her hand from inside her, and of her moving back to lie next to her, with such a self-satisfied smirk on her face that Karen smiled. When her breathing had returned to normal, she grinned. "You have every right to look so smug." "Well, hopefully I won't be quite so inept next time," George said with a slight amount of self-deprecation in her voice. "Will you stop assuming you were terrible? I'm not very good at faking orgasms, so I can promise you that was as real as it gets." "Really?" George couldn't prevent a fine blush from colouring her cheeks. "Yes, really. So stop worrying." As if to add weight to her assertion, she kissed George long and hard, enfolding her in a cuddle that made her feel safe, happy, and above all wanted. They lay there for a long time, talking, laughing, finishing the wine they'd come upstairs with, and taking pleasure in the sheer softness of each other's company. That bedroom on that particular Friday evening, felt like a safe haven to both of them. Surely nothing could spoil what they had, for that night at least. 


	52. Part Fifty Two

Part fifty-two  
  
The space all around her was pitch black, impenetrable and seemed to stretch far away from her on all sides. She strained her eyes in vain to pick out the slightest sign of her whereabouts but it gave nothing away. She couldn't remember how she got to this place. The sheer mystery sent that chill feeling of fear up and down her skin as a prelude of worse to come. Angrily, she fought that down, as falling to pieces wasn't her choice of lifestyle. Everything that she had ever achieved in her life, she had struggled and fought for and everything she had lost had been because of the men she had fallen for. At heart, she relied on nothing and no-one else than herself. She could hear the sounds of footsteps shuffling past her but the sounds were opaque and muffled. She pressed a forefinger against her skin near to her ears to clear her hearing. The only sense she had to rely on was her hearing, and she desperately wanted to gauge how far her enemies were away from her. She knew nothing of them except that they were enemies.  
"Why don't you show yourselves for who you are?" she shouted out into the impenetrable blackness with her almost reckless brand of courage. She could have kept quiet and hoped that she was ignored but that was not her way.  
"Is that you, Miss Betts?" asked the very humble, respectful tones of Ken. Karen laughed quietly to herself. She had felt lost in this senseless dream and Ken was about as prosaic and ordinary as the pints of bitter he drank in that smoke ridden Prison Officers Social Club, complete with horrible seventies type swirly wallpaper.  
"Who else but? It's nice to hear a friendly voice to kindly tell me what the hell is going on in this place." "Why, it's the special feature film on in a minute……." Karen looked sideways in her seat and could see the faint light of the disembodied torch held by what must be the usher, escorting latecomers to their seats. Clearly, the usher's torch wasn't working earlier on. The sinister threatening shadowy people shuffling their way in the darkness were reduced to ordinary cinemagoers who were a bit disorganised and late. That was why she was there first. "….and the local paper said that you're starring in it." Karen couldn't believe her ears. Surely the familiar adverts of forthcoming films were rolling up on the wide screen. Surely, Ken was talking gibberish but then again, he was never the sort of Prison Officer who could be accused of an over active imagination. That was what was starting to worry her.  
  
"He's been playing you since day one, Karen. He's a misogynist bastard and I'm sick to the bloody back teeth trying to get you to see it. He's all yours." That well remembered Scottish voice echoed round the auditorium and Helen's angry face could be seen in more of a close up than could ever be seen in real life. She was only on row three and this film, like any other film in the local Meteor Cinema complex thrust itself into her face.  
All the other viewers cheered at Helen as she turned on her heel and stalked out.  
"You can see right through me, can't you." That well remembered face was blown up in cinemascope and his voice sounded edgy, uncertain to her but the scene switched to her smug, complacent expression. "I hope I can." She was sickened with disgust at this foolish stupid woman as she smiled lazily, lapping up the utterly fake compliment. God, how in hell can this woman fall for such an obvious line from this slimy bastard? She looked as if she did not have a care in the world.  
"Well, you're right. I am after something. I want to marry you." At this point, Fenner fumbled in his pocket and produced a ring box and, nestling inside, was a delicately wrought whitegold ring with a large blue sapphire tightly gripped in its clasp.  
"It looks very expensive." This appalling woman simpered watching herself about to be as tightly clasped as the jewel was by the ring.  
"Nothing's too expensive." "It's a good job I like sapphires." "Don't say it for God's sake, you stupid woman. Helen was right," Karen yelled out into the auditorium. Her skin felt clammy at this horror show. She was oblivious at the gasps of astonishment that ran round the auditorium. She was fighting for that other woman's future.  
"Is that a yes?" Fenner murmured.  
"Yes, that's a yes." "That's fantastic, Karen. I've got some champagne. You stay right here." Karen's horror and disgust was ratcheted up another notch as she saw this woman take a look at the red grid envelope on the table. She could sense what this woman was thinking as she instantly recognised Helen's angular script and with a horrifically casual gesture, toss the envelope into her waste paper basket.  
"For God's sake, Karen, open the bloody envelope. It could change your life. I know." "Excuse me, madam. We came here to watch a good drama. Your shouting and jumping around is spoiling the film for us." Karen turned round and glared venomously into the eyes of this irritating woman. All this was to her was some soap she could watch, be smugly glad she was all right and talk about it at the office tomorrow. Some people have no sympathy or imagination but she didn't really want to get thrown out by the ushers. To all the others, this was just an evening at the pictures. To her, she was trying to save her soul. She had nowhere else to go.  
"Do you want me to move or do you want to? I'm not in the mood to argue but if I stay here, I'll try and be quieter." With enormous satisfaction, she pegged this woman as the kind who didn't want to be seen to get involved in a public row. What would all the others think, she could read her thoughts, they might be neighbours.  
"All right but mind you keep quiet." "Look here, they're getting married," A man four rows back exclaimed.  
This is becoming nightmarish, Karen thought. There she stood her father behind her oblivious to all apart from the fact that his daughter was settling down at last. There Jim Fenner stood, resplendent in his dark suit and red cravat and smiling proudly and possessively on her. The ghastly organ chords blared out into the auditorium as the view panned backwards to a distant shot. She could take in all the regulars at Larkhall, Sylvia resplendent in her smartest pink suit.  
"She looks beautiful, all in white, it's so romantic. She'll make Jim a good wife and look after him." She sniffed into her lace handkerchief, remembering the years that her poor departed Bobby was with her.  
All the old guard were there, looking unfamiliar outside their prison uniforms, watching the leading lights of G Wing get hitched. What most horrified Karen was to see that simpering, insipid woman, dressed in flowing white wedding dress who looked a lot like her. She was handing over her independence and her pride in herself, not with a fierce struggle but with a stupid smile.  
  
The two women lay together in the luxuriously large bed in the comfort of a sleeping peaceful room. The smaller woman woke up and turned over in bed to hear the words spoken near to her. Instinct told her that they were articulated in a voice subtly different from her normal voice.  
"No no, this can't be happening."  
  
"You can't see it, Karen. You're too close." A familiar softly articulated Scottish voice answered her. It was laden with all the care and concern in her warm hearted personality, even in a moment like this.  
  
"There's a perfectly good explanation for everything I did. Not that a bastard like you would know it. You, Jim Fenner, who'll screw around with any woman with a short enough skirt," Karen's memory fired back at Fenner with all that knowledge of the darker, more real side of his twisted personality that she had bitterly acquired the hard way.  
  
"…..Marriage according to the laws of this country is a joining together of one man and one woman, voluntarily entered into for life to the exclusion of all others…" droned the vicar in his relentless, bloodless fashion as he had done, hundreds of times beforehand.  
  
"For God's sake, that bastard strolled up the aisle with his first wife Marilyn and look what happened to that marriage," Karen yelled scornfully.  
  
The dread procession marched relentlessly onwards and Karen couldn't stand the film anymore. Her head was in her hands again as she crouched down, her hair falling round her face like a curtain. She felt sweaty and frozen with horror at the same time. She wished that she couldn't hear what was going on around her. Being doubled up in this uncomfortable posture cramped her breath but anything was better than the nightmare that was taking place on the screen.  
  
The taller woman with long blond hair had stopped twisting and turning and only indecipherable murmuring sounds came from her slightly parted lips. She sounded safer in her own mind and drifting off into a deep sleep. The anxious watcher started to relax. She lay back in the bed and snuggled up close to her to protect her.  
Karen could hardly sit through a film like this but she was stuck there on the third row with an audience who would hardly thank her for yet another of her interruptions. They were out to watch a good drama and would complain as she was putting them off. It seemed like ages that Karen was wedged in that highly uncomfortable posture which became more and more painful. At least all the bloody party music had shut up and the film might be safer to watch. She felt faint as she lay back in her seat and sucked in huge lungfuls of air. She stretched herself in her seat as far as she could to ease the crick in her neck and the pain in the small of her back. The light was dim on the cinema screen as the long shot was set out in front of her. A faint glow illustrated lines in the darkness, making the merest suggestion of a deep pile, luxurious carpet, square shapes of darkness on the walls that must be paintings, the lines denoting rich velvet draped curtains hanging from the huge four poster bed.  
"Nothing but the best," hung on the air like the faintest whisper in its most beguiling tone.  
"Just watch him, Karen. He's a sly bastard," Came that infinitely wise voice of a friend who was very dear to her but was out of sight in the camera film. A tearing regret that the woman to whom that disembodied voice should have been joined to, wasn't there for her.  
Gradually the camera crept forward and the horizontal camera angle changed so that it increasingly slanted downwards at the bed, the focus of attention, whether the audience wanted it or not. The folds in the curtains became more defined and the dark space between the curtains started to give up its secrets. To her horror, Karen saw the nude back and legs of a man who could only be Jim Fenner, as he thrust downwards in between the legs of the woman which were wrapped round him.  
"Jim, Jim," The hoarse voice of the woman called out in a tone of voice, which was utterly ambiguous. The horror of it was that it was up to the listener to interpret what was going on.  
"You know you have wanted this for weeks. You do, you do." the unmistakable voice of Fenner urged the woman while the unseen audience watched on, silently, giving no indication of approval or disapproval. The film isn't telling everything, Karen shouted soundlessly to herself. I know what that woman is feeling better than she does, let alone any filmmaker. I know everything there is to know about Jim bloody Fenner.  
  
Karen's anger was at boiling point as it swelled up inside her, spreading like fire invading throughout her as she lunged her way through the undergrowth in the darkness. She brushed aside stems, some with spiny shoots and she could sense that her long, loping stride cut down remorselessly, the lead that the man had over her. Her highly acute hearing pinpointed as if in an interior map inside her mind the relative movements of her and her quarry. She could hear the rustling sounds that the man ahead of her made as he trod through the grass and betrayed his every move. She drove herself faster through the forest faster than she knew that she could move as she closed in on him as she passed by each black gnarled ancient tree. The shadowy darkness of the film reminded Karen of the classic horror film, the sense of being miles off the beaten track with no sense of direction of where she was heading and how she could get herself out of the forest. Ordinarily, she should see herself as the innocent victim being stalked and that she should be afraid but the situation was reversed because she had the power to decide it her way. She was on fire for vengeance. Intuition told her that, at last, she had closed in on him and he was within her sight. Suddenly a clearing opened out and there was Fenner in front of her. Earth was piled in untidy heaps all around him and the bottom half of him appeared to be chopped off at thigh level. That made it hard for her to distinguish what was going on. Well to one side of him, the dark shape of the trunk of an ancient oak tree spread its twisted branches wide open above them and the level grass under Karen's feet stretched all the way to Fenner as if rolled out in front of her like a red carpet.  
"For God's sake, Karen, don't shoot," Fenner screamed at her, a look of sheer panic widening his eyes and his mouth open in an expression of horror.  
She did not know how the weapon had appeared in her hand, but it gave her a huge feeling of satisfaction that in a wild deserted place like this, a gun was a great equaliser.  
"Why shouldn't I shoot you, Fenner?" her words taunted him. She was asking herself that very same question as her forefinger rested gently against the trigger but he was not to know that. "We'll forget about this, pretend that it never happened and we can go back to just the way it was," Babbled Fenner.  
Your words are very badly chosen, Jim Fenner, she thought as she came up close to him and pointed the gun at him. She could see the deep pit that he stood at the bottom of which he had dug for himself with his own hands, every last shovelful of earth.  
"That will never happen, Fenner." Her hard implacable voice echoed in the empty space a second before she gently squeezed the trigger and two shots cracked the air, straight through Fenner's heart. As Fenner dropped down in a heap, she reflected on how easy it was to shoot someone and at last understood what led some of the prisoners to end up in her care. Still holding the smoking gun, she turned abruptly away and moved off the screen, stage left.  
  
She saw herself in the second most frightening impossible place in the world that she could imagine, in the dock and the helpless subject of the machinery and full majesty of law as, cog by cog, it was set to roll over her. She dared not deal with the possibility of living the most frightening nightmare of her life, becoming a prisoner in the very prison that she had run as Wing Governor. She placed her hands on the metal rail of the dock as it fenced her in and felt as if it trapped her. She glanced around her and she felt uncomfortably exposed as if she were the focus of the court, as indeed she was. She glanced up at the judge but his throne was far above and away from her and she could not pick him out.  
  
"This man, whom everyone believes raped you, was, until he was killed, haunting your every waking, or should I say working moment. I put it to you, Miss Betts that you were obsessed with James Fenner and something twisted in you to destroy what you had lost. You killed the deceased man so that no other woman would have him." "You bastard!" Karen's softly spoken voice concealed the cold rage. "What I am trying to ascertain is whether or not there is any actual proof that this crime, supposedly committed by James Fenner, ever took place. I believe the jury may find it interesting that after reporting this crime to the police, you then retracted your statement, just days before the CPS were to inform you that they weren't taking up the case. What I shall endeavour to prove," the man continued, now really getting in to his stride. "Is that this crime had never taken place, and that on the contrary, your relationship with James Fenner, your sexual relationship that is, was one of immense enjoyment to you both." "That bastard raped me," Shouted Karen. "I'll show you what happened so that you can see it through your own eyes if that is what it takes for you all to believe me."  
  
The other woman in the bed blinked her eyes half open as the desperate shout resounded through the stillness of the night. She had worked hard all the last two weeks and normally it was impossible to rouse her. This time she knew that she was not dreaming.  
  
Karen saw again the inside of the bed and breakfast with the clutter of bottles of wine on the table. She had talked to him as the man 'who needed to get as many colleagues on side as possible', as the broken beaten man who needed her nursing. "I don't know how much longer I can hang in there. I curse myself for losing you." His broken tones came dejectedly from the man who appealed to her as the man who needed her. It was a side of him that had appealed to her when he cried on her shoulder when his wife and children left him. "I'm with you, aren't I?" These had been the fatal words that he had got the wrong end of the stick about and when she was lying in bed next to him, the feel of the man whom she had lived with and whom she thought she knew. "Why fight it? You know you want me. You can't fake this." There was something creepy, insistent in his tone that frightened her that Jim had changed into this man who was blind to everything but his own sexual pleasure. She was no longer Karen Betts, onetime lover, workmate who had come to comfort but only an anonymous passive piece of female flesh for him to dominate. He rolled on top of her and pinned one of her wrists down to the bed with his superior strength, with the other hand he feverishly groped about with her clothes with the blind singleminded drive to penetrate her no matter how she felt about it. There was nothing about him that remotely suggested that she was a woman and another human being. That frightening nightmare was upon her that she was trapped. She was living the worst nightmare that female folklore had passed down to her from generation to generation. The crazy thought flashed upon her that second that they say that many women know the man who raped them.  
  
"I don't want to do this," Karen yelled with all her fear and all the force of protest within her. "There's your evidence for you, where it feels. That's what he did to me and that's why I shot him."  
  
Karen's eyes opened wide at the distant ceiling above her and, wonder of wonders, George's deeply concerned face suspended above her. 


	53. Part Fifty three

A/N: Wonderfully betaed by Little Dorritt and Kaatje.  
  
Part Fifty Three  
  
George had gradually become aware that Karen was tossing and turning, murmuring in her sleep, clearly in the middle of a dream. She didn't let it bother her, because she knew that on occasions, she did something similar herself. But when the edge of fear in Karen's voice reached George's ears, she became wide-awake. Karen was fighting some inner demon, desperately trying to free herself from some inner torture. But it was when Karen's words became more distinct, that George realised exactly what she was dreaming about. "No, Jim, please stop!" Putting out a hand, George gently shook Karen's shoulder. "Darling, wake up," She urged, wanting to break this nightmare as quickly as possible. When Karen's eyes eventually snapped open, the sheer terror in them made George almost recoil from her in shock. Karen stared at her, not immediately registering who she was in bed with. "It's all right," George strove to soothe her. "It's me, George." The relief in Karen's eyes was almost imperceptible, her fear that Fenner was in fact there, somewhere, not yet assuaged. Her eyes flitted around the room, searching as far as she could see for any sign of her nocturnal tormentor. "Darling, he's really not here, I promise you," George affirmed, knowing that however irrational Karen's distrust of his absence might be, it was very real to her at the moment. Karen slowly began to relax. "Oh, I know," she said bitterly. "He's six feet under somewhere." Lying back down, George took Karen's hand and began gently chafing the fingers, compromising between giving her some comfort, and affording her as much physical space as she might need. "I'm sorry I woke you," Karen said after a while. "That's all right." George couldn't for the life of her come up with anything else to say. She had absolutely no idea what, if anything, she could do. "You don't have to look quite so worried," Karen said with a smile. "Though I wish you hadn't seen that." "Do you often have dreams like that?" "Not really, and it's probably my own fault I had that one. The effect of visiting one of Fenner's crime scenes on Thursday, obviously hung around longer than I thought it would. But then, when you're trying to excise any kind of disease, it's going to get worse before it gets better." "And who told you that little piece of received wisdom?" George asked with a smile, letting Karen stay on the surface for the moment, allowing her to talk about only what she felt comfortable discussing. This didn't mean, however, that George was about to lose sight of the real problem, of how to persuade Karen to talk about what had been haunting her. "It's just something I've learnt over the years." "Darling, what did you dream?" Immediately she'd voiced this question, George could feel an instant retreat in her. There was no physical change in Karen, no drawing back, no removing her hand from where it still lay in one of George's, no actual attempt to run from the fear-laden words that would pour out of her if she wasn't careful. But George could feel the erecting of all Karen's most formidable barriers, betrayed only by the switching of her gaze between the picture above the bed, and the lamp on the bedside table. "Please don't ask questions that, I can assure you, you really don't want answers to." "Karen, you need to get this out," George insisted vehemently. "If you don't, it'll come back to haunt you again and again, and slowly drive you mad." "I said no," Karen replied firmly, the bitter edge of steel providing the underlying force in her tone. "All right," George said gently, seeing in an instant that she needed to tread extremely carefully, if she didn't want to push Karen away completely. After a moment's silence, Karen gave George's hand a squeeze. "I'm sorry. It's just, dealing with my own reaction to a dream like that is hard enough, without having to explain it to someone else as well." "If you were on your own at home, what would you do now?" "That's easy, get up and do some work, or watch TV, anything to stop me from going back to sleep." "So, as you're not at home, what would make you feel better?" "Would a cuddle be too much to ask?" "No, of course not. I just thought you might need some space, that's all." "I know, and it is appreciated, believe me." But when George moved to put her arms round her, Karen said, "It probably sounds stupid, but do you have something I can wear?" George stopped and thought for a moment. "Nothing of mine will fit you, but I can probably find you an old T-shirt of John's. Will that do?" "Yes. It's not that I..." George held up a hand. "Darling, after the kind of dream I'm fairly certain you had, not wanting to be naked in bed with anyone, is perfectly understandable." Slipping out of bed, George put on a pale blue, cotton nightie, and after digging in the bottom of her chest of drawers, she handed Karen a worn but clean T-shirt that had clearly, at one time, belonged to John. When Karen slipped it over her head, she could smell a comforting mixture of John's aftershave and George's perfume. When George returned to bed, they moved instinctively together, Karen desperately needing the sort of comfort and reassurance that only another's arms can provide. "What did I say before you woke me up?" Karen asked, wanting to know just how much of the situation she'd given away. Enough," George replied quietly, not wanting to make her feel more weak and vulnerable than she already did. They held each other close for a time, George gently running her fingers through Karen's hair. "What time is it?" Karen asked into the silence. "Nearly quarter past five," George said, glancing over at the bedside clock. Then, hitting on the inspirational British answer to any crisis, she said, "Would you like a cup of tea?" Karen gave her a ghost of a smile. "Yes please." Giving her one last affectionate squeeze, George got out of bed and walked out of the room. Glancing back, just before going downstairs, she saw that Karen had switched on the bedside lamp, clearly not wanting to be left alone in the dark.  
  
Whilst George was downstairs, Karen briefly huddled under the goose feather duvet. She wasn't sure if George was aware of it, but that dream had frightened the bloody life out of her. She had become used to occasional dreams of Fenner, ever since the night he'd raped her. If she'd been at home, in her own flat, when she'd woken up from that dream, she could have cried, or thrown up, or allowed herself to react in any other perfectly normal way. But not here, not with George. She quailed at the thought of revealing any of her vulnerabilities to this sensitive, beautiful woman. But hadn't she already done that, by letting George in on the case against Fenner? Partially, perhaps, but George really didn't know the half of it. It was stupid, she knew, but she couldn't prevent her eyes from continuously flitting about the room, as if to make sure that Fenner really wasn't hiding in a corner somewhere. That's why she'd put the bedside light on, to stop the darkness smothering her, to stop the dream from taking over her again, just as Fenner himself had done.  
  
When George returned, she was carrying two mugs of tea, a packet of cigarettes balanced on top of one of the mugs, and a lighter clamped between her teeth. Karen gave her a warm smile. "Talk about initiative," She said, taking one of the mugs. After putting the other mug and the cigarettes down, and retrieving the lighter, George picked up the clean ashtray from the dressing table, and slid back under the duvet. "Do you mind being asked a very odd question?" Karen asked, after taking a swig of the hot, sweet tea. "Everything at this time of the morning is odd," George replied matter-of-factly. "So feel free." "Have you ever held a gun?" Ignoring the possible implications of the question, George answered immediately. "When I was a child, one of Daddy's favourite pastimes was shooting. So yes, I probably have at some point, though I don't remember it. Why?" She asked, realising that there had to be more to this than a mere enquiry. "I dreamt that I shot Fenner." "I see." Then, after lighting a cigarette, she asked, "Will you tell me something?" At Karen's raised eyebrow, she clarified. "Tell me about the day he died." A brief look of scorn crossed Karen's face. "Do I need to remind you that you're a barrister, and as such, I really oughtn't to give you any details of the one and only time I perverted the course of justice, and witnessed someone else aiding an abetting a criminal?" "You'll make me think I'm in bed with John in a minute," George said with a small smile, after which she became serious. "Karen, I've known for an awfully long time that you and Yvonne and god knows who else were guilty of either one or the other of those crimes, all three of us have, myself, Jo and even the Deed. Yet we've never even considered having the matter investigated or pursued in any way." "Why?" The question seemed to take George by surprise. "Why? I'd have thought that was obvious. What would have been the point in landing you and Yvonne, plus any number of the rest of you, behind bars? That would have caused far more problems than it would have solved. But to get back to you specifically, you didn't ask to be put into that situation. Whatever happened on that Sunday afternoon, was not by any design or intention of yours, do I make myself clear?" "Now who's talking like John," Karen quipped mildly, to cover up how touched she was, at the way the three of them had thought their way round such a complex web of facts and hidden secrets. "Well, then, would it be such a bad thing to tell me?" "No, I suppose not. But let it be understood that I'm definitely going against my better judgment."  
  
After lighting a cigarette of her own, Karen tentatively began. "It's very odd how, just before something so horrific happens, you can be doing the most normal thing imaginable. I remember Yvonne going through a load of videos, looking for something we were going to watch, and getting more frustrated by the minute, because none of them were labelled." George smiled. "When Lauren returned from, from what she'd been doing, she was filthy. She was carrying the gun with the sort of casual familiarity with which someone might hold their favourite cricket bat. But the thing that really shocked me about her, was that the look in her eyes reminded me far too much of Shell Dockley. I've never seen someone blatantly high from committing murder, not in nearly fourteen years in the prison service. But that's exactly what she was. I remember wondering if she'd taken a hit of crack or speed, but that was no artificial high. She was proud of what she'd done, and told Yvonne that if she was a real Atkins, she'd be proud of it too. The way she held the gun, you could see that she'd been familiar with one for years. When she removed the bullets before dropping it on the coffee table, as though it was an empty fag packet, Yvonne made her hand them over. It was when Yvonne realised that one was missing, that Lauren told us what she'd done with it. She didn't provide any details, just said that she'd killed him. But she was quite happy to tell me why. Yvonne made her put everything she was wearing in the washing machine, and then sent her up for a shower. I think I remember Lauren demanding to know if Yvonne was putting her under house arrest, which I suppose, in a way, she did for a while. When Yvonne actually took notice of what type of gun Lauren had used, she realised that Lauren had forgotten to pick up the empty cartridge case, which I'm told, is always left behind when a pistol is used. Jesus, I've learned more about guns over the last fortnight than I ever wanted to know. That seemed to bring Lauren down to Earth. It was only after this realisation, that Yvonne seemed to remember I was still there. She said that she'd have to clean the gun, and I stupidly said I'd stay, if she wanted me to. She warned me that getting rid of evidence wasn't nice, as if I couldn't have worked that out for myself. I'll never forget that smell, that almost overpowering aroma of gun-cleaning solvent. Yvonne cleaned that gun on a sheet of newspaper on the kitchen table, as if it was the most normal thing in the world." George couldn't help smiling at this. "That's exactly what my father used to do," She said, momentarily breaking in on Karen's story. "I remember once, I think I was seven, Daddy and my mother having an argument, because he'd come back from a day's shooting, and had started cleaning his gun at the kitchen table, just when she wanted to cook dinner. That smell always brings back fond memories for me, though I expect it wouldn't for you." "No, but they'd be surreal memories rather than just bad ones. Yvonne was utterly committed to her task of eradicating as much of the evidence as she possibly could. I think what really shocked me, was the way she could so easily slip back into who she'd been before Larkhall."  
  
When they'd both stubbed out their cigarettes, George put the ashtray down on the bedside table, and they slid back down under the duvet. When they came together this time, George seemed to wrap herself round Karen, almost as if to protect her from what she was determined to get her to talk about. "Someone had to put Cassie and Roisin in the picture," Karen continued. "So I left soon after Yvonne had finished cleaning the gun." "Call me a nosy old cow if you must, but is there slightly more to what Lauren has with those two than just close friendship?" "I think so," Karen said with a smile. "What made you ask?" "Just a feeling, that's all." "The odd thing is, I think it started a few weeks before Fenner was killed." "Will you tell me something?" George asked with deceptive innocence. "That depends," Karen replied, not trusting her an inch. "How did you feel when you found out he'd died?" Karen's whole body immediately stiffened, as though to prevent the words from escaping. "I think my most pressing concern was the crime itself, not the actual victim." George saw this for exactly what it was, the avoidance of anything remotely personal. "Is it such a bad thing," George said with extreme care. "To say that at the very least, you didn't know how to feel?" "No, under normal circumstances, it wouldn't be. But we both know that you have an ulterior motive in setting me on that very slippery slope." "I suppose I deserved that," George said with a rueful laugh. "But it might actually do you good to talk about it." "And I suppose when John tried to make you face your demons, you just gave in and let him drag it out of you, bit by bloody painful bit." "No, of course not," George said patiently. "I fought like hell, and in the end I made a deal with him, because there was no way I was going down on my own." This brought a brief smile to Karen's face. "Then you'll understand why the last thing I want to do, is to show you just how weak and stupid I can be sometimes." "Of course I do. But do you know what John is always telling me? He says that you can't help the things you feel." "He would come out with something like that," Karen said dryly. "Oh, I know, and I took it with a pinch of salt for a very long time. But I'm slowly beginning to think he might just be right, and don't you dare tell him I said that." "I didn't understand why I couldn't feel relieved that he was gone," Karen said, without any further prompting. "I should have been so relieved that the biggest torment of my life was finally out of the picture, but I couldn't." Karen turned onto her back, with George's arms still round her, because she wanted to be able to turn her eyes away from George's gaze if the need arose. "Roisin said that it was perfectly normal to grieve for the time I was happy with him." "And did you?" "I'm not sure even now, what I felt during those few weeks after his death. I loathe the person I was when I loved and lived with Fenner, and it's maybe that, rather than what he did to me, that tainted anything I felt about him when he died." "On Tuesday, when we came out of court and Helen tried to talk to you, was what you said to her really true?" "Oh, yes," Karen replied with grim certainty. "Marvellous, isn't it. The first thing I should think about as I waited for him to fall asleep, were the words of the one person I'd refused to listen to all along. "He's been playing you since day one, Karen," and oh, how right she was. I can remember it as if it were yesterday, the two of us standing in the number one's office, because Helen was acting number one until they found Simon's replacement. She said those exact words with that firm, Scottish inflection of hers, which can crush your illusions with the force of a crowbar. Only, I didn't listen to a word she said, not until it was too late. I remember, when I was getting dressed and he woke up, I told him that Helen Stewart was right. Jesus! Why did I do it? Why did I listen to every bloody word he said, and take it as if it was gospel." "Because just occasionally, it's the lesser of two evils," George said quietly. "Entirely different situation, I know, but I used to do exactly the same thing when I was married to John. I didn't want to acknowledge the fact that he was playing away at every possible opportunity, because that would mean having to ask myself why, when deep down I knew it was my fault. So, I ignored it. Well, until Jo." "But John isn't anything like Fenner." "No, not in the vast majority of cases, he isn't. But when you first took Jo through the events of what happened with Fenner, and when I read the transcript of that conversation, something you said came a little too close to home for both of us. You described your initial impression of James Fenner, as 'Charm personified.' It occurred to both of us, that this was really quite a perfect description of John."  
  
After a short silence, Karen turned the conversation back on George. "Why did you think his playing away was your fault?" George was taken by surprise, but after a thought or two, she answered. "I didn't really enjoy bed for quite a long time after Charlie was born. All the guilt I had inside me about her, made me feel that I didn't deserve to be happy, and that John was loving me under false pretences. He didn't understand why I didn't want him near me, or if I did, why I couldn't enjoy it. So, he played away to make himself feel better. It never even occurred to me to pretend to John in those days, but sometimes I wish I had. I couldn't tell him why I was so unhappy, and because I knew I was hurting him, it piled the guilt on even more." "Which is why you ate less and less," Karen finished quietly. "Yes, wonderfully vicious little circle, isn't it. The day he finally realised what I was up to, and when he dragged the reason for it out of me, that was definitely the worst day of my life. I didn't think it was possible to feel worse than I already did, but it was. John would hardly let me out of his sight for over a week. I think he thought that if he did, it would be the last he'd ever see of me." They held each other close for a while, both thinking that they'd definitely met their match when it came to hidden demons.  
  
"Do you often have dreams of what Fenner did to you?" George asked into the silence, finally reaching the heart of why they were awake, and discussing such deep and hurtful things in the early morning, with the sun not yet risen. "Was it that obvious?" Karen asked quietly. "Very," George replied softly. "It depends how stressed I am. But I've had more of them in the last fortnight than I've had for quite a while." "The trial was bound to bring out a few unwelcome things you thought you'd buried." "Not quite the right word in the circumstances," Karen said with a small smile. "I keep doing that," George replied in half disgust, half-nervous laughter. "I noticed that, the first time you came to the pub with us." "It's an odd thing," George mused. "But I've never felt quite so at home, than I have this last couple of weeks, with a group of ex-cons, for want of a better word." Karen smiled. "And two governors if you please." "Those with a clean criminal record, taken as read." "I know what you mean, though. When Yvonne was released and we started spending a lot of time together, I got to really know Cassie and Roisin as well, plus Barbara and Crystal, and whoever else came along, and it's always felt right. I've never questioned it, not even once. Every single one of them were as legally crooked as you can get when they were inside, but there's nothing they wouldn't do for each other, or anyone they think of as one of them." "When you do dream about Fenner," George said, getting back to the matter in hand. "How vivid is it?" "A bit too vivid," Karen replied unsteadily, having been taken off her guard. "It's as though he's really there, really... George, I can't do this," She ended desperately, turning her face away in hope that George wouldn't see the tears that had risen to her eyes, and which she was having great difficulty restraining. "Yes, you can," George gently encouraged, taking the hand she'd been softly stroking. "No, please," Karen persisted, making an attempt to get out of bed, to flee from the thing that scared her most. "Am I really so frightening?" George asked quietly, realising exactly what the problem was, but wanting to get Karen to voice it herself. "No," Karen said bitterly. "But letting go, dropping all my barriers, is. I don't want you to see that." "Why?" George persistently probed. "Because I don't want to frighten you off," Said Karen, some of her control visibly slipping. "Because I don't want you to regret getting to know me. What Fenner did to me, it makes me feel as though he's left me with a mental version of HIV, or something else equally destructive. But instead of being in my body, it's in here," She tapped her forehead. "And it's not something I can get rid of. The only positive about his being dead, is that he'll never again be able to do to anyone else the kind of thing he did to me, to Helen, to countless others. But that doesn't make it any easier to deal with. I'm sorry," She added, suddenly noticing the tears that were, despite her best efforts, coursing down her cheeks. "You don't need to be sorry," George said, tears in her own eyes for the corrosive torture she could see emanating from Karen's every pore. "But you need to let it out, because the longer you keep it hidden away inside, the more damage it will eventually do." "But this isn't me. Letting someone in just isn't what I do." "Then maybe it's about time you did," George insisted gently. "I used to be like you, never revealing who I really was to anyone, and do you know where it got me? Twice in my life, it's almost been the death of me. The only reason I came out of my last seriously downward spiral, was because both John and Jo pulled me out. If Jo hadn't all but forced me to start opening up, that day I fainted in court, I probably wouldn't be here now. So I am not letting you do the same. Is that clear?" "You're a stubborn cow sometimes, aren't you," Karen said affectionately through her tears. "Yes," George said firmly. "John will testify to nine years of my stubbornness, and my father to even more." After some time of just holding each other, their tears dried. They were safe and warm in their little haven, wrapped in each other's arms and huddled under the soft, thick duvet. "You know," George said into the silence. "There's one thing I really ought to do this weekend, I ought to tell John about us." "Are you sure you're ready for that?" "The longer I leave it, the harder it'll be, and it's something I really ought to do on my own, though I'm sure he'll have plenty to say to you at some point." "Oh, how I will look forward to that little exchange of words," Karen said dryly. "Is that all right, if I put him in the picture?" "Of course. I've no wish to keep him in the dark longer than necessary. Has Jo been okay about it?" "Oh, she's fine," George said with a broad grin. "She wanted to know what it was like, sleeping with a woman, so I told her to try it." "Poor Jo," Karen said with a soft, fond laugh. "We got talking about her and John last week, and I told her to have an affair with a woman, because that was a sure way of keeping him on his toes." George laughed. "Oh, dear. I don't think she'll take our advice though. It's a pity, because that really would give him something to think about." 


	54. Part Fifty Four

Part Fifty-Four  
  
As George drove in to the car park of the digs, late on the Saturday evening, she couldn't help but feel nervous. If there was one thing that might irrevocably rock the boat of this three-way relationship, it was her and Karen. A slow, sexy smile crossed her face as she remembered the previous evening. It turned her on, just to think about what they'd done. But that wasn't what she was here for. After talking about a lot of things in the early morning, they'd come to the conclusion that the sooner John knew how things were, the better. The longer they left him in the dark, the more awkward things would be. With this resolve in mind, George got out of the car and walked towards the Judge's lodgings.  
  
John was sitting in his room, papers from the Lauren Atkins trial spread the length and breadth of the dining table, trying to work out exactly what sentence he would give her, depending on what verdict the jury brought in. If she was found guilty of murder, he would have no choice but to give her a life sentence, but that wouldn't prevent him from making a recommendation or two. If she was found not guilty, then she would obviously be free to go, but John didn't think this was very likely. The real quandary would arise if she were found guilty of manslaughter by definition of diminished responsibility. So, he was getting ahead of the game, reading and rereading the two psychiatric reports, as well as the transcript of the entire trial to date. When he received the knock on his door and Mr. Johnson showed in George, he looked up with mixed feelings. He hadn't spoken to George for a good few days, and by the look of her, she'd come to tell him about her and Karen. "You look busy," She said as he got to his feet. "I can come back some other time." "No, stay," He said, putting his arms round her and kissing her cheek. "I've probably had more than enough of this lot anyway." "Is that from the Lauren Atkins trial?" She asked, catching sight of the name on a piece of paper. "Yes. I'm trying to work out what sentence I might give her when the time comes." As John began stacking the papers together, George couldn't keep still. She started helping him at one point, just to give her hands something to do. "If I didn't know better," He commented quietly. "I'd think you were incredibly nervous about something." George stopped in horror that he'd noticed. "Yes, I am," She said, handing the final report to him to put in the folder. "I've got something to tell you." "And is it so bad, that you're positively afraid of telling me?" "I've got absolutely no idea how you're going to react, so yes, in one sense I suppose it is bad." "Would you like a drink?" He asked, seeing that she really wasn't looking forward to the conversation she thought they were about to have.  
  
When he'd poured her a martini, he sat in his favourite armchair, watching her as she prowled round the room, looking at pictures, picking up the odd ornament, and stopping by a chair on which sat his open violin case. When she ran her gentle hand along the beautifully carved neck of the violin, and delicately plucked the strings, it seemed as though she was bestowing such affection on something which was so much a part of his soul, that it gave him an incredible surge of protectiveness for his instrument. John didn't try to find out what was bothering her, partly because he knew, and partly because she had to be allowed to tell him in her own time. Jo had been right about that. The worst thing he could do now was to rush her. But George seemed incapable of speaking. Her mouth felt dry, and her throat clogged with the words that she just couldn't force out.  
  
"Would you like me to make it easier for you?" He asked into the silence. "You don't know what I'm about to say, so I don't see how you can." "Ah," He said slowly. "But I do." "What! How can you?" Her face was a mixture of shock, hurt and anger. "How long have you known?" She demanded, feeling slightly betrayed that he'd let her go through the tortuous anticipation of his reaction. "I've only known since Thursday," He said mildly, trying to calm her down. George couldn't look at him. Her eyes flitted from one object to another, not meeting his for fear of what she might see. "You didn't need to be quite so frightened, you know," He said, feeling the uncertainty coming off her in waves. "I might have been initially hurt that you hadn't told me, but I'm not angry with you." "So why wait for me to tell you? I've been psyching myself up all day for this." "Jo said that you needed to do this in your own time, and much as I disagreed with her, I think she was right." George looked furious. "Did Jo tell you?" "No, of course not," John said defensively. "Jo was more than a little loyal to you. I virtually had to drag it out of her." George found herself feeling a flash of sympathy for Jo, having had experience of John's persistent questioning on previous occasions. "But how did you find out?" She asked, looking a little perplexed. "I worked it out," He said, with a twinkle in his eye because he knew how this would infuriate her. "How?" She asked scornfully. "Sit down, and then I'll tell you. You're making the room look untidy." With a roll of her eyes in slight exasperation, she sat in an armchair not far from his. "When I came to see you a week last Wednesday, I knew I could smell a different perfume in your house. You've always worn the same perfume all the time I've known you. But, I didn't think anything of it, because the sight that greeted me when I got upstairs drove everything else from my mind." George blushed slightly when she remembered what he had seen. "Anyway, when Karen came back to court on Thursday to apologise for walking out, I gave her a hug, and after she'd gone, I remembered where I'd last been aware of that perfume. After that it was easy." "You've always wanted to play Sherlock Holmes, haven't you," She said with a rueful smile. "Why were you so worried about telling me? It's not as if you're attraction to other women is unknown to me. I think you gave Jo a bit of a shock, though." "I wanted to tell you myself," She said quietly, brief tears rising to her eyes because she'd wanted to prepare him for it, not have it thrust upon him at a moment's notice. "But, best laid plans and all that," She added, trying to get herself under control. "Come here," He said softly, and when she approached him, he took her hand and pulled her down on to his knee, enclosing her in the arms that would now be competing for her. "Why so frightened of telling me?" He asked, gently kissing her. "Because I didn't want to hurt you, hurting you is the last thing I would ever want to do. When we last, when you last came to see me, I'd been out for dinner with Karen, and I'd wanted her to stay and not wanted her to stay, so she didn't. I couldn't come up with the goods for you, because what I'd not long before been doing felt so new." "You don't have to explain," He said softly. "John, why are you being so nice to me?" She asked in total despair, knowing that finding out like that must have hurt him deeply. "Because Jo told me to be," He said with a completely straight face. George couldn't help smiling. "Did she really?" "Yes. I kept badgering her to tell me who your new lover was, because it became obvious she knew." "Oh, poor Jo," George said in slight admonishment. "She knocked some sense in to me on Thursday night. When it dawned on me exactly who your new lover was, I was cross, bewildered and hurt all in one." "Oh, darling, I'm sorry," She said, putting her arms round him. "I think I was mostly cross because Jo had known and not told me." "Yes, and I shouldn't have put her in that position," George said regretfully. "I'm sure she'll forgive you," John said dryly. "Jo gave me a bit of a talking too. She said that this relationship wasn't just about me any more, and she said that allowing you to get used to this in your own time was far more important than satisfying my curiosity." "Oh, dear," George interjected, wholly unable to keep the slight smile off her face. "She made me realise that all you're really doing is what I've been doing for the last fifteen months." "John, what really got to you about all this? Because it isn't just the fact that I kept you in the dark for a few days." "Erm," He suddenly looked a little uncomfortable, turning his face away from her to avoid her unflinching gaze. "I think I thought I was going to lose you." "Oh, John," George said, feeling truly guilty for making him think this. "I'm not going anywhere." "Aren't you?" He asked slightly petulantly. "No," She reassured him gently. "I love you, John, and I'm not about to say goodbye to what I have with you, just because of someone new on the scene. I've got no idea how long this thing with Karen might last, but she will never, ever take me away from you." "You don't know that, George." "Yes, I do," She said gently. "And Karen knows it too." "I can't believe I talked to her on Thursday and she didn't tell me either." "John, think about it," George said seriously. "After what happened on Thursday afternoon, that was probably the last thing on her mind." "How is she now? Because she didn't seem particularly good when I saw her." "She's fine, or at least she was last night," George said, the soft, sleepy smile of sexual contentment brightening up her face. "I can't believe you've finally got round to it after all these years," He said with a slight leer. "If you hadn't already slept with more women than I care to count, I would highly recommend it," She said, her broad grin matching his. "Oh, you like it that much, do you?" He asked, now playing along with her. "It's incredible," She replied, drawing out the word incredible, to give it maximum emphasis. She kissed him lingeringly. "I now know why you like giving oral so much." He laughed deep in his throat. "The thought of you doing that to Karen will keep me quiet for weeks." "You were the one who told me to do it after all," She said with a wink. "Did I?" He said in surprise, thinking this must have been the result of a moment's insanity. "Yes, that night you told me about you and Karen. You said you thought that I ought to sleep with a woman." "And when did you ever do anything I told you to do?" "Well, darling," She said between kisses. "There has to be a first time for everything." "So I see," He replied, allowing her nearness to temporarily take away any residual hurt or confusion he'd been feeling about George and Karen.  
  
After some of this simple closeness punctuated by some fragmented conversation, George said, "I want to make love to you." "So you haven't entirely gone off the idea then?" He said dryly, though with a hint of real concern in there somewhere. "John," George said firmly. "This is me you're talking too. I will never, ever, get bored of sleeping with you, I promise." She punctuated this statement with yet more kisses, steadily trying to persuade him that she was here, that she loved him, and that she wanted him. "Are you turning my usual trick back on me?" He asked in amusement as he recognised what she was up too. Grinning wickedly she said, "Well, I did learn from the best after all." "So you did," He said, his voice deepening slightly. When his hand came in to contact with her blouse-covered breast, her kisses became deeper. "I love you," He said, and she could hear the desperate need he felt for her. "I know you do," She replied, leading his hand to the buttons of her blouse. When the buttons were undone, he was presented with the glorious sight of her beautiful, pointed breasts, with no bra impeding his view. He took a moment to just stare at her loveliness, the cream silk framing her extremely pretty breasts to perfection. "You're so beautiful," He said in slight wonderment. "You sound as though you've only just noticed," She said with a smile. Putting out a finger, he ran it caressingly over the skin that surrounded her right nipple, eliciting a gasp of sheer eroticism from her. It seemed to her that he was taking in every inch of her figure, in an attempt to preserve the memory of her forever. So as to distract him from this moment of contemplation, she moved her thigh so that it rubbed up against his steadily growing erection. Then, she detached his arms from around her and slid from his lap onto her knees on the carpet in front of him. Observing the slightly predatory gleam in her eye, he realised exactly what she had planned. As she reached for the zip of his fly, he said, "Much as I couldn't think of a better way to spend the evening, you don't have to do that." "I want to," She said simply. Gently removing his length from his trousers, she smiled when she saw how ready he was for this. As her lips deftly encircled the head, he reached for the remote control on the side table and flicked on the stereo, filling the room with some soft music to accompany their dance where for once, she was leading. As the pressure of her lips increased, drawing him in and out of her mouth, swiping her tongue over the surface as she might an ice lolly, he gently removed the chignon from her hair, running his fingers again and again through the blonde, silky strands. He breathed a deep sigh of contentment as she relaxed her throat muscles enough to take him into its soft and hollow depths. Then she would withdraw to the tip again, just faintly teasing him, never quite allowing him to predict what she might do next. She had an arm round his waist to steady herself, and at one point tangled the fingers of her other hand with one of his. She could do this to him with her mouth and mouth alone, no hands necessary, and he loved it. Not once did her teeth accidentally come into contact with his skin, George having quickly learnt the art of damage limitation. At one particularly hard and luxurious squeeze from those enchantingly pouting lips of hers, he made a sound deep in his throat that made her smile. She loved doing this to him, utterly revelling in making him temporarily submit to her ministrations. But as her rhythm took on a particular pattern and speed, he knew that it was time to gently detach her from him, and to finish this off in some other way. "George," He said, his throat almost dry with lust, but she ignored him. Laying his free hand on her face, he tried to gently push her away from him. Knowing exactly what he was up to, she took his free hand in hers that had been around his waist, and holding both his hands to the arms of the chair, she continued. A broad, thoroughly wicked smile spread across his face. It wasn't often George took him the whole way like this, but when she did, it was fantastic. Increasing her speed, George attempted to relax her throat even more, trying to keep all her senses away from what was coming. His breathing quickened, any control he might previously have had, leaving him in an instant. It was incredible, being under her spell like this, being almost held down, so that she could take what she wanted from him, though he would never tell her this. When his release crashed over him, she swallowed every drop he had to give, using her tongue to remove all traces from him as she accepted his offering. When she knew he was spent, she reached for her glass of martini and downed it in one. When she looked back at him, he'd refastened his fly and was watching her. Pulling her back in to his arms, he said, "If you detest the taste so much, why do it?" "Because I know you like it, and because it makes me feel incredibly naughty. Besides," She added with a mischievous grin. "There's nothing quite as erotic as making you completely lose control." "You're one in a million, you are," He said as he kissed her. "Hmm, well, I'll make you taste it one of these days," She replied with a wicked little smirk that left him in no doubt that she might just follow through with her threat.  
  
A little while later when they moved up the stairs in the corner of the lounge to his bedroom above, his hands were feverishly removing the rest of her clothes. "You're very eager," She commented, undoing his belt and attacking the buttons of his shirt. "Well, having not made love to you for over a fortnight, I intend to make up for lost time." "Oh, do you now?" She drawled. "Yes," He said firmly, drawing back the duvet and gently pushing her down on to the bed. "Two weeks of not giving this body all the pleasure it was made for is far too long." As he immediately latched on to one of her nipples and slipped a hand between her legs, she said, "It feels like you're putting your claim on me." "Perhaps I am," He murmured through a mouthful of exquisitely female flesh. "You don't need to be quite so territorial, you know," She said with a smile, and then gasped as he slid two fingers inside her. On discovering just how wet she already was, he said, "You really do get something out of doing that for me, don't you." "Yes," She said, her breathing quickening as he massaged her clit with a well-lubricated finger. When his teeth grazed her skin, she gave a small yelp. "I'm sorry," He said, though not sounding especially apologetic. "Oh, you be just as rough as you like," She said through gritted teeth. "I think that today, I just might be in the mood for it." Taking her at her word, he moved over to the other nipple, all the time keeping his hand moving lower down. Not long after, she said, "Please, John, I need you inside me, now." Loving it when she virtually begged him like this, and her slightly vocal reactions to him having made him once again rise to the occasion, he hovered over her and slid inside her with one long thrust. She immediately wrapped her arms and legs round him, pulling him as close to her as possible. Now she really did discover that he was putting his mark on her, saying that no matter who else she might sleep with in her spare time, she would always be his. His arms wrapped around her shoulders, he slammed into her again and again, grazing her G spot every time and bringing her closer and closer to the edge. Her gasps became more frantic, she clung to John still harder, and finally soared over her peak with one loud cry of abandon. She almost squeezed the life out of him as she came, which meant that he followed soon after.  
  
When he gently withdrew from her and they lay slightly apart, their breathing slowly returning to normal, she said, "What on earth got into you?" He looked a little sheepish. "I don't know. I think I was just reasserting myself. Sorry if it was a bit much." "Who's complaining," George said turning onto her side and kissing his shoulder. "I'm not saying I'd like it like that every day of the week, but it was pretty bloody explosive." As they took a shower together a short while later, George reflected that with both Karen and John taking care of her every sexual fantasy, she wouldn't feel deprived ever again. But when they were back in bed, and slowly drifting to sleep in each other's arms, John said softly, "You won't ever leave me, will you?" "No," She said, gently kissing him. "If there's one thing I've learnt and learnt well over the last fifteen months, it's that not having you in my life would finish me off altogether. So no, I'm not going anywhere, I promise."  
  
When George slowly rose in to consciousness early on the Sunday morning, she was at first puzzled as to what had woken her. But then she realised that one of John's hands was delicately playing over her breasts, occasionally brushing her nipples, which is what had attracted the attention of her fog filled brain. Breathing in through her nose, she groaned in half asleep, half-aroused interest. When John realised that she was not opposed to his attentions, he kept his right hand moving over her cleavage, and trailed his left hand downwards. George had turned over in her sleep, and so was now lying with her back to him. She stretched luxuriously as his hand crept between her legs, the gentle, incredibly sexy awakening serving to heighten her senses. When she let out a deep moan of utter contentment, he began dropping feather-light kisses over her shoulder. When she finally turned over to face him, she could feel his hardness against her thigh. Without a single word between them, their legs entwined, and still on their sides, he slid gently inside her. This was the sort of sleepy, lazy, Sunday morning type of sex that George found she didn't get nearly enough of these days. Weekends were made for this sort of long, slow screw, and with John usually dividing his weekends up between her and Jo, it wasn't something either woman had in anything like a substantial amount. They rocked gently to and fro, their legs and arms wrapped around each other, occasionally kissing and still not saying anything. Nothing needed to be said, they loved each other, they felt that drowsy, early morning type of horny, so why not make use of it. The position they were in meant that the base of his shaft continuously rubbed against her clitoris, causing every nerve ending in her to be set alight. George loved this position because he could keep going for ages like this, occasionally causing her to have her own orgasm half way through, and be ready for the second in which he joined her. When they gently rocked themselves to completion, he kissed her long and hard, again laying a claim on one of his alpha females.  
  
As they lay afterwards, George said, "Good morning," In that deeper, husky voice that he'd always found sexy. "We haven't done that for a while," He observed. "No, and I think it's a tradition that needs resurrecting," She said with a soft, sleepy smile. "Has Karen ever woken you up like that?" He couldn't help asking, a sheepish little smile turning up the corners of his mouth. "Sort of, the first time I slept with her," She yawned. "And you don't need to look quite so guilty and curious all in one go," She added with a smirk. "I can't help being curious," He said, his smile becoming broader. "But I thought you might not want me to ask." "And when has that ever stopped you?" George asked in mock disgust. "So you don't mind then?" "No, of course not. Besides, there isn't much I can tell you about Karen that you don't know already." "Yes, talking of just how much I know about Karen, Jo worked out that I'd slept with her. It seems the way I defended her character in court on Thursday brought a spark of enlightenment to something Jo had always wondered." "Ah, yes, I thought it might," George said resignedly. "Darling, to people who know you, it was a bit obvious. Was she cross with you?" "Not really. I don't think either of us could really be bothered to go into it." "Because you were trying to browbeat her over what she knew about me." "I didn't browbeat her," He said defensively. "I just probed and prodded until I got the answers I was looking for." George grinned wryly at him. "John, I know what you're like when you get in to full prosecution mode, there's no stopping you." "Just, next time," He said seriously. "Don't keep me in the dark and don't be afraid to tell me."  
  
An hour or so later when John let her quietly out of the digs so that no one would know she'd stayed the night, George felt that, despite the short period of slightly choppy waters, her life might be about to tread an even keel for a while, the balancing forces of John and Karen on either side, with Jo always either in front or behind her, to keep her firmly on course, and to prevent her from sinking below the surface as she'd almost done all those months ago. 


	55. Part fifty Five

Part Fifty Five  
  
Right at the end of the Friday afternoon, Jo had nipped back into the courtroom once the initial surge of people heading for home and hearth had expended itself. She sought permission to extract from the bundle of original documents, Ritchie's letters to Yvonne and Lauren. They belonged to Yvonne, so Jo's sense of doing justice argued, and it was only the necessity of court proceedings that had held them from her for as long as was necessary. Despite her brave words to Yvonne, her hopes were like a blind step in the dark to keep Yvonne's spirits up and, by extension, her own. She leafed her way through the very familiar order of the evidence in the box files and found the right polythene enclosure and slid out the two very ordinary notes of scribblings on prison issue paper. Yet these had gone to the heart of the tragedy that had overtaken the lives of so many. They had even drawn in herself, George and John himself in knowledge of actions, which all three knew they should never have possessed in advance of public knowledge. She realised that all of them had reacted to that primal fear of being caught on the wrong side of the wire, and that logic and reason had nothing to do with it.  
Jo carefully folded them up inside the polythene wrapping and tucked them in the safest part of her handbag for safe keeping. She stared round the empty court and smiled fondly at the vacant space in the gallery once occupied by that very remarkable female support group. She had glimpsed them from afar for the last two weeks and had been privileged to spend lunchtime being among them. It was a very new experience to her. She couldn't define it but it felt good. A feeling of sheer exhaustion overtook her as she made her way to her car and she battled her weary way homewards through the bumper to bumper traffic gridlocks of London.  
  
One of Jo's few lotus-eating indulgences was lying in bed on a Saturday morning after a long hard trial which this one had been. Life was easier as she got older as in past years, she was 'mum' from the moment her two lively little boys woke up in the morning and somehow she summoned the energy to rouse herself out of bed and that other Jo Mills took over from her. The hundred and one activities that children will demand of the parent was something that the relentlessly and conventionally minded colleagues in the chambers would never understand. In every unguarded syllable was the dimly sensed shape of the female nestmaker who ensured that every perfectly turned out male barrister could singlemindedly devote himself to his career with the occasional reference to the family outings which 'he' had taken the wife and children to. That kind of smugness about them irritated her as much as she solidly disapproved of the professional ethics of two of their kind like Neumann Mason-Alan and Brian Cantwell. True, she had once been like one of those consorts when she was younger, when she had married. He had been a good man and had been all the world to her. Sharing his bed, going everywhere with him and the natural physical intimacy that marriage brings had been natural, part of her life, as had been the physical flowering of motherhood. She had taken to both like a duck had to water with no thoughts that life could map out anything different.  
At that age, the modern Jo ruefully reflected, you never know the twists and turns life can take and when you are young, you are more confident and less aware of the pitfalls that you can step into.  
She stretched out for her cigarette packet and her lighter for her first thing in the morning cigarette. That was one of her indulgences, which she sacrificed when she slept with John. Well, John Deed, you are not here to silently disapprove of me, she smiled to herself as she blew smoke into the air. She had as much unfettered space to stretch out in her double bed as to feel unconstrained in what she did on a sunny Saturday morning, to read a newspaper if she wanted to, and to get up whenever she liked. She knew Mark was asleep in his bedroom next to hers, but he had reached the teenage years when he would respond to any friendly move into his space by that suspicious grunt of annoyance and the sort of inarticulate frozen atmosphere by which he hoped that his mother would get the point. At that age, he was defiantly and insecurely trying to establish himself as other than the son of the famous barrister. There was an unspoken agreement that he would go his way and she would go hers so long as he kept up with his studies and she wouldn't interfere. Therefore, on a Saturday morning, both of them blissfully whiled away the morning with a whole weekend to unwind before them.  
  
Sunday morning for Jo was a different matter, as she bustled round the house early to make way for what she had in mind to do.  
"Hello Yvonne, it's Jo Mills." "To what do I owe the phone call, Jo?" her faintly mocking tones could be heard with an underlay of real pleasure of friendly and welcome human contact.  
"Is it all right if I call round and see you? I was going to return Ritchie's letters to you if you want them. "Well," came the dragged out response, "Victoria Beckham has just phoned me up and said that she's ever so sorry, she's jet setting off to the Algarve for a photo shoot and my extensive social life is a bit thin on the ground. Yeah, of course you can, so long as you're not just going to act as postman. You don't get away as easily as that." "I wouldn't expect any less, Yvonne." Jo's warm tones cheered Yvonne up as she had paced about the house like a caged tigress all morning. Yvonne had literally sweated out the longest weekend in her life by unbearable second after second of the clock, which had ticked away. When you have a daughter who could be banged up for life and your existence feels suspended, helpless, by the dangerously random fate of a jury and a judge, however sympathetic the guy might be. She liked the judge but she knew only too well that he has a job to do. Helen Stewart had taught her that one, both seen from afar at Larkhall and recently, from the steady drip by drip of conversations over the last two weeks. Of course, she wasn't the only authority figure who she knew but she firmly slammed the door on the train of thought on that one. She had quite enough on her bleeding plate. At that point, she'd ground out her cigarette and jumped to her feet. She had proceeded to hoover and dust the house from top to bottom all Saturday to keep herself busy so she wouldn't brood. When the terrifying prospect of that loomed up close, she went round the house and bagged up a lot of superfluous junk which she'd always meant to get rid of but never got round to it. That night, the house was immaculate and she was physically tired out but for a long time, her brain refused to shut down when it ought to. She had taken a long time to settle to sleep, even with more alcohol inside her than she normally drank. As she lay in bed that night, she thought bitterly that none of Charlie's old friends had found time to phone her up today and why should they act any different tomorrow? Even if it had been a long time since they'd spoken to her, surely they would have the guts to get past that one. What appealed to her least of all was the way they paraded around with guns in their pockets bragging to each other how tough and hard they were. It was a men's club and all they did was compete with each other. Women were just decorative adornments in their lives. When it came down to it, they were little boys, poncing around with their toys and they just didn't have what it took, not compared to the women she had known from Larkhall. As she woke up in the dark very early on the Sunday morning, half of her wished that she could transport herself in time to the Monday which would determine her life and the other half was more frightened to the marrow of her bones than she would ever let on to anyone, no matter how close she was to them. No one could take that fear away from her or could shoulder that burden. It was at that moment that Jo Mills had phoned and her unconscious prayer for something to get her way through the day was answered. She couldn't bleeding well untidy the house and tidy it up, that would be mad stuff.  
  
Like others before her, Jo marvelled at the sheer expanse of Yvonne's house and the obviously large garden that lay at the back of it. All the trees were bare and winter's leaves lay scattered on the drive outside but Jo could see that summertime at Yvonne's would be a different affair. She knocked at the door and Jo was touched at the huge smile with which Yvonne greeted her. She could see the dark shadows under her eyes that even the expert touch of her makeup could not quite conceal. On her part, propriety held her back from giving Jo a big hug to express her gratitude at human company. You didn't do that sort of thing with female briefs. "Come in, Jo," Yvonne offered expansively.  
Jo followed, wide eyed to see how much of a luxurious lifestyle was built on crime. She knew that phrase as one that she had used in court. It was just that she had never come across the reality of it.  
"It's nice and quiet round here," Jo remarked conversationally.  
"Too bloody quiet," Came the throaty answer putting a different spin on the word.  
"I know what you said, Jo about if the jury is out for a long time, that's a good sign. But a sign of what? How many years does that mean, that's what's hammering at my brain. I'm more scared of this than anything else I've ever faced in my life." "Because it's your daughter and not you," Jo gently interposed. "…and because you can't do anything about it." A warm smile spread slowly across Yvonne's drawn features and she blinked back a few tears out of her eyes. This quiet woman dressed in a simple open necked blouse and a pair of casual trousers was a mile away from the court dignitary. That battling woman dressed in her formal gown and wig pitching it strong to that weasel of a brief should have been another woman altogether, yet there was no sense of artificial distinction.  
"I'm a mother too, and it doesn't take rocket science to work out how you're feeling." Yvonne warmed to this unpretentious woman who was turning out to be very relaxing company.  
They both heard a soft padding sound and a large black Alsatian trotted eagerly up to them. All day yesterday, he had been vaguely disconsolate as he sensed his mistress was upset and was bustling about. He had managed as best as he could till some kind fate provided him with a new visitor. "This is the famous Trigger," Yvonne introduced him with a grin as was his due.  
Jo immediately made friends with this large black soppy dog who clearly didn't have an ounce of harm in him.  
"So this is the dog who supposedly terrified the life out of that idiot policeman?" Jo laughed.  
"Yeah well, frightening the life out of policemen was part of his training," Yvonne grinned.  
Yvonne nipped off to make two cups of steaming hot coffee in her pristine kitchen. Sometime yesterday, she must have blitzed her way through it though she could not remember when.  
Presently, they sat at ease facing each other and chatting away more comfortably. The thought that she was deviating away from her normal professional custom in socialising with clients drifted past her like a gust of cold wind outside the living room window as of no significance. With a huge feeling of relief, Yvonne grasped in turn at the company she was being offered and she kept the conversation light.  
"You're pretty close to the judge, Jo." "Only so far. It's complicated." "Try me." "There's the matter of professional ethics of a barrister appearing before a judge. Ex-wives and ex-partners are fine. Current wives and current partners are a definite no no. They think there's a risk of pillow talk." Jo's studied distancing of herself from the code of conduct was not lost on Yvonne. This was a new world to her but she's never too late to learn.  
"So that hasn't stopped you any more than you came close to doing over that brief of theirs, after he tried to ruin Karen." In turn, the repressed anger with which Yvonne spoke conveyed a peculiar flavour to Jo. It was half directed at Karen and half protective of her.  
"You're still very fond of Karen, aren't you." "She's with George now," Yvonne said non-committally. "That's been bleeding obvious through the trial, but she's been there when all Charlie's friends have done bugger all." "I found that out when I spotted a very indiscreet George, who blushed a very delicate shade of pink when she noticed me." Yvonne couldn't help a faint smile at Jo's delicately drawn mental portrait. When she lost her sense of humour, that's a sign that she's really down and out, mentally and physically. The way they had drifted into this conversation brought the barriers down on something she'd turned over at the back of her mind since the trial started. Until now, the fierce rush of events had prevented her from properly thinking about it apart from that one conversation with Karen when she had tried her best not to appear a jealous cow. "Karen's got the right to see who she wants. It's not as if she's handcuffed to me, it's just that…….." "I know." Jo's simple words might have seemed banal from anyone else but not her. Yvonne could see that Jo spoke from her heart quite as much as she spoke from her head. More than ever, Yvonne could tell that Jo was way beyond that offhand description of a brief. In her past life, talking to a brief and having your collar felt by the Old Bill went together like fish and chips. Not any more.  
"You're as loyal to Karen, admit it, in the same way that John and I are loyal to each other in our fashion, despite outward appearances." "Tell me more, Jo." "I don't know if it helps, but John and I have loved each other despite the many times he has strayed." "Like with Karen." "How did you know?" "No man blows up like a landmine over a woman even over what that bastard of a brief did to Karen." Jo smiled to herself. So, Yvonne had spotted that one too and with far less knowledge of john than she had. Yvonne certainly spotted things that her pompous colleagues in chambers would have missed by a mile. "You're right, but don't underestimate that very real, very chivalrous side of John. That was the very first thing that attracted me when I first knew him, attracted me at a time when I was comfortably married to a good man. I was happy and settled up till then. I might have married him if only……." Yvonne couldn't get her head round this one. The judge clearly played away from home when he had the chance, acted just the same way as Charlie did in this respect. Yet her regard for him was not that of her attraction despite herself for the 'all men are bastards' club. This bloke was different, decent in his way and stood between her Lauren getting a long stretch. She carried on chatting to this friendly woman who, in turn, resolved to give Yvonne the letters from Ritchie later in the day. That was the reason she had come to see her, after all. 


	56. Part Fifty Six

A/N: Betaed by Jen, Little Dorritt and Kaatje. Thank you!  
  
Part Fifty-Six  
  
When they arrived at court on the Monday morning, they had been rejoined by George and Crystal, all nine of them waiting for the verdict. Tempers were frayed, with Yvonne and Cassie continuously bickering, sniping at each other because it gave them something else to focus on. They knew that the jury would reconvene at ten o'clock, so from that time onwards, one or another of them kept glancing at their watch. They took over a couple of tables in the corner of the cafeteria, but often slipping outside for a nicotine top up. When Jo appeared, George rose and went to meet her. "Do you have a minute?" She asked. "As many as you like, until the jury come back," She said, thinking that this was as good a time as any for the conversation they needed to have. George scanned their surroundings, looking for the slightest modicum of privacy, and finding none. "Let's try the barristers' lounge upstairs," Jo suggested. "Everyone else should be in court at this time of the morning."  
  
The lounge only ever frequented by barristers and other court personnel, was on the second floor of the Old Bailey, and was absolutely out of bounds to anyone who wasn't part of the old boys' network of the legal profession. It was a long, high-ceilinged room, with a long mahogany sideboard, and groups of comfortable armchairs and low coffee tables. The entire back wall of the lounge was made up of windows, and a sliding door that led out onto a spacious balcony. Jo had been right, they were entirely alone, with everyone else either in court or dealing with clients. She poured them both a coffee from the elegant pot on the sideboard, and they moved as if of one mind out onto the balcony. "This is the only place we can smoke these days," Grumbled George. "If John had his way, we wouldn't even have this luxury," Jo commented dryly. "How was your weekend?" She added, after lighting a cigarette and taking a grateful drag. "I told John on Saturday," George replied, lighting her own cigarette. "Ah," Jo simply said, thinking she might just know what was coming, but she couldn't have been more wrong. "Jo, I'm so sorry that I put you in such a difficult position," George eventually said, feeling very uncomfortable. "I shouldn't have expected you to keep something like that from him." "George," Jo said slowly but firmly. "When to tell him, or when not to tell him, had to be your decision. Neither of us could have predicted that he would work it out in the way he did. How was he?" "Oh, all right, after a substantial amount of his favourite form of persuasion, and a lot of reassurance that I wasn't about to leave him altogether." Jo smirked. "Oh, you know what he's like," George said affectionately. "That's his answer to everything." "He was quite hurt that I'd known and not told him. But he'll get over it. He'll have to, at least that's what I told him. I tried to make him understand that all you're doing, is exactly what he's been doing for the last year and a bit." "Jo," George said carefully, trying to find the right way to phrase what she wanted to say. "I think you might find that John is a little more, assertive than usual." "Oh, you mean that to reclaim his position as leader of the pack as it were, he'll probably want to sleep with both of us more than usual." George laughed. "Yes, something like that. It's funny, but the main difference about sleeping with a woman, apart from the obvious, is that it's totally equal. Maybe that's why I like it." Jo smiled. "Did you see Karen this weekend?" "Yes, on Friday," George replied, wholly unable to prevent the soft, sultry smile spreading over her face. But remembering what had happened early on the Saturday morning, she became serious again. "Have you ever seen anyone in the throws of an extremely vivid nightmare?" "John, once or twice. Why?" "Karen dreamt about Fenner, about what he did to her." "That's hardly surprising, after the last couple of weeks." "Oh, I know. It just scared the bloody life out of me, that's all." "It probably did her, too." "And she's so bloody, infuriatingly stubborn!" George said in sheer exasperation. "George," Jo said with a laugh. "You are the last person who can accuse anyone of being stubborn." "Yes, I suppose I had that coming. But she just won't talk, not really talk, without an enormous amount of cajoling. It's as though she's terrified of admitting to what's going on in her head. She said that she didn't want me to see her like that, because she didn't want to frighten me off." "Do you remember the day you fainted in court?" Jo asked quietly. "As if I'll ever forget it," George replied bitterly. "Once you started talking, you couldn't stop, but it took a good deal of encouragement to persuade you to open up. The only reason it didn't take as long as I thought it would, is because you were physically weak and emotionally vulnerable." George recoiled from this far too accurate description. "I know. I just wish she would let me help her." "Give her time," Jo said gently, seeing in this simple, little remark that George had altered immeasurably over the last year and finding the change in her, perhaps the most positive thing to come out of everything that had happened between them all.  
  
Not long after George and Jo left the others, they were approached by Coope. "Miss Betts, the judge would like to see you in chambers." "Thank you," Karen said politely, though her distinct lack of enthusiasm for the upcoming conversation wasn't lost on Coope. "Tell him I'm on my way." When Coope had gone, Yvonne said, "Is he going to slap your wrist for sleeping with his ex?" "More than likely," Said Karen, getting to her feet. "If you don't see me by the end of the day, send up a search party." As she walked away, she felt as nervous as if she was being called up before the headmaster. But this wasn't some authority figure who just happened to have a connection with the woman Karen was sleeping with, this was John, one of her dearest friends. Hurting him was the last thing in the world she wanted to do, but she had a feeling that this was what she'd already done. Before knocking on the door of his chambers, she took a deep breath, and steeled herself for what was coming. She'd known John long enough to realise that if he did feel any anger about this, it would be saved for her and her alone. When bidden to enter, she held her head high, showing the world that she'd done nothing wrong.  
  
When the door closed behind her, they stood and looked at each other. "It's not often I see you stuck for words," Karen said into the silence when he didn't appear to be forthcoming. "And it isn't often that I discover I'm the last to know something," He replied stonily. "John," Karen said gently. "When to put you in the picture, had to be George's decision. It would have been extremely wrong of me to ask her to do it before she was ready." "And I used to think that it was wrong, to keep something so important from a friend." "You know me better than that," Karen replied, stung by his words. "If it had been entirely up to me, then I probably would have talked to you about it, before even making any kind of an approach with George. But this is all new to her, so it has to work at her pace. Not mine, not yours, but hers," She finished firmly. "So why do it?" He demanded. "If our friendship means as much to you as you say it does, why make things ten times as complicated, by moving in on someone who means far more to me than she ever could to you?" "Do you have any objection, to not making me out to be some sort of predatory dyke?" Karen asked tartly, realising that both their voices was slowly rising. "It's really about time you bloody grew up, John Deed, because everything will not always remain exactly the way you want it. Oh, I get it, it's perfectly acceptable for you to divide your sex life between two people, but not all right for Jo or George to do the same?" "What relationships I do or don't have, are absolutely none of your business." "That's where you're quite wrong. Your relationship with George is my business. I'm not going away, John, for as long as George wants me around, I'm staying. So you'd better get off your high horse and get used to it." "Just one thing," John said almost casually. "I don't want to have to pick up the pieces, when you get bored of playing instructor. Is that clear?" Karen was stunned, well and truly speechless. This, coming from the man whose cast-offs must have hit triple figures by the time he was forty. It hurt her enormously to hear him say such a thing to her. Never usually being one to give up a fight, she was ashamed to feel a prickling behind her eyelids. Turning on her heel, she flung open the door and stalked down the corridor.  
  
As soon as he'd said that, he'd known he'd gone too far. He didn't want to hurt Karen any more than she wanted to hurt him, but the immense jealousy and deep insecurity he felt about the situation, had made him act abominably towards her. Swiftly making to catch her up, he called after her. "Karen, come back, I'm sorry." Turning to face him, she held up a hand. "Don't," She said bitterly. "Don't you dare assume that just because you've had more women than you've had hot dinners, that I'm the same." Walking up to him so that she could lower her voice, she continued. "Let's not forget, that with your track record, you are far more likely to hurt George, or Jo, or any other woman you care to lay your hands on, than I am. For now, George likes what she has with me, because it's different. She will never, ever leave you for anyone, no matter how much I may in future want her to. So will you please, put the hackles down, and let her spread her wings for a while." It was now John's turn to be speechless. Karen was right, he knew it, but never would she get him to admit it. "I'm sorry," He said again, quietly this time. "I hope so," She said coolly, not quite able to forgive the harsh words he'd thrown at her with so little thought. "Where do you think they might be?" She asked with half a smile, trying to find anything remotely innocuous to say. "Aren't they downstairs?" "No, they disappeared off somewhere before you summoned me." "Ah, that'll be the barristers' prerogative kicking in," He said as he led the way down the corridor. "You're not strictly permitted up here," He said as they mounted the stairs to the second floor. "But if anyone saw the argument we've just had, they'll be in no doubt that you're a barrister." Smiling at the tentative stab at humour, Karen followed him along yet another corridor, and through a pair of elegant double doors.  
  
When George and Jo heard the doors of the lounge opening, they turned to see John and Karen. But as they were going inside, John heard his name being called from further down the corridor. "I'll be with you in a minute," He said as he left her to it. "Have you two kissed and made up?" George asked, as Karen came out onto the balcony, immediately kicking herself when she saw the briefly closed expression on Jo's face. "We've shouted at each other, if that's what you mean," Karen said dryly, digging for her cigarettes. "What did he say?" George asked, not liking the sound of this. "Oh, nothing I didn't expect," Karen said lightly, not fooling either of them. "Well, at least nothing I won't get over." "He's probably just being overprotective," Jo said quietly. "Yeah," Karen replied with a shrug, and they could both see that whatever he'd said had hurt. George put an arm round Karen's waist and gave her a quick, affectionate squeeze. "He'll calm down soon enough," She said, just praying that he really would. Karen put an arm around her shoulders, taking brief comfort in having George close to her. Jo broke into a soft smile. "You look good together," She said, which brought a warm smile to Karen's face. "Try convincing John of that," Karen said dismissively, not really knowing how to take such a compliment. "Darling, what did he say to you?" George asked again, looking up into Karen's face. "Forget it," Karen said bitterly, and when George took a breath to persist, she said, "Believe me, it's best left forgotten. I just wish he could get it into his head, that I didn't intend to rock the boat." "Karen," Jo said firmly. "You know as well as I do, that John is the last person who should criticise anyone for sleeping with someone else. He'll get over it. Just give him time." Just then, Coope put her head through the lounge door and called to Jo. "Mrs. Mills, the jury's back with a verdict." "Thanks, Coope," Jo called back. "Well, this is the moment we've all been waiting for," George said, as they made their way towards the courtroom. "I almost don't want to know," Karen admitted. When they arrived in the gallery, everyone was there waiting for them, and Karen slipped in beside Yvonne, wanting to be able to give her some moral support, now that the moment had come.  
  
When the jury filed back in, Yvonne's hand slipped into Karen's. She couldn't help it, she needed to know that someone was there with her. Karen gave Yvonne's hand a squeeze. The clerk of the court asked the foreman of the jury to stand. The atmosphere was electric, the silence heavy with the weight of the tension in every muscle. "On the charge of murder, do you find Miss Lauren Atkins, guilty or not guilty?" "Not, guilty," The foreman's words were clearly spaced. Karen felt her hand being forcefully gripped, with the moment of truth finally here. "On the reduced charge of manslaughter, by virtue of diminished responsibility, do you find Miss Lauren Atkins, guilty or not guilty?" The foreman seemed to hold his breath, as if not wanting to pass the verdict. "Guilty." The word echoed round the courtroom like a pistol shot. A murmuring of voices ran round the gallery, but Yvonne stayed deadly silent, not an ounce of colour in her face. She knew only too well that for manslaughter, any sentence up to and including life could be given. "Miss Atkins," John's voice resonated round the court. "Would you please stand up?" When she did so, he fixed his gaze on her. "Throughout this trial, I have heard many reasons why you chose to commit the act you did, of brutally killing another human being. Now, whilst you are undoubtedly a very mentally troubled young woman, I cannot condone your actions, and must therefore pass a sentence which befits both the crime, and your particular situation. It is incumbent upon me to impose a sentence that the general public can take seriously, yet at the same time, to ensure that you are provided with the psychiatric treatment that you clearly need. You have been in custody on remand for just over a year now, and I sentence you to one further year in custody. Your custodial sentence is as light as this, because I do not believe that you will receive adequate psychiatric care whilst you are serving your sentence, Her Majesty's prisons being as over-populated as they are. Once you are released from prison, I am ordering that you must receive whatever psychiatric treatment that may be recommended for you. However, to ensure that you sufficiently learn your lesson, the day of your release, will be the start of a five year suspended sentence. This means, that if, at any point during the ensuing five years, you commit any crime, you can be recalled to prison immediately, and this will be non-negotiable. This is in an attempt to first of all, punish you in a satisfactory manner, to secondly, ensure that you receive the psychiatric treatment you require, and to thirdly, guarantee that you do not appear in court again. In committing this crime, you have caused your mother, and those others who deeply care for you, an inestimable amount of pain and suffering, and I hope that your custodial sentence will give you ample opportunity to reflect on this. Miss Atkins, I do not expect to see you appear before me again. Take her down."  
  
There was a brief, stunned silence from the gallery as Lauren was led away. They stood automatically when the clerk called out "All rise," and like preprogrammed robots, began to make their way downstairs. Nobody said a word, none of them knowing what to say. But when they reached the foyer, Yvonne turned to George. "Why did he do that?" She asked, her face still expressionless. "Yvonne, I gave up trying to fathom the workings of John's mind years ago," George said gently. "So please don't ask me to start now." When Jo came up to them, she looked sad, guilty, and worn out all in one. "Yvonne, I'm so sorry," She said, really feeling as though she'd lost, no matter how much she'd thought this might be the outcome all along. "Hey, don't be," Yvonne said, touched by the feeling in Jo's face. "You did your best for Lauren, and we both know it could have turned out a hell of a lot worse. So don't beat yourself up about it. You worked a bloody miracle in there, and don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise." Jo was incredibly touched by Yvonne's words, but it didn't stop her feeling as though she'd failed. Yvonne's eyes shifted away from her suddenly, to take in the form of John, slowly walking towards them. Before any of them could stop her, Yvonne had broken free of them, and was striding purposefully towards him. When she stood in front of him, they simply looked at each other. "Thank you," Yvonne said quietly, as the tears began streaming down her face. "Thank you so much for what you did." John was speechless. If he'd expected any personal reaction from Yvonne Atkins, it wasn't this. Acting instinctively, he put out his arms and drew her firmly to him. He held Yvonne as she sobbed into his shoulder, feeling all the tension that had been building up in her, ever since Lauren had plunged her into a mixture of fear and despair. "I can't ever thank you enough, for not writing off my daughter's life." "All I want you to do," He said, his own voice a little unsteady with the emotion he could feel pouring over him. "Is to make sure that your daughter is never in my court, or any court again. When she comes out of prison, make sure she gets the care and treatment she needs. You are perhaps, one of the most loyal, caring, utterly devoted mothers I have ever had the pleasure to meet, so I know you can do that. Now, go home, gather all your friends around you, and get on with your life." 


	57. Part Fifty Seven

Part Fifty-Seven  
  
"…..Take her down…….." Those words had a finality similar to that of a coffin lid slammed shut. It was not the first time she had heard them. It had happened many years ago when she had been sentenced to four years imprisonment and later when that tart Merriman and her son Ritchie got what was coming to them. But now?  
'You are perhaps, one of the most loyal, caring, utterly devoted mothers I have ever had the pleasure to meet, so I know you can do that.' That was the judge's own verdict on her and after sweating out the last weekend and all those months, he had bloody acquitted her. The year that her Lauren got sounded as near to bleeding freedom as she dared hope for. Roisin and Cassie flanked her on either side. Both exchanged anxious glances at her and, together with Babs, knew full well from their experience in the Merriman Atkins trial that Yvonne would have to run the gauntlet of the press. Helen and Nikki had more distant memories to draw on, Nikki with her own trials and Helen who had accompanied Monica Spencer when she was released all those years ago. All of them sharpened their minds to be ready for anything. Karen trailed alongside George as players in the scene who were forced to remain low profile.  
Yvonne's legs felt like rubber as she walked through the foyer and her mouth was dry. She had no sense of where she was heading. A dazzling white rectangle of light opened up in front of her and a confused hubbub of noise confused her. "Steady, Yvonne. You're going to have to get clear in your mind what you're going to say to those sharks out there," Helen advised her in her own practical and forward thinking style. "I got to say something to you all now." A wave of emotions engulfed Yvonne as her throaty voice was choked off after the first few words. She was speechless for a minute or two and oblivious to everything round her.  
"I may not get a chance to say it later on, but I want to say it now. I wouldn't have made it through till today and neither would my Lauren if it hadn't been for all of you standing by us - yeah and Denny back there in Larkhall, and Jo Mills and the judge. You're all family to me and anytime you want to call round to my place, you've only got to ask." Yvonne dissolved into tears as the full weight of the emotions broke over her.  
"Come on, Yvonne Atkins. The press want to get your story for the news headlines." "Give us five minutes and we'll be out," Helen's very carrying voice shut the man up.  
"We wouldn't have missed this for the world, Yvonne." "There's no way we would have sat back and not been there for you." "We'll take you up on your offer. Besides, I want to top up my suntan this summer, and your place is the only place private enough so I don't get strap marks with nosy neighbours around. Here, you borrow my mirror so you can fix your makeup." It was a combination of Nikki and Helen's heartfelt words and Cassie's typical mixture of light heartedness. Yvonne hugged the three women in turn and attended to her makeup with her usual skill.  
"Are you going to be all right now?" Babs asked anxiously.  
Yvonne grinned, her confidence restored. She would have them eating out of her hands and make mincemeat of any young upstart that ran up against her. "Yeah, I'm fine. Karen," and here, for the first time, Yvonne looked directly at the other woman. "Can you make sure that Lauren is looked after when she gets back to Larkhall." "You have my word on it." The way that Karen looked at her straight in the eye and her solid dependability removed her last doubts as to what she knew she must do.   
  
"Mrs. Atkins, don't you think that the absurdly soft sentence that your daughter got would cause the British Public to lose confidence in the legal system?" "Well, Mr. Pressman, it all depends on what sort of tall stories you care to tell them. I wouldn't blame the public for thinking the worst of me if they don't get told what really happened." "Who are all those women with you?" "My friends. They've put themselves out to watch the trial from the visitor's gallery these last two weeks. I can't remember seeing you around." "So how do you explain why an ordinary prison officer is brutally murdered and your daughter is virtually let off?" "I don't want to slag off Mr. Fenner, but if he had been an ordinary Prison Officer, my Lauren would never have laid a finger on him." "That's right. I was once Mr. Fenner's boss," Helen's clear tones rang out and stopped the baying press in its tracks.  
"Your son Ritchie Atkins got ten years for merely helping his girlfriend set off an explosion in Larkhall prison, when one person was killed. Your daughter Lauren Atkins who murdered a Prison Officer, gets one year. She was quoted at the time her brother was sent down as saying that he 'got what was coming to him.' Does she feel the same about herself?" Yvonne stared down in contempt at this more dangerous man who had leafed through a pile of press clippings. The other reporters were crude thugs armed with a reporter's notebook but this guy was clever and vindictive. They were as bad as the worst screws she had known.  
"Yeah, she does. She has got a five year suspended sentence and has to see a psychiatrist. That's to make sure she stays on the straight and narrow and to sort her out because of the way her father, Charlie Atkins messed with her mind. He's the one who was guilty of murder and not Lauren." "That's what they all say," the hard-boiled press reporter said.  
"Look here, I want to make a statement about what I feel, not what you are trying to make me say. My Lauren is a good woman who I'm proud to call my daughter. If it hadn't been for a number of things, her father's upbringing, my son who wrote to my daughter just before he committed suicide and, unknown to me, put this plan to kill Mr. Fenner in her head and, most of that Mr. Fenner has a record as long as your arm for abusing women, my Lauren wouldn't have done what she did. I'm not trying to cover up for her, she'll do her time and she'll come out and you'll never hear from any of us again. Now, you go and print that. I have nothing more to say." Helen and Nikki moved in from behind and forcibly cleared a way through the press, which blasted off flashbulbs and yammered for Mrs. Atkins. Cassie and Roisin flanked her either side while Crystal and Babs, the smallest of them all, brought up the rear.  
  
Yvonne stared straight ahead of her while Nikki, Helen, Cassie and Roisin repeated the same mantra until they were sick of it and of the whole disgusting nightmare. "Move out of the way," "Give us space," "No, Mrs. Atkins isn't talking," "She's got nothing more to say," were hurled at the baying pack of pressmen who were scuffling for the exclusive quote. Nikki, the tallest of them, steered their progress in the direction of their car and was alarmed that some of the pressmen whom they had passed were running full pelt along the other side of the road parallel to the directing they were pushing towards.  
"Want to come to our place, Yvonne?" An exhausted nod answered Nikki. She had an overwhelming urge to be kept safe from the mindlessly intruding mob and what better minders could she get than them?  
Helen opened the back passenger door and pushed Yvonne inside. Nikki slid sideways into the car while Helen took the wheel and revved the engine in urgent warning. To her horror, even then they refused to give way.  
"Back off, back off," Cassie yelled in desperation, glaring at the crowd and led the others to push and shove the press back. For the first time in her life, Cassie could not care less as picture after picture that was blasted off at her. Gradually, Helen's car edged forward and gained momentum as she periodically tooted the horn. She seized the chance of a sudden break in the crowd, rammed the gears into second, trod hard on the accelerator and the car roared its way off down the road.  
"This makes me feel like a bleeding prisoner on the run," Yvonne's muffled voice sounded from the back.  
"Yeah, and you wouldn't be the first one I've ever driven."  
  
Back at Larkhall, the smoke-ridden air on G Wing carried a more electric excitement and anticipation than the usual bored indifference of slumping before a flickering screen. Denny was treated pride of place on the front row next to the Two Julies and they had sat through Trisha's problem programme and a rerun of some hard luck soap called 'Family affairs.' To them, it was agonising waiting for those sun-tanned spoiled argumentative brats to disappear off the TV screen and the opening credit to roll for the one o'clock national news. "Shut up everyone, the news is on," Shouted Denny at the more self-centred childish prisoners who were oblivious of everything.  
Suddenly, a camera shot of the front of the Old Bailey appeared on the TV screen and a surging crowd of pressmen. The familiar hawklike profile came into view, surrounded by all the finest of Larkhall. They could see Yvonne speaking but she was drowned out by the irritatingly smug and authoritative tones of the 'voice over.' "The daughter of gangland boss, Charlie Atkins, was given a surprisingly light sentence of one year for the killing of James Fenner, prison officer from Larkhall Prison, whose body was discovered buried in Epping Forest. When asked for her reaction, Mrs. Atkins promised that her daughter would go straight and blamed the crime on her father. An official spokesman declined to comment at this stage." A brief five second shot of a milling crowd outside cut away to the next item that the latest monthly crime figures had shown an upward trend and the Home Secretary's face appeared on the TV screen.  
"That's bollocks, man," Denny shouted. "Yvonne would never have come out with stuff like that." "Well, it's on the news. They were there and you weren't," came the vacant credulous tones on the new girl who really got on her tits by just existing, let alone talking.  
"We'll find out more when Lauren gets back. We know more about Yvonne and Lauren than John bleeding Snow, pompous git." "He's a man, ain't he. He don't know what it's like," Julie Saunders echoed Julie Johnson's more determined tones.  
  
Far from the fuss and fanfare of the press, John had retired to the peace and quiet of his chambers. It was at moments like this that he wished he could take his beloved Stradivarius violin out of its black case but he kept that in the safety of his digs. Very well, he would have to find another way to cut himself off from the world. He groaned to himself as the sound of approaching footsteps told him that either option was not to be. This time, the determined, almost military tramp warned him of impending danger and he was sure as to its nature.  
"John, in all my time in the LCD, I have never seen such a perversely lenient sentence as that which you passed on that Atkins woman. Not only will the right wing press crucify you in print for your sentence and hang you in effigy, they will bay for the blood of all the brethren. They and we, will be dragged down together and publicly ruined." The door had been flung open and they marched over, cutting out any pretence at pleasantries. John sprang up from his sofa, cold anger propelling him to move with more agility than he thought he was then capable of and turned to face his enemies.  
"You have followed the proceedings from the very start of the trial, and you have heard my reasons for the short sentence I passed. You will have heard me explain the strings I attached to it and exactly why I decided on them. You know very well the wide scope I am permitted in the case of manslaughter. Exactly what problem do you have with it?" "Even Peter Mandelson couldn't sell this to the public, John." Sir Ian's sneering laugh answered John's low tones with a very precise emphasis on the consonants, indicative of cold rage.  
"Why do you talk of 'buying' and 'selling', Ian? Lauren Atkins is not a commodity, she's a human being who has been failed by the system." "You think you can continue to thumb your nose at the LCD and the government? Someday, the government will devise ways to curb the actions of maverick judges Who bring the legal system into disrepute," Snarled Sir Ian, frustrated by John's defiance and his very pointed questions.  
" Neil Houghton tried that one time if you remember. 'Curb', as take away such freedoms that still remain in this country by fair means or foul. 'Maverick' as in standing up for the values that you and I were taught in school which you abandoned for self-advancement. Selling your soul for thirty pieces of silver. I am tired and I am ready for a rest. Now get out." John's ominous opening retort brought back memories of how the fanatical and ruthless CEO of One Way mobile phones had dragged the establishment into the criminal and immoral, by planting child pornography in John's laptop computer to force his resignation. It showed that the significance of his acquiescence in such an appalling deed had not been forgotten by John, much less forgiven. Driven, as they were to exert the maximum pressure on John, they slunk out of the door.  
  
John stared for ages at the accumulated library of learning contained in the history of legal judgements. He fumed at the sheer impertinence at the way that, over a glass of sherry, the establishment discreetly operated. He did not know that from the inside but intuitively sensed it from the way that he continually ran up against it. It had lightly determined that Lauren Atkins was this week's sacrificial victim to be cast into prison for many years. Monty Everard would surely have sealed her fate despite the sincere efforts of so many helpers. His blood boiled over at such injustice before sinking into the warm comforting feeling that it had not come to pass. It was not in any vainglorious spirit that he acted as he knelt at the feet of justice as a disinterested servant. He sank into a meditative trance of his most private moment. Completely unbidden, Karen's hurt expression appeared in his mind's eye, and his cold words telling her 'I don't want to have to pick up the pieces when you get bored of playing instructor' after 'moving in on someone who means far more to me than she ever could to you.' His still simmering anger turned against his cursed imagination, which ran away with itself at moments of weakness at the end of an exhausting trial. Karen just looked at him silently, reproachfully and disagreeable pangs of conscience started to nag at him. Such cold dismissiveness was the preserve of Sir Ian, Lawrence James and their kind. It disturbed him that his quest for knowledge had such disturbing side effects and would not let him rest even when he felt that he was most deserving of reward.  
  
Lauren passed back through the iron gates, hands clutching the plastic bags with all her belongings. They were packed last night in the unreal hope that she would not be coming back to Larkhall. Her feelings were confusion of pleasure at seeing her friends and depression at returning to drabnesss of the same bolts and bars regime when one day is just like another. It seemed like a dream that her sentence had been reduced to one year and that she had imagined the trial. "You ought to get some rest, Lauren. You look a bit peaky. Only natural for what you've been through. We'll make sure that none of the girls start asking you questions till you're good and ready. Denny'll look after you." The honeyed words of Julie Johnson made Lauren feel looked after and protected when she needed it most. It was as if they were an extension of Yvonne's maternal care and was a tiny moment in her drive to go straight just like the judge told her to. Impulsively, she hugged these two thoughtful and sensitive women. Denny put an arm round her and led her to their cell.  
It all looked bare when she looked inside. The board her side was bare of all the pictures and photos she had pinned up and her side of the wardrobe was empty.  
"Do you want a hand to put everything away? Make it look nicer," Denny softly offered, wondering if that was the right note to strike.  
Lauren nodded and both of them set to work.  
  
Much later on, Yvonne was tucked up in a strange bed at Helen and Nikki's. She was in the cosy, homely spare room where shadows from the bookcases created strange shapes.  
Her bed was a narrow single one furthest away from the front basement window. The street lamp cast a friendly glow through the basement window leaving the foreground dark. The door was open so that she was within easy earshot and speaking distance of Helen's bedroom.  
"It's nice here, Helen, nice and friendly and off the beaten track from headcases with cameras."  
"Once we'd thrown those bastards off the track, everything's fine. They'd better not turn up on my doorstep or they'll have me to reckon with, and all the worse for them if Nikki's back from the club." Yvonne had that same comfortable feeling when she used to have a late night friendly chat to a friend in the next door cell at Larkhall. After two weeks of Helen's company, it didn't feel as if there was any difference. "We meant it when I said we'd keep in touch, Yvonne." "I know that, Helen." The casual, drifting words of conversation were no polite meaningless offer. Yvonne knew enough about Helen to realise that that wasn't her style, never had been.  
The front door was opened by the key, turned by the other woman who belonged there who was no intruder.  
"Hi, Yvonne. Has Helen been looking after you?" "She couldn't have done better." The spare bed wasn't very wide but it felt comfortable. She felt that she was safely barricaded in by Nikki and Helen and everything was secure. This was a small scale, intimate continuation of the female support group that had sustained her. In any case, her house felt too big and empty tonight after everything that had happened.  
"Hey, Helen. I just wanted to say that I'm really sorry I got all those guitars shipped in to cause all that trouble with that Larkhall Tabernackle choir. I wasn't trying to take the piss out of you." Helen laughed loudly and heartily accompanied by Nikki's faint top harmony.  
"You bring that up after all these years? Stubberfield ordered closed visits against my wishes. It wasn't my problem that you were serenading Sylvia." Yvonne chuckled at Helen's witty description of one of her fondest memories. "Night night, Yvonne." "Sweet dreams, you two," Yvonne called back.  
The only things missing that peaceful night were the swingers outside. 


	58. Part Fifty Eight

A/N - Song lyrics come from Elton John's 'The One'  
  
Part Fifty Eight  
  
"Did I really dream I'd been up before the judge and only got one year?" mumbled Lauren's voice through the scrunched up quilt, which lay over her face. Her eyes were barely open as her lids felt as if lead weights were dragging them down.  
"If it was a dream, man, you got all the press and the Old Bailey to help you out," Denny's very down to earth tones greeted yet another day in Larkhall.  
  
A few hours later, Lauren felt as if the sun shining down into the canteen area was especially sunny and everything was fresh. She was beginning to feel that this day was the first day in her new life, except it was sausage, beans and mash for the third day running and she'd left half the food as it tasted disgusting. Denny cheerfully helped herself to the leftovers being the woman who was dead skinny and could shovel food down her without thinking. She was enjoying her morning cigarette which was going to have to last till teatime and that would carry her through to the weekly spends tomorrow.  
  
Dominic looked round the canteen area till his eyes lighted on her and he came over to speak to her.  
"Miss Betts would like a word with you in her office." She stubbed out the freshly lit cigarette to save till later and followed him. He was one of her favourite prison officers, who politely asked rather than demanded in a hectoring, stentorian manner like Bodybag did. She was twice as willing to accommodate him as a result and followed his easy walk to Karen's office.  
"Miss Betts, Lauren Atkins to see you." Lauren walked warily into the Wing Governor's office, born of the ingrained habits from school. She was never the best-behaved pupil and summonses to the headmaster's office were the forerunner of bad news.  
A beaming smile spread all over Karen's face as she greeted her and the warmth of the woman took her back to that other person who looked like her when she used to come round to Mum's. She saw past the familiar smart suit, which were the superficial trappings of office.  
  
"I thought I'd give you a chance to settle down after yesterday." "I've been pinching myself to persuade myself that what happened is real. I still can't believe that I'm not here for the rest of my life." "Believe me, it happened and even if I ever doubted what we've seen, I'll have it in writing soon enough. I want to congratulate you as you've held your head up high."  
  
"I can't thank you enough for getting up there on the stand for me, and Denny and Cassie and everyone who stood by me. I owe everyone so much." "It was nothing," Karen said, self-deprecatingly. Two professions had instilled that sense of duty that would not let her seem boastful of what she felt was what must be done. "Still, if there's anything I've done which has helped, I am glad." "I wanted to talk to you about your future ….." "My future? I've got the best reason to be positive and make the most of everything but there's just one thing……." "And what's that?" "It's Miss Barker. She's not going to be very happy with me for the way the trial went, and what happens when she gets back on the wing? Also Mrs. Hollamby." "There are certain things that you have to concern yourself with about how you get on. Miss Barker's situation is my concern and you work on the basis that she is not here at the present time, and only concern yourself if and when she returns. As for Mrs. Hollamby, you leave her to me. What I want you to start thinking about, is how you get on now and the psychiatric help you will get which is built into your sentence." "I'll go along with it, though I'm feeling much better than I used to. I'm not the same woman as the Lauren Atkins who landed herself up here in the first place." "You'll do more than that, Lauren. You've got a long way to go and you'll work at it when you do see the psychiatrist. You owe it to your mother. I agree that you've come a long way. I can tell. I just don't want you to be too complacent." Karen's determined tones were softened as she carried on with the smile of recognition of the woman she had known on the outside.  
"All right, Miss Betts," Lauren conceded The words of caution steadied her sudden rush of over optimism. She knew the advice was meant for her best. "Can I ask for a VO for Mum to see me." "I'll do better than that. I've got to see her and explain a few things and I'll take it to her."  
  
Karen's smile faded after Lauren had left the room, her jaunty step expressing the mature resolve for her future plans being given a realistic slant by Karen. Her smile reflected the solid fact that she had turned the corner on the worst of her life. For Karen, no such elation was possible as she had the feeling that talking to Yvonne wasn't going to be as easy as she had made out. Her orderly mind filed that away to be taken care of by the Karen that wasn't dressed in her familiar smart suits. She turned her thoughts to a matter she had left in abeyance while the trial was on, the matter of Sylvia leaving them all in the lurch the night Buki cut up. Both as manager of the wing and as one time prison officer who had to muck in at short notice, she found it hard to forgive, far less forget. So what if giving her an almighty bollocking was right after the result of the trial? Since when had Sylvia had any regard for her feelings? A tight smile of anticipation spread across her face as she reached out for her phone.  
  
"What can madam want now?" grumbled Bodybag. "As if I hadn't got better things to do with my time." "Then you'd better go and find out, Sylvia. Put yourself out of your misery." Gina's blunt unsympathetic tone concealed her pleasure at what she knew was to come as Bodybag went off in a huff.  
  
"Come in, Sylvia. Shut the door behind you." Her curt tones and hard look in her eye made the memory of her 'sickie' weekend jump back into her mind. She had started to believe that there was an end to the matter after she had handed in her self certificate with 'backache', her usual alibi, and the Monday morning of screw baiting. "It's about time I had a talk with you about your sick record in general and about your so called 'backache' the weekend before last." "So called, ma'am? I was in agony all weekend and laid up and unable to move. It's not easy, a single woman on your own trying to look after yourself." "Nothing to do with your niece's wedding," Karen cut in. "That one's all round the wing." "The very idea," exploded Sylvia. She was a past master at simulating outraged indignation. "You check with my doctor as I saw him later on last week." "The same doctor you've always had all the time I've known you," Karen observed dryly.  
"He's always been understanding, has Dr. Nicholson. I've had him for the last twenty years.  
"Indeed. I've looked at your sick record over the past four years. It's funny that there's the same pattern. It always strikes you down on weekends that you would be on cover at Larkhall not to say Mondays and Fridays. Have you anything to say?" "I can't help it," Sniffled Sylvia in full martyr mode. "I've never been the same as… as ..the time some of the worst troublemakers pushed me down a flight of stairs and……" "…..You wore that bloody neckbrace, you said that that bloody doctor of yours said that you were at death's door so you talked me into putting you on light duties. Too bad he didn't know that you were winning dance championships," Stormed Karen.  
Bodybag looked very sheepish and looked in every direction except directly at Karen. She said nothing.  
"You let down your colleagues, you let down the prison service, No thanks to you, everyone else had to put themselves out and in my stint, Buki Lester cut herself and nearly died. Oh yes, you let her down also. I would be very interested in seeing another photo which gives you away again, your niece's wedding pictures……" Karen paused for a minute as her attack from an unexpected direction took the wind out of Sylvia's sails and left her floundering.  
"It's not good enough, Sylvia. You can take this as a written warning to go down on your record and you can think yourself lucky that you don't lose your pips - this time. Perhaps you ought to think if you really have a future in the prison service, if you are as ill as you make out and you aren't retired on medical grounds. I'll be watching you anyway. Now get out."  
  
It was a few days later when Karen had just about slaved her way through all the backlog of work, which had piled up in the two weeks of the trial. She had buried herself in work as her one surefire way of preparing herself for what wasn't promising to be the easiest errand. Late in the afternoon, she told Gina that she was going to take some work home. She carefully folded Lauren's 'visiting order' away, packed some of the more routine paperwork into her briefcase and, while it was still daylight, handed in her keys at the gatelodge. She set off towards the one time familiar route to Yvonne's house where a memory told her which way to go. The nearer she got, the more uncomfortable she felt. She'd phoned Yvonne first and while she was friendly enough, she realised that the reaction was skin deep, non-committal. As her car ate up the miles, fears inside her grew that she was driving backwards into her past. When she got nearer to her house, it grew on her that the slow passage of time had moved everything on around. Where once green leaves of summer covered the trees, now they were stripped bare and were fading into the gathering darkness.  
  
Yvonne had been sitting in the deathly hush of home when the phone had rung.  
"Hi, Yvonne, I was wondering if it would be convenient to pop out and see you and chat properly for a change." "I ain't exactly running a busy schedule, Karen. Give me a time and I'll be here." "I'll be over at four if that's OK." She could tell by Karen's manner that she was busy which was more than could be said for her. She had the sense not to talk bollocks about 'the old days' but that was Karen all over.  
She stuck a CD on as she was waiting. She had pulled it out from the bottom of the rack, out of sight, out of mind.  
  
"I saw you dancing out the ocean.  
Running fast along the sand.  
A spirit born of earth and water.  
Fire flying from your hands .  
  
In the instant that you love someone.  
In the second that the hammer hits.  
Reality runs up your spine.  
And the pieces finally fit.  
  
And all I ever needed was the one.  
Like freedom fields where wild horses run.  
When stars collide like you and I.  
No shadows block the sun.  
You're all I've ever needed.  
Baby you're the …….." That was a bleeding mistake, Yvonne decided as she clicked off the remote control. She wasn't listening to too much music these days. Any sentimental crap made her feel jealous that they were getting what she wasn't and tears and heartbreak stuff just depressed the hell out of her.  
A little later when she thought she was the invulnerable Yvonne Atkins of old, she tried to ignore that little jump in her heart inside of her when a timid knock at the door announced Karen's presence. Immediately, she saw a nervous look in her eye and she figured that Karen was as nervous as she was. It was somehow different when they were in court with the rest of the gang round them.  
"Come in. It's nice to have some company, especially yours." The warmth and friendliness in Yvonne's voice was more than she felt but it eased Karen's peace of mind. Just at the right time, Trigger came bounding up to greet her, just as he had always done. "To what do I owe this visit, Karen?" "Well, partly to give you a VO so you can visit Lauren whenever you want…." "….that's nice." "….and partly because I wondered if we ought to talk about the two of us and, just, chat." Karen cursed inwardly at her own awkwardness after handing the slip of paper to Yvonne.  
"There's no problem, Karen. Like I said, I know you've moved on from me. I shouldn't have expected any different.  
To Karen, the rigid expression on Yvonne's face was a painfully obvious attempt to cover herself up as much as her unusually elaborate makeup did.  
"You have every right to expect something better out of life than the shit you've taken over the years. I meant it when I said I'd be here for you, for always if you want it. There are some things that don't change." The determination and obvious sincerity in Karen's voice, eased Yvonne a little as she found herself making a coffee for more than one. Presently, they sipped their drinks and smoked as props to hold onto while they made strained polite conversation. Eventually, Yvonne stubbed her cigarette hard into the ashtray as words came into her mind that she had been searching for.  
"Look here, Karen, I've got to get it off my chest. I'm angry deep down. I can't be angry with you as I can see it from your point of view, and I understand why you broke it off between the two of us. I can't feel angry with myself or with Lauren about what's happened as that's going to do no good. So what the hell can I do?" "You have to find something or someone to fill up your life with," Karen protested and the hollow feebleness of her words hung on the air.  
Here she was, on more than nodding terms with a judge, a barrister or two and the skilled equaliser between governing governors prison officers and prisoners and she struggled for words to help Yvonne of all people. So the afternoon stretched into early evening, both women being sincere, trying their stumbling best for each other.  
  
"Come in," Grayling greeted the polite knock on the door and Karen strode confidently in on the Friday morning. She noted that his office was much larger and more luxurious than her own.  
"What can I do for you?" Karen hesitated for a second. Grayling could turn unfathomability into an art form and, in the past, she had found him slippery and treacherous. Grayling always had his own selfish agenda but that didn't mean he couldn't be bargained with.  
"It's about Di Barker. I was wondering if you had any thoughts as to her future?" "You mean, am I considering moving her back to G Wing and, if so, when?" "That's about the size of it," Conceded Karen.  
Grayling watched her from behind narrowed, watchful eyes and his expression was inscrutable and neutral. "I told her that she was moved off the wing and that it was for the duration of the trial for her own protection as there are plenty of prisoners who have heard her talk as if the sun shone out of Fenner's backside, more fool her." "So wouldn't it be a good idea to make the temporary move permanent if she's settled down?" "That's just the problem, she hasn't. Your opposite number has asked me at regular intervals when he can unload her back to where she came from. His words, not mine." "And you think that I'm going to welcome her back with open arms? I wanted to make my views plain that she comes back onto my wing over my dead body." "Karen," Grayling urged, a trace of panic in his voice. "You're my best wing governor and only you have the ability to manage a difficult prison officer like her and keep her within bounds. She walks over everyone else." "Now, that's the oldest trick in the book," began Karen and then she stopped. She could see Grayling start to bristle and become visibly irritated. A confrontation was in the offing and that would do nobody any good, least of all her.  
"Neil, you were in court that day and you know full well that Di Barker was at the back of that horrible detestable barrister trying to smear my reputation with those photographs. We both know her well enough and I wouldn't be surprised if she didn't suggest it to him in the first place. Would you like candid photos of you and your private life being exhibited for all to see, even possibly on the front page of the gutter press? Let's face it, I was bloody lucky. Before the trial, I could just about handle the devious, spiteful, manipulative cow but no way could I bring myself now to even look her in the eye without spitting in it." One look at Grayling and there was a subtle change in his manner. The anger was wiped from his face but so was every other trace of expression.  
"Go on, Karen." "If you don't mind me asking, is one of the problems you have with Di Barker that she will pole in on you at the drop of the hat if something gets her back up." "There's something in that." "You have to set boundaries with Di Barker. She won't say it in so many words, but she makes you behave as if you're a quarrelling husband and wife when it suits her purpose. You have to shift the boundaries and don't give her any special favours." 'Physician, heal yourself' popped into her mind. Here she is, being fluent and expressive with words to a gay man who has been more her enemy than, at best, work colleague, never friend. When it comes closer to home, she struggled for words to speak to Yvonne who'll always have a place in her heart even if Yvonne didn't believe it. Her boundaries with Yvonne are anything but defined. With an effort, she dragged herself back to the here and now.  
Grayling was listening attentively, she felt, but in his heart, he lacked conviction to act on her plain words.  
"Look at it another way, Neil. Sylvia Hollamby and Di Barker are the biggest problems amongst the PO's in Larkhall. They know how to work the system but if you split them up, they might be more manageable. Leave them together and they'll feed off each other and make each other worse." "But how can I sell the idea of a permanent move? It will look as if I've pulled a fast one on her from the very start?" Karen smiled cynically. Grayling wasn't shy in the past of pulling a fast one. Nevertheless, she had to persevere.  
"You'll have to bite the bullet and tell her the blunt truth, about the disgraceful way she behaved in court. It's not as if you're relying on third party evidence that she can deny. You saw for yourself what she did. You've got to seize this chance as you'll never get a better one." Karen's calm persuasive manner was not unlike the nurse/mother figure reassuring a scared parent/child. He hated to admit any vulnerability and it was that which transformed him into the actor. His lines had been written for him, be it management speak or his pretensions to strength. In reality he had pursued the genuine article in the man of his dreams. It was strange that this woman, whose blunt outspokenness which he had so long ago felt threatened by, had come to his salvation. This chance placed in his hands would suit his own purposes in finally distancing him from that dangerous woman whom he had once married in a moment of utter madness. "Let me think about it. It's simple and radical and I like the way you talk, Karen."  
  
Karen left the room, a faint smile on her face that at least one of the knotty problems in her life was being solved. If only dealing with problems at home was as easy.  
  
Grayling felt on top of the world after he had fixed up surprisingly easily with Di's present Wing Governor that she would become a fixture on that wing so long as he took on the job of breaking the news to Di and to tell her a few home truths. The look in Grayling's eye was enough persuasion that he meant business and not some smooth sales talk. It was surprising the way that success bred success. He was keyed up and ready for action when Di's footsteps outside heralded her arrival.  
"Ah, Di. Take a seat." "It's nice to be able to talk to each other as friends even after everything that has happened between us." Why does the woman talk like someone who has escaped from a cheap romance story, he wondered?  
"I wanted to see you on business, not pleasure. I'll keep it short and to the point. You are staying in your present duties, as a permanent transfer on H Wing and not moving back to G Wing." Di's expression froze and changed rapidly to one of rage and anger. "You promised, Neil, that I would only be moved temporarily until the Atkins trial was over. But then again, why should I expect any better from you?" "I know exactly what I promised. I did not allow for the devious and malicious way that you let that barrister have access to those photographs that were exhibited in court. I can't prove conclusively that you did it but if I could, you would be up on disciplinary charges, POA or no POA." "I know why you are doing this. It's Karen Betts that's gone crawling to you. She's the blue eyed girl around here. It's out and out favouritism." "You mean, as a gay man, I fancy her." Grayling kept the tone of his voice low and was all the more deadly in shutting up the tide of hysterical anger that had always wound him up. For once, he had reduced Di to silence and seized the chance to pile on the pressure. A tiny part of him noticed with satisfaction that Di had not denied the charges he had laid at her door.  
"You have to accept that this decision is not up for negotiation and you will have to learn to live with it." "Aren't you even going to discussing it with me? I do feel that I am entitled to a proper explanation. You know that I had my heart set on going back to my friends on G Wing." "Friend," Grayling curtly cut in. "I have considered the good of Larkhall as a whole and it demands that you and Sylvia are split up. That's my decision and it is final." Di seethed with rage which distorted her face as the impact of the short and sharp execution hit home. It enraged her further that, unlike before, he didn't get dragged into a long explanation.  
"You'll regret this. I'll find ways of making you feel sorry you ever did this along with every other hurtful, hateful thing you have ever done in your life since we were first married." "Well, we're not now so I may as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. No chance of getting into your good books now. In any case, I have advised your Wing Governor of your thoroughly predictable reaction and both of us are clear that you had better watch your step. Oh, by the way, since we are divorced, you will get no special favours in terms of access to me at work so there will be none of this charging into my office as the mood takes you. You take your turn with the others in my appointment book. Now will you leave the room." He was faintly surprised when Di actually stalked out of the room, slammed the door and left. He was prepared for a long war of attrition over the matter and noted that, as with other matters, Karen was proved right. 


	59. Part Fifty Nine

A/N: Betaed by Jen, Little Dorritt and Kaatje.  
  
Part Fifty Nine  
  
As Neil parked his car, and strolled purposefully through the doors of Cleland House, the home of the headquarters of the prison service, he couldn't help but reflect on the conversation he'd had with Di. He still marveled at the underhand way she'd given those pictures of Karen to the prosecution in the Lauren Atkins case. But then, why was he really quite so surprised? Di Barker always had been a treacherous, malicious, narcissistic bitch. Why he'd ever become involved with her, never mind married her, he didn't know. He faintly smiled as he thought of how Karen had insisted that she wasn't having Di back on her wing. "Over her dead body", were the words she'd used. Neil was forced to admit that he'd been wrong about Karen. Right from the start, he'd dismissed Karen as a colleague, as a very competent wing governor, and most of all, as a friend. He'd behaved abominably towards her, if he was honest with himself, and all because of Jim bloody Fenner. Well, if he could fancy someone as corrupt as Jim Fenner, then he could hardly castigate Karen for having slept with an Atkins or two. He had to admire her most recent acquisition though. The female species might not excite him sexually, but he could still appreciate their finer points, as he might a painting or a piece of music. Ms Channing was not only beautiful, highly intelligent, and with a PhD in fighting her corner, but she had absolutely no connection with Karen's job. Neil had once warned Fenner that "Shagging the staff," really wasn't a good idea, but then he'd been caught out by that one himself. This meant that he could well appreciate why Karen might finally have opted for an affair with someone wholly unconnected to Larkhall. He'd heard on the grapevine, that Ms Channing had been giving Karen some unofficial company on the night Buki Lester had tried to kill herself, but he hadn't seen any point in raising the issue. Her presence hadn't prevented Karen from doing her job in a professional and satisfactory manner. In fact, in this case, it had been of inestimable help. If Karen really had been on her own, Buki Lester would have died. So, here he was, about to make up for all the times he'd backed Fenner over Karen. He was also here, to make sure that Larkhall would be left in safe, secure, and above all, sensitive hands after he was gone, because leave he would. He had been offered a job with area management, and in a very short time, would be moving on to pastures new.  
  
When he was sitting in Alison Warner's office, sipping from a cup of really quite excellent espresso coffee, he vowed never to be stuck working for area management as long as this woman had been. For him, area management was merely a stepping stone, a necessary causeway to lead him on to bigger and better things. "So, Mr. Grayling," Mrs. Warner began in the rich, cultured tones that had slightly quailed under George's threat of two weeks before. "I hear that you will be joining us very soon." "Yes, if everything goes to plan," Grayling answered politely. It would never do to antagonise his future boss, and he loathed small talk, but in the game of onwards and upwards, it was becoming a recognised skill. The day would come when no government department would employ you, if you weren't proficient in this little necessity. "This does, however, leave us with the problem of your successor. You haven't left us much of a window, to find a suitable replacement." "It was this department, and therefore you, who decided that I should leave Larkhall and transfer here by the beginning of April," Grayling said silkily. "Point taken," Alison Warner conceded. "But what we need to discuss, is who we might approach with a view to taking over Larkhall. Both of your predecessors weren't exactly successful. Simon Stubberfield's disgraceful lack of control over the running of his own prison, followed by Helen Stewart's inexplicable departure, after only a matter of months. I must make it clear, that I do not wish Larkhall to descend into the organisational chaos it was in prior to your appointment." "Mrs. Warner," Neil cut in, wanting to stem the rant before she really got going. "If you take up my recommendation, Larkhall couldn't possibly be in safer hands." "I'm listening," she replied, not committing herself until she'd heard his suggestion. "Karen Betts, the current governor of G wing." "Quite out of the question," Alison Warner answered tartly. "Might I remind you, that Karen Betts was supposedly in charge of G wing, when three inmates successfully escaped? To say nothing of the murder of Virginia O'Kane, or Snowball Merriman's bomb." "They were a tragic set of circumstances, quite beyond her control." "Mr. Grayling, Karen Betts has equal responsibility for the running of her wing, as you do for the running of Larkhall. If Karen Betts is the best you can come up with, then I can see I shall have to look elsewhere." Taking a deep breath to bring his frustration with this uncommonly thick woman under control, he spoke slowly and carefully. "In the matter of the three escapees, was it not area management who, in the interests of keeping your nose clean with the press, quickly and quietly removed Simon Stubberfield, making him the most dispensable scapegoat, and therefore failing utterly to investigate the incident in a satisfactory manner?" Alison Warner recoiled as if she'd been slapped. Only two weeks prior to this meeting, she had yet again been reminded of the bungled investigation, that had taken place after the escape of three of Larkhall's most dangerous inmates. Neil Grayling and George Channing couldn't possibly have any connection, could they? It just wasn't possible. "That being so," She continued in a far more conciliatory fashion, "I uphold the opinion that she would not be a suitable governing governor. She would have to sit a promotion board for a start, and you know how long they take." "So, you've got the power to speed up the process, and you can take my word for it that you won't find anyone as willing to take on Larkhall as Karen Betts would be. There you have a very competent, grade four governor, just waiting for the promotion and the opportunity to show the entire prison service exactly what she's made of. Karen Betts has been itching to spread her wings for months now. Ignore my recommendation, and you'll lose her for good one of these days, and with the prison service being in the state it is, that's hardly something you can afford." "What about the other Wing Governors at Larkhall?" She asked, not in the least willing to give up the fight until all other avenues had been explored. "No," Neil replied firmly. "They just don't have what it takes. Believe me," He said earnestly, "Karen Betts has the potential to go far in the service. Give her the freedom and the opportunity, and she'll make Larkhall a prison the service could be proud of. I've done my best to keep Larkhall on an even keel, but Karen Betts has the drive, the vision, and the energy to make Larkhall a better place for all concerned, inmates and officers alike." "You're not going to give in, until you've at least achieved her a promotion board, are you?" Alison Warner couldn't help saying with a thin smile. She could remember when this man had been applying for the job of governor of Larkhall. He had possessed a vision, and had exuded an energy to transform Larkhall into a model prison, to bring it forward into the twenty first century. She briefly wondered where all that had gone. "Karen Betts has brought G wing through some of the most taxing and tragic events ever witnessed in women's prisons," He continued, persistently pressing at the chink in her armour. "And the service owes it to her, to give her the opportunity to realise her full potential."  
  
On the Monday evening, Jo and John were spending some time together, not having seen each other alone since the end of the Lauren Atkins trial. Jo had cooked them dinner, and now they were lying contentedly on the sofa, listening to some soft music, just enjoying the simple pleasure of being in each other's arms. No conversation was necessary when they were like this, both of them appreciating some quiet time, a space in their busy lives for some 'Them' time. But John couldn't entirely relax. What he'd so rashly said to Karen last Monday wasn't giving him any respite. He knew he'd been wrong, and he was sorry for it, really he was. But John Deed found it inexplicably hard to admit that he was wrong, and, even more impossible to say he was sorry. Jo could sense that his thoughts were somewhere else. She hadn't known him all these years, not to be able to tell when something wasn't quite right. "You're very quiet tonight," She said softly, wanting him to share what was bothering him. "It'll sort itself out in time," He said, not really wanting to tell her what he'd done. "Is this about the argument you had with Karen last week?" John could have cursed her intuition on occasions such as this. "How do you know we argued?" He asked, but Jo wasn't fooled by his attempt at a diversion. "George asked her if you two had, 'kissed and made up', I think she put it. She looked like she could have kicked herself when she said that," Jo added with a fond smile. "And Karen said that you'd shouted at each other. I don't know what you said to her John, but I think you hurt her." "Yeah, you could say that," He said regretfully. "You know me Jo, say or do something first, and regret it afterwards." Jo looked concerned. "What on earth did you say to her? George tried to find out, but Karen told her it was best left forgotten." John was touched. Even in her anger at him, Karen refused to share his misdeed with anyone else. "You don't really want to know," He said evasively, only serving to make Jo all the more curious. "Tell me," She persisted gently, seeing that he needed to confess it to someone. "I said that I didn't want to have to pick up the pieces, when she got bored of playing instructor." "Oh, John!" Jo said angrily, half sitting up. "You wanted to know," He protested, pulling her back down to lie in his arms. "John, even for you, that's unfair. No, I'll rephrase that, especially for you, that's unfair. You do realise that such a description might have been attributed to you not so long ago?" "Yes, yes, I know," He said sulkily. "I know it was wrong, and I know it was utterly unforgivable." "Did you apologise to her?" "Of course I did." "But did you mean it? Or did you say it, to stop her walking away, just as you've often done with me?" "Of course I meant it," He said indignantly. "Well, I did later on, when I'd thought about it." "Do you see what I mean?" Jo said in total disgust. "John, your apologies are about as meaningful as all the flings you used to have. You can't say something like that, and expect to be immediately forgiven, just because you say the right words. You need to mean it for it to be believed." "So, what do you suggest I do about it?" He asked, refusing to see the answer that was under his very nose. "Go and see her, and really, seriously apologise. It's the very least you can do. John, you accused Karen of being exactly what you used to be, which she isn't." "How do you know?" He niggled away like the proverbial adolescent, determined to have the last word. "John, you can't act like this, just because you feel jealous and insecure," Jo insisted, her tone a lot gentler now. "I'm not jealous!" He protested, hating the way she could see right through him. "Yes, you are," Jo said with a soft smile. "And feeling like that is perfectly understandable. But saying the first rash thing that comes into your head, isn't," she finished more sternly. "So, when you have a moment in your busy schedule, go and see her, and apologise. It's really not that difficult, I promise you." "Yes, I will," He said, wanting to shut her up on this. "Soon, I promise." "I mean it, John," She insisted, knowing of old how much most of his promises were really worth. "Yes, all right, I will," He affirmed, though not looking forward to it in the slightest. 


	60. Part Sixty

Part Sixty  
  
Grayling looked round at his comfortable office, soon to be cleared of his personal effects for another governor to take over. It gave him a peculiar feeling of halfway regretting that he was moving on and the long suppressed desire to move onwards and upwards being realised at last. He liked the look and the feel of the office he was going to work in. It brought home to him how drab his environment had been all his working life. He would be working in a more aesthetically pleasing environment, which appealed to his sensitivities. It was strange that only recently did he have the feeling that he was really on top of what was going on as opposed to his fantasies. 'Bloody G Wing' was a single epithet he hurled in disgust throughout all the turbulence and traumas of, yes he was beginning to call it 'his time at Larkhall.' Throughout all this time, he never knew that it would be Karen Betts who would end up being his salvation, his potential successor and his friend. His abiding memory of her was of her intense blue eyes, sparking with anger under a blond fringe and her mouth twisted in contempt. A lot of the past dissolved into an untidy mess but if he thought hard enough about it, he suspected that she was right all along and he was wrong. Well, it was never too late to put things right, he thought, and it reinforced his belief that his recommendation to area was the right thing to do. He reached for his phone.  
  
Karen entered Grayling's office with more of a relaxed frame of mind than she ever had. With his formal courtesy, he gestured to the chair.  
"Ah, Karen, I've got some good news for both of us." Karen looked questioningly at Grayling's broad smile. She had no idea of what he could be getting at but, in view of the way he seemed to be changing for the better before her eyes, this was possibly the real thing and no trickery.  
"My good news is that I have been appointed to a job in area management at a release date to be arranged." Karen was stunned by the news and genuinely regretful. Life at Larkhall Prison had smoothed down after all the bad times. Grayling had become a permanent fact of life in her job.  
"You're sorry to see me go, Karen?" "I am now. I'm used to you and I find working with you comfortable. I'd have to get used to a new Governing Governor." Grayling was touched by Karen's obvious sincerity. He had come to feel all the safer for her solid presence in charge of G Wing but he had news for her that would change her perspective.  
"Well, the good news for you is that I've recommended to Area that you are the next governing governor. I move to Area when, hopefully, you take my place." "What?" "Are you telling me that you're not up to the job? I've been going head to toe with Alison Warner that you're the woman for the job," Grayling asked Karen with a breezy, cheery confidence in her.  
For once, Karen was speechless. Total surprise and an element of fear battled with the feeling of excitement creeping in on her that she could rise to the challenge in the way she had risen to so many before. Grayling let time pass for Karen to deal with this bombshell and not to rush her.  
"It's a big surprise and a real compliment and maybe you're right, Neil. I need a little time to take this all in. But I want to ask you why have you done this for me?" "What you're getting at is, what's in it for me. You've never really trusted me from the word go," Grayling countered with a crafty smile.  
"It isn't easy to build up trust once you lose it for someone." "I don't blame you one bit, so I'm going to lay all my cards on the table why I've picked you out of all people." Grayling paused and he took a careful sip of water from the glass tumbler. It enabled him to collect his thoughts together, not that he was thirsty. He was coming to the difficult moment where his past secretive inclinations battled with his newfound strength of character.  
"I've got to admit that I've got you seriously wrong ever since I first started here. I've been blind to see who you are, what you stand for and what you've been trying to do for this prison. I don't need to spell it out in detail do I?" To his great relief, Karen nodded at him to continue.  
"I did you a disservice when I gave testimony at the Atkins Merriman trial. If I helped at all, it was dragged out of me by that same very tenacious woman who I saw in court recently when Di Barker was on the stand. But most of all, I let you down when you came to me for help after that terrible business you had with Jim Fenner. I believed what you said but I used what I knew for my own purposes. I hardly occupied the moral high ground that time." "I believe everything you say, Neil," Came Karen's soft, compassionate reply. "You haven't explained your reasons for your recommendation in terms of my suitability." "It is as I told you the other day, Karen. You are the best Wing Governor in Larkhall. I couldn't think of it being left in safer hands than yours." "I thought you said that to butter me up to get me to change my mind about transferring Di," Grinned Karen.  
"So I was, just a little," Grayling admitted in a way that Karen would once have thought was him being slippery. "But most of it was meant. About eighty-five percent." "After all you've said," Karen breathed as a surge of confidence ran through her, "I'll go for the job if I can get it." "If it will help you," confided Grayling. "Part of my responsibility is for a cluster of prisons, one of which is Larkhall. So if you do get the job and you get a phone call from area, it will be me. You don't get rid of me that easily." Karen stood up and shook Grayling's hand heartily in thanks. This was a prize beyond belief, which she would always be grateful to Neil for. In turn, this was a first for him, as his fastidious nature didn't normally like having his hand shaken.  
  
In the PO's room, the matter of the outcome of Lauren's trial continued to grumble on. Sylvia had been in a permanently bad, cantankerous mood, worse since she had been summoned to see Karen. Karen's brief announcement that Di Barker was staying on in her new wing only made her worse. The others had struggled to keep the peace until she bitched one time too many when Colin, Selena and Dominic were present.  
She had glowered into her mug of tea while the others had attempted to be inconspicuous for yet another wearisome tea break.  
"It's criminal. Jim Fenner was the longest serving prison officer on G wing and was brutally murdered by that woman. But what happens? That 'do gooder' judge gives her a piffling sentence, and mamby pamby sort of therapy. It's us that need the therapy dealing with the shock when we heard about that cold-blooded murder. All the time I've had dealings with her, she's known exactly what she was doing. It runs in the family." "That scooter of yours looks a nippy machine, Selena, and dead smart. Mind you, you need to watch it if you put too much bank on going round corners or you'll slide sideways straight into the ditch," Dominic interjected.  
"Thanks, but if I did come off, my scooter has got more protection than your bike. Your machine isn't really my style." "Doesn't anyone hear what I'm saying?" exclaimed Bodybag at a louder volume.  
"We heard, Sylvia. That's why we're not bothering to answer," Came Colin's laconic reply.  
"To think that G wing has sunk to the depths that no one will talk about the injustice done to a long serving officer. It gives signals that we're all fair game for any gun-wielding maniac who bears a grudge. Jim Fenner would help anyone out. If Di were here, she'd say the same." "Ah yes, but she's not, Sylv," Dominic interjected.  
"Flaming management. It gets worse and worse around here. I'm tempted to make a complaint to the POA. That would make them sit up and take notice." Dominic exchanged a lightning glance with Selena and Colin. It was getting harder work to not have a row than to have a hammer and tongs row with Sylvia and settle it, for once and for all.  
"What would you complain about, Sylvia?" Dominic asked with a distinct edge to his tone.  
"A lot of things which I don't want to talk about with you, Dominic." "Fair enough but don't make out that you're the voice of the people and lead the POA up the garden path. Don't have them believe that we're unhappy with the way things are going on around here when we're not. As far as I'm concerned, G Wing couldn't be happier." "Me too." "Am I the only one of us with two working ears in our heads?" questioned Bodybag loudly, her mouth agape. "If one of us gets murdered in cold blood and the con gets a slap on the wrist, it opens the floodgates to all the murdering psychos out there. We've got to stand together as no one else will stand up for us, certainly not Joe Public." "Sylv, It was a shock when I first heard what happened to Jim, but at the end of the day, it was the jury who agreed that Lauren Atkins killed Jim Fenner but let her off the murder charge because of the state of her mind." "Poppycock. I saw her in court and her sob story didn't convince me one bit, especially with the way her barrister put her up to it. I don't know who was worse, that gangster's moll's daughter or that stuck up barrister. There was something about her that was too good to be true, something shifty about her." "Lauren Atkins or Jo Mills?" Selena teased in her best innocent tone.  
"That barrister of course," Snapped Sylvia.  
"Well, I saw Lauren Atkins when that other barrister was trying to pull her to pieces, like you predicted Sylvia," Dominic replied with strained patience, throwing back at her one of her more unpleasant comments. "There's something seriously wrong with her and she needs all the help she can get on the outside, better than we can do for her. That stupid barrister of theirs forced her to pick up the gun and point it at him, as if it was Jim. She freaked out at that. It was just as well that there wasn't a bullet in the gun." "That makes my point," Bodynag shot back smugly. "Once a murderer, always a murderer." There was a long poisoned silence that hung on the air. It was as if Bodybag really did not know that times had changed and that there was no longer an automatic response to her hard boiled, bilious proverbs with which she had lived her life. They couldn't really make up their mind if she really want a full-blown standup row with no holds barred.  
"You know, Selena, Noreen Biggs told me once that Sylvia wasn't a fat Nazi like all the other prisoners said. I could have told her different if she wasn't so ill." "It's because Di Barker isn't coming back to G Wing," Selena answered Colin's low-pitched voice in the background.  
"More than we are." "That's right, Selena, run her down when she isn't here to defend herself. Madam had her shipped out to another wing and no one lifts a finger." "That's enough, Sylvia," Dominic's patience snapped at last. "Selena and I saw the way that Di Barker behaved in court, the way she was Jim Fenner in absence. I used to have time for her when I was here before, not like you and Jim Fenner. Oh yeah, I remember the old times like you keep banging on about. I was nervous, new and unsure of myself and what did I get for an example to look up to? When Helen Stewart was at Larkhall, you two did the best to pull her down and make her life a misery for her when all she did was to try to get the best out of the prisoners. It was open warfare between the prisoners and us when I started and it was all down to you and Jim Fenner. You've brought all your trouble down on us and we lost a fine Wing governor when Helen left. Don't you let Sylvia tell you any different," Dominic broke off to look at Colin and Selena. "I was there in the good old days.This place is a kindergarten in comparison to the way it was and it's the likes of Helen and Karen who made it that way." "You cheeky young pup," Bodybag started to splutter back.  
"Just leave it out. I don't say that much normally so I'm going to make up for it now. You really can't see that I'm not the new prison officer that I used to be. Di Barker has become just as bad as you and Jim Fenner always were. Karen did the right thing in breaking up the pair of you." Bodybag looked round speechlessly. All she could see were the hard eyes of the three prison officers around her.  
"You want to step into Jim Fenner's shoes and rule the roost. You can't because we won't let you." The silence was one, which you could cut with a knife. Unknown to her, Bodybag had been on borrowed time. The others had tolerated her mouthing off and had put up with it as they had quietly gone their way. This was a complete overthrow of her position and everything was now out in the open. It had to come to this.  
"Morning everyone" a fresh voice broke in on the meeting and Gina's broad smile.  
"We were having a talk about the good old days," Selena put in helpfully.  
"Good old days, my arse," Gina exclaimed loudly, neatly summarising the discussion in her absence. "Not with Di Barker on the wing. I was going to say that Karen has told me to tell you that it may be some time before we get a replacement prison officer. With Di on loan, we couldn't recruit to replace her but she'll get on the case now as soon as. Will you guys be able to muck in and cover for a while." "I'm sure we'll manage, won't we Sylvia," Dominic responded, his quiet tones having a steely undertone to it.  
Gina grinned broadly, taking in Sylvia's red face and the casual reaction, consigning Di along with Fenner to the past. Impotent ghosts of the 'old boys club' would gnash their teeth but would be powerless to change the present. Sylvia was just a leftover relic. She didn't need to intervene as events had resolved themselves naturally. 


	61. Part Sixty One

Part Sixty-One  
  
On Thursday February the tenth, Karen walked into work with a feeling of nervous anticipation. Her promotion board interview was scheduled for eleven o'clock that morning, and she didn't know how she was going to get through the next couple of hours. She held the usual officers meeting first thing, with them all wondering just why she was wearing what looked like a brand new, extremely professional looking suit. She told them that she wouldn't be available from ten thirty onwards, which only served to further fuel their curiosity. "You off somewhere nice?" Gina asked, observing Karen's clear inability to relax. "Nowhere particularly exciting," Karen responded, not quite meeting Gina's eye. Telling any of them about her interview, would only be tempting fate. You liar, Gina thought to herself with a little smile. But at about ten o'clock, when Karen was staring at her computer screen, running through all the possible questions she might be asked, there came a knock on her door. It was Gina, and she was carrying what looked like a flower, wrapped in cellophane. "This just got left at the gate for you." Undoing the wrapping, Karen revealed a single, beautiful red rose standing in a tiny pot. Karen couldn't prevent a broad smile from spreading over her face. Removing the florist's card from the envelope, she read the three simple words, "Good luck Darling," and knew instantly that this just had to be from George. "That's nice," Said Gina in genuine pleasure. "It's ages since anyone sent me flowers." "Yes, I was beginning to forget what they looked like," Karen said fondly. "Is it from George?" "Who else?" Quipped back Karen, Gina's insatiable curiosity making her smile. "Good luck for what?" Gina asked, taking a quick peek at the card. "None of your business," Karen said good naturedly. When the realisation of what Karen must be up to clicked in Gina's mind, her eyes widened in astonishment. "I don't believe it," She said in awe. "You're going after Grayling's job, aren't you." "You certainly keep your ear to the ground," Was all Karen could say, neither confirming nor denying Gina's assumption. "Oh, don't give me that," Gina said in excitement. "Everyone knows he's moving on, but we've all been wondering who would take his place." "Well, it's only an interview, so don't get too excited, and don't for god's sake tell anyone. I don't want the likes of Sylvia gloating if I don't get the job." "Well, just show them what you're made of," Gina said with a smile. "This place would be in good hands if you were at the top." This compliment had been very understated, but Karen knew that the depth in Gina's words was absolutely genuine. When Gina had first come to work for her, just after Jim had been stabbed, she'd been obnoxious, confrontational, and a real wild card when it came to dealing with prisoners and officers alike. But since her miscarriage, Gina had mellowed, softened, and had lost some, though not all, of her Italian temper. She had become someone whom Karen could trust implicitly when it came to managing the wing, keeping both prisoners and officers in line, and generally maintaining good practice when Karen wasn't available to keep an eye on her. "Any problems while I'm out," Karen continued. "Go to Grayling. He knows where I am. Believe it or not, it was Grayling who recommended me for the job." "Jesus," Gina said with impressed amazement. "If he thinks you're good enough, then you might just get it."  
  
When Karen arrived outside the main headquarters of the prison service, she took a moment to glance at her reflection, before getting out of her car. She'd had her hair cut the day before, and the new suit she'd treated herself to, made her look utterly professional, with just a hint of femininity to show that she was in fact human. After briefly touching up her make up, and splashing on a little of her favourite perfume, she locked her car, and walked in through the double doors of Cleland House, in the Millbank area of Westminster. So, this was where Neil wanted to work, was it. She couldn't help thinking that these surroundings would be far more preferable to the dingy decor of Larkhall, yet without an inkling of personality. As a secretary showed her up the wide, carpeted staircase to the main boardroom, Karen wished she'd had a last cigarette before coming here. She exchanged a brief smile with the secretary as she was shown into the boardroom, needing some form of human contact before the coming ordeal. At the sight of the green baize covered table, Karen had the slightly wild thought that she was about to engage in a game of poker, with just as many attempts to derail her, as this interview would hold. Sitting on the opposite side of the table to herself, were Alison Warner, her immediate area manager, and who would be Grayling's future boss, together with the operational director, and a representative from the home office. Karen slipped a notebook out of her handbag before sitting down, which told her interviewers that she was prepared and would no doubt have some questions of her own. Declining the offer of coffee, Karen simply wanted to get on with it.  
  
"Miss Betts," Alison Warner began. "You have been a governor of grade four rank, for just over a year. What makes you assume, that you are ready to take on the responsibilities associated with being a governor three?" Trying to quash her immediate dislike of this woman, Karen replied. "I see Governor four as a stepping stone, as the inevitable rung on the ladder that must be traversed, before I can take on the greater responsibility I am ready for. Governor grades four and five, only permit one to be a wing governor, and this I have been for some years now." "You were promoted to governor of G wing, by Simon Stubberfield, were you not?" Karen thought she could detect a hint of steel in Alison Warner's tone, and decided that this woman was not going to give her an easy ride. "Yes. I was made Wing Governor in 2000, as a result of the former wing Governor's resignation. I feel that whilst I have fulfilled my task of managing G wing successfully, I have the potential and the drive to take on more responsibility." "Yes, we'll come to that," Alison Warner said dismissively. "But first, I would like you to cast your mind back, to four particular incidents, all of which have occurred during your tenure as governor of G wing." Karen thought she knew what was coming. "The stabbing of James Fenner by an inmate, the escape of three inmates, the murder of an inmate, and the construction of a bomb by yet another inmate. Does the succession of these four incidents, strike you as the result of good management on your part?" "Whether or not my management of G wing at the time of those incidents, was or wasn't satisfactory, does not have a bearing on their actual occurrence." "But have you learnt anything from the way you have dealt with these incidents?" Asked the representative from the home office, wanting to get Mrs. Warner off one of her soapboxes. "I have learnt that not all prison officers can be trusted," Karen said a little icily, thinking of how she'd vindicated Fenner after the stabbing. "And I have most certainly learnt that if an officer makes a decision whilst I am unavailable, on holiday for example, that I must revisit their decision and make any appropriate alterations on my return." "In your current position," Broke in the operational director. "Do you see yourself as ultimately responsible for the behaviour of both officers and inmates alike on G wing?" "I believe that on a day to day basis, the buck ultimately stops with the wing governor, but that the overall responsibility for the prison clearly rests with the governing governor. I may be responsible for the behaviour of my officers, and to some extent the behaviour of my inmates, but I do not think that this ought to detract from the governing governor's having the final word. A wing governor's duty can only be extended so far." "If you were to take on the position of governing governor of HMP Larkhall," He continued. "How would your view of duty, responsibility, and the governing governor's general obligation to be at the helm, affect the way in which you might see those who worked under you?" "I would expect all my wing governors to take responsibility for the general management of their wings, as well as the continuing professional development and good practice of their officers. As regards the behaviour of any inmate, the wing governors are also responsible for any adjudications and subsequent punishments. Though I should qualify this assertion, with the fact that where an incident of transgression is particularly serious or violent, it is the governing governor's duty to oversee the way in which an inmate's sentence is extended and managed, after such an event has taken place. I have worked my way up through the prison service, starting out as a basic grade prison officer, after several years of nursing. I believe that this experience, combined with my degree in Sociology, will stand me in good stead for continuing to deal with a wide range of inmates and their problems." "How useful do you see your previous nursing experience, to the duties as a wing governor, and as a potential governing governor?" Asked the man from the home office. "Far too many officers, only see the word jailer in the job description," Karen replied, immediately thinking of Sylvia. "And whilst maintaining a high level of security is a very important aspect of the job, I do feel that any prison officer must have the mental and emotional capability to care for the inmates. I see this as the only way forward towards any form of rehabilitation. If we don't care, to some extent, about the inmates we are looking after, we cannot possibly hope to rehabilitate them in any way, and therefore, cannot entertain the hope that they will not re-offend." "But do you not see the possible risks of becoming too emotionally involved with any particular inmate's case?" This was Alison Warner back on the attack. "Of course there are risks," Karen replied, finding it increasingly difficult to keep the scorn out of her voice. "I wouldn't be worthy of my current status, if I didn't realise that there are inherent dangers in becoming emotionally involved with an inmate, and I believe that you may have misconstrued my use of the word care. Every person who becomes a prison officer, needs to care for their job, to have a vocation for caring for people, and to be able to show some level of compassion, whilst maintaining an adequate professional distance. This is not a skill that can be taught at prison service training college, but one that must be learnt over years of experience. I believe that I have learnt that skill, and that I would be able to support officers of a lower rank in learning the same." "What do you see, as the most important steps towards an inmate's rehabilitation?" this came from the operational director. "Initially, it is vital for each and every inmate to receive a detailed medical, psychological and socioeconomic assessment, in order to determine their physical and mental health, and to enable prison staff to help the inmate maintain any contact with their family, and in particular, their children. If an inmate is discovered to be addicted to drugs or alcohol, they must be provided with the relevant detox, counselling support and if necessary, cognitive behavioural therapy to help them find and hopefully eliminate the source of their problems. Currently, only inmates who are serving twelve months and over are allocated a personal officer. I would like to see this level of support accorded to all prisoners, and especially to those on remand. Over a third of all female prisoners are remand prisoners, which means that they do not receive the support, through the personal officer scheme, that they most require. Many women come to us in need of medical treatment, a substantial amount of them requiring terminations of pregnancies, and though they may be able to obtain such medical treatment, they are not provided with the emotional support that such a difficult decision demands. Why, for example, are the previous medical records of every prisoner not immediately transferred to us, when the person in question is given a custodial or a remand sentence? This should be a matter of course, not a matter of red tape, finances, and inept, outdated, organisational procedures. Over ninety percent of prison inmates have a mental health problem, and what do we do, we confine them to segregation when they become unmanageable, and leave any mental and emotional difficulties to be dealt with by their fellow inmates. I would propose a radical overhaul of the prison health system, and in particular, the provision of psychological and psychiatric treatment for those who need it. How can we expect an inmate to stay out of prison, if we don't attempt to cure their underlying problems? This brings me to my final point concerning Larkhall's inmates, education and training. Time and time again, we are told that there isn't enough money to provide adequate basic skills training for even half of the prison inmates who require it. Over half the prison population has significant difficulties with reading and writing, yet what is the continual answer we receive from both the governing governors and area management? That as education is not an essential part of prison life, such as healthcare for example, it is not being allocated the necessary funding, to make it a viable option for those inmates who do wish to better themselves. This is ridiculous! Education and training must be considered an essential part of a prisoner's rehabilitation, if we are to have any success. If an inmate became involved in crime, for the sole reason that they were unable to obtain work, perhaps as a result of a lack of simple communication skills, it is our responsibility to provide them with the opportunity to obtain those skills, and to do everything in our power to ensure that they do not re-offend. In the current situation, little if any thought, is going into the life a prisoner is likely to lead once they are released from custody. If we simply plunge them back into the life they were in prior to being apprehended, a life with no hope of a job, in many cases no home, and absolutely no prospects, all we are doing is setting them up to repeat the process, again and again and again. If I were to be given the chance to prove myself as a governor of Larkhall," Karen slackened off slightly, for a moment climbing down from her soapbox, "I would immediately begin a serious redistribution of resources, possibly a re-sorting of officers and inmates, to provide each wing with the right combination of officers. This would undoubtedly mean separating the old school officers who run to the POA at even the slightest reprimand, and segregating those inmates who currently hold positions of seniority, mainly through threats and bullying. I do my best on G wing, but I feel that this philosophy of routing out the small handful of inmates, who are intent on causing us problems, is the only way forward. A custodial punishment should mean simply the loss of freedom, not the loss of sanity, self-respect and self-esteem. Far too much bullying goes on in Larkhall, and as a wing governor, I can only do so much to combat the problem. But, if I am given the opportunity to prove myself, I believe that I can, by the implementation of new policies, make a dent in the current hierarchy among the inmates. I do not claim to be perfect, but I do believe that I have the willingness and capability to drag Larkhall in to the twenty first century, and to transform a custodial sentence into an innovative, thorough, and successful rehabilitative process."  
  
When Karen at last became silent, the three others simply watched her. Alison Warner was forced to admit that Neil Grayling might just have something here. Karen Betts certainly made an impressive speaker. She had the style, but did she have the substance. "Miss Betts, when I spoke to Governor Grayling, almost a fortnight ago now, he said that you had the drive, the vision and the energy to make Larkhall a prison the service could be proud of. Do you agree with him?" Karen was momentarily stunned. She couldn't believe Grayling had voluntarily said something like that, about her of all people. "I think that's something I can only find out in time," She answered carefully. "But I would like to think so." The operational director smiled at her. "Larkhall is a difficult prison, Miss Betts, it always has been. If it is decided that you are the right person for the job, your task will not be an easy one." "I didn't come into this profession for an easy life," Karen replied, with an edge of defensiveness in her tone. The operational director rose to his feet. "We will let you know in due course as to our decision, though I must tell you, that your performance today was outstanding. If you do not receive your promotion on this occasion, do not be disheartened. You clearly have a lot of untapped potential, which I am sure the prison service will come to appreciate one of these days." As Karen followed him to the door, after shaking hands with the other two at the table, Alison Warner found herself briefly thinking of George Channing. Karen Betts' feisty, unabashed, confidence in her own ability was not unlike that of the barrister who had saved her skin all those years ago.  
  
As Karen walked towards her car in Page Street, she felt a brief moment of freedom. This interview, this round with the Spanish inquisition that she'd been preparing for, was finally over. She wanted that job so badly, but she could do nothing more now. She'd done her best, she knew that. The operational director had certainly been impressed with her, and Karen thought that Alison Warner was being forced to eat her words, but that meant nothing really. On an impulse, she drove the fairly short distance from Westminster to Knightsbridge, to where George's office looked out on the paradise of all those in need of vastly expensive retail therapy. Parking her car, Karen just hoped that George wasn't too busy, and did actually want to see her. They'd seen quite a bit of each other, on and off since the trial, George becoming more confident every time they slept together. Karen was happy with what she had with George, because she was getting some utterly sensational sex with a divinely beautiful woman, without the headache of constant maintenance that a committed relationship always demanded. Walking through reception and up the stairs, Karen was relieved that it was lunchtime, and that there was nobody in reception to ask her what she was doing. As she traversed the long, expensively carpeted corridor, she remembered the last time she'd been here. It had been the day after Fenner had been killed. Jesus, they'd all come such a long way since then. When she reached the strong oak door, with the brass name plate engraved with George Channing, she could hear George's voice coming from inside. Hoping she was on the phone, and not with someone, Karen knocked. George bade her to enter, and smiled when she saw it was Karen, holding up a hand because she was talking to someone on the phone. But when George returned to her conversation, Karen was treated to something else about this beautiful woman that she hadn't previously known. Karen had no idea who George was talking to, but whoever they were, they were French. As George rattled familiarly away in this incredibly pretty language, Karen couldn't help but smile. It made a change to hear George without her gloriously upper class drawl. When George put the phone down, she turned to Karen and smiled. "I wondered if I might see you today," She said, coming over to where Karen was sitting. As Karen rose, and put her arms round George, she said, "I seem to learn something new about you every time I see you." "I quite like being a woman of mystery and intrigue," George said, kissing Karen lingeringly. "How did it go?" "Alison Warner tried to make mincemeat of me, but she didn't get very far." "Alison Warner?" George asked in surprise. "You mean the Alison Warner who works for area management?" "Yes. She might be looking over my shoulder on a daily basis very soon. Why?" "It's a small world," George said with a sly little grin. "Do you know her?" Karen asked suspiciously. "Oh, Mrs. Warner and I go back a long time, only our relationship seems to be made up of professional advice, and latterly of blackmail." "Why blackmail?" Karen asked, not liking the sound of this. "Oh, well, when you presented me with everything for that case that almost kicked area management out of touch, Alison Warner's name hit me like a slap in the face. I'd had dealings with her before, quite a while before she started working for the prison service. As you know, that case didn't ever come to anything, but that didn't mean the matter was closed. During Lauren's trial, Jo asked if I would make use of my slightly dubious contact at area management, to get her a copy of Di Barker's personnel file. So, with the help of the threat of that case that still resides in the bottom of my filing cabinet, I did." "You're very silly, the pair of you," Karen said trying not to laugh. "Why go to all that trouble, when I could have obtained a copy of Di Barker's file very quickly and very quietly." George looked very sheepish. "That possibility didn't actually occur to either of us," She admitted with a blush of utter humiliation. "Anyway, it was probably better that you didn't have anything to do with that," She finished, trying to claw back some of her self-respect. "Well, next time, try the obvious before you start breaking the law," Karen said a little sternly. "Darling, in the legal profession, blackmail is not seen as breaking the law. In fact, it's positively encouraged as a part of a barrister or solicitor's job description." "Clearly," Karen said, beginning to kiss George again and therefore silencing her. "Before I get thoroughly carried away," George said, regretfully detaching her lips from Karen's. "How did it go apart from the delightful presence of Mrs. Warner?" "Well, I think I got on my soap box a bit too much. But I suppose that might have been expected. The operational director was impressed with me, he said so. But, I'll have to wait and see." "I'm proud of you," George said quietly, looking deep into Karen's eyes. "Save compliments like that until I get the job," Karen said, not entirely comfortable with such words of praise. "All right, but you will get it, I know you will." 


	62. Part Sixty Two

Part Sixty-Two  
  
On the Monday morning, there was a little more excitement than usual on G wing, with the event of Valentine's day, and the hopes for cards or other tokens of affection from loved ones. "Shame there ain't no one to send me piss all," Denny said gloomily, knowing that there wouldn't be any post for her. The last time she'd even bothered to acknowledge Valentine's day, was when Shaz was here. They'd pretended to be making their cards in secret, as if any privacy for doing such things could ever be had in Larkhall. They'd sneaked into the potting shed when they'd been allowed out for exercise, using the confined, warm, homely little place for a brief space in time for each other. Julie Saunders received a card and some flowers from David's father Trevor, and Julie Johnson received a very pretty card from her daughter. Selena spent the whole morning smiling secretively to herself, and Sylvia stated that real, long-lasting love, appeared to be an outdated institution that didn't seem important to the women of today. But Denny found herself returning again and again to the place where they'd planted the rose of Sharon, as though this might bring her closer to the one she still missed so badly. Karen could see the exercise yard from her office window, and when she saw Denny return to the tiny memorial a third time, she left her desk and went down to the wing.  
  
Karen found Denny, stood in front of the now considerably larger rose bush, with tears running down her face. Taking her hand, Karen tried to lead her over to a bench to sit down, but Denny wouldn't move. "I want to stay here," She said through her tears. "All right," Karen said gently. "Apart from the day she died," Denny said miserably. "That last Valentine's day was one of the last really special days we had. You know what this place is like, you can't get a minute to yourself." Karen suddenly heard Gina calling her name. Turning, she saw her striding across the paved area towards her. "Sorry to interrupt," She said, reaching them. "But there's a John Deed here to see you. He's at the gate lodge." Inwardly cursing John's timing, Karen asked Gina if she would go down to the gate lodge herself, and escort John to the wing. "Bring a bloke in amongst this lot on Valentine's day?" Gina said with a smirk. "I hope he can look after himself." "Oh, he'll be perfectly safe," Karen replied. "You'll recognize him, it's the judge who presided over Lauren's trial." "Oh," Gina said in a meditative drawl. "Given what day it is, I might just have a crack at him myself."  
  
When Gina had gone, Karen returned her attention to Denny. "What did you do," She asked. "On that last Valentine's day you had with Shaz?" "Bloody stupid question," Denny said, grinning lopsidedly through her tears. "Shaz still had the gardening job then, so we took advantage of the potting shed having a lock on the door during exercise. You know something, no matter how shit everything got in this place, Shaz always made me smile. Life was a bit of a laugh to her. She had the odd screw loose, just like most of us in here, but most of the time, she kept us cheerful. You don't know how precious something like that is in this place. I can't remember the last time I smiled and really meant it. Everything gets so dark and pointless, that you don't want to get up in the morning. It gets like there's no point in existing. Let's face it, what've I really got to stay around for?" "Denny," Karen said slowly, always uneasy with providing fabricated evidence to stop someone feeling so desperate. There are a lot of people who care for you, Yvonne for one. She loves you as if you were her own daughter." "Yeah, well, she won't need to in a few months, will she?" "Denny, did Yvonne care for you in the way she does now, before Lauren ended up here?" "I know it felt like she did, but sometimes it's hard to see it. Everyone, who ever said they loved me, always ended up leaving me. My mum, Shaz, Shell. So how do I know Yvonne ain't going to do the same?" Karen tried to find an appropriate response to this, but John's steady approaching footsteps distracted her.  
  
John had been surprised to see Gina Rossi coming to meet him instead of Karen, but inwardly told himself that Karen did have a busy job to do. "She's busy with an inmate at the moment, so she asked me to come and get you," Gina said, smiling at him. "I've been asked to take you down onto the wing. But I ought to warn you, it is Valentine's day, and I can't promise you'll get away totally unscathed. Dominic's already had to put up with more than his fair share of attempts to pull him." John grinned in heartfelt sympathy. "Do female officers ever come in for the same sort of treatment?" He asked, liking the slightly wild, tempestuous look about her. "Well, over half of them switch sides, just so they can get a bit of the other. So yeah, inmates trying to lull you into breaking one of the oldest rules in the book are pretty normal really. But today isn't a happy day for some of them. It's one of the times they all want to be somewhere else and with someone else. When I left Karen, she was talking to Denny. You remember Denny, she spoke at Lauren's trial." "Yes, I remember," John interjected, thinking that no, this woman would never be his type, because her constant chatter would no doubt infuriate him after a while. "Denny lost her girlfriend in Snowball Merriman's fire, I believe." "Yeah, that's right," Gina said with surprise. "Don't tell me you did that trial as well?" "Yes. This prison doesn't go looking for trouble, trouble just seems to find it, and far too frequently." "Don't let Grayling hear you say that," Gina said with a wink. "He shies away from all the bad publicity this place has had, enough as it is."  
  
As John walked across the exercise yard with Gina, he could see Karen talking to Denny, and that Denny was clearly upset. As they approached, John caught the tail end of Karen's words. Moving to stand on Denny's other side, he gave her a new focus for her attention. "I know Yvonne's always been like a mum to me," Denny continued, ignoring John's presence for the moment. "But it ain't like she ain't already got one daughter, is it. Why should she bother with me, once Lauren's out of here?" "Denny," John broke in quietly. "I got to know quite a lot about Yvonne during the trial, and one thing I have learned, is that if Yvonne Atkins sets out to care for someone, she doesn't ever give up, no matter how hard it gets." Karen was briefly touched at John's all too accurate description of Yvonne. "Yvonne got this brought in," Denny said, gesturing to the rose bush that in a few weeks, would begin flowering again with the arrival of spring. "When Shaz died. It's called the rose of Sharon." "Did Shaz like flowers?" He asked. "Yeah, she used to have the gardening job. She got given it after Nikki left." "Then it's a very fitting memorial." "But she shouldn't need a memorial," Denny said bitterly. "She shouldn't be dead." "Denny, if Shaz was here now," John continued gently. "She wouldn't want you to be hurting like this, would she." Oh, no, Karen thought resignedly, that was the worst thing you could have said, John Deed. "What would you know?" Denny asked furiously. "You're just a bloke who thinks he knows best, because he's one of the pricks in wigs who gets to say yes or no, to someone like my Shaz ending up in a shit hole like this!" Karen laid a warning hand on Denny's shoulder, only just managing to hide a rueful smile. "I neither convicted, nor sentenced Sharon Wiley," John persisted, trying to calm her down and patently failing. "That's all they are to you, isn't it," Denny replied scornfully, really getting into her stride. "All the poor bastards you send to a place like this, they're all just names, just a load of facts on a bit of paper. Every person you give time behind bars, is a person, a life, with feelings and fears, just like you have. Just because you ain't ever committed a crime, don't mean you know everything about how to survive." As both Karen and John stared at Denny, wondering just where all this had come from, Lauren and Tina appeared, each taking one of Denny's hands and drawing her away. "Well," Karen said dryly. "I haven't heard such a thought provoking piece of rhetoric, since Nikki Wade was here." When Gina reappeared, having observed the entire scene from a short distance away, she said, "I think you got more than you bargained for, didn't you," Looking straight at John. "You could say that," John replied. "Gina, can you put Denny on fifteen minute watch?" Karen asked seriously. "She's liable to do absolutely anything today, and I'm not taking any risks." As they walked back over to the door that led inside, Karen caught sight of Al deeply kissing one of the new girls. "McKenzie," She called in passing. "Either knock it off, or take it somewhere else." "For God's sake," Al shouted in disgust. "It's Valentine's day. Just because your very own piece of dick came to see you at work," She gestured to John. "Doesn't mean the rest of us are going to get any today. So lighten up for once." Al hardly ever exchanging more than two words with her, and only when necessary, Karen knew that something was different about Al today. "McKenzie, come here," Karen said calmly, and when Al slouched disdainfully up to her, Karen looked at her closely. "Stand still," She said, but al couldn't stop moving from foot to foot. When Karen moved to put a hand on her shoulder to keep her in one place, Al objected vehemently. "Keep your bloody hands off me," She snapped. "Look at me," Karen demanded. "And keep still." Then, after scrutinizing Al's expression carefully, she said, "Are you on the speed again?" "Think I'd tell you if I was?" Al replied scornfully. "Well, you're definitely on something, I can see it in your eyes. Gina," She called, gesturing to Al. "Take McKenzie for a drugs test, please." "Jesus, not again," Gina muttered resignedly. "Can't it wait till lock up?" Al pleaded pathetically. "Now!" Karen replied, the firmness in her tone calling for no argument.  
  
Karen walked with John across the association area, and out through the main gate of the wing. "Do you think Denny's right?" John asked as they walked down the dingy corridor. "Yes," Karen said simply. "Though I wouldn't have put it quite in the way she did. But yes, sometimes you do think you know the answer to everything, and you don't." What did he expect, John thought ruefully. He always got the occasionally brutal, but thoroughly unvarnished truth from Karen, and he doubted that she'd ever give him anything less. When they were sitting opposite each other in her office, Karen took a cursory glance out of the window, just to make sure everything was going smoothly out there, and lit a cigarette. "So," She said, after taking a long and grateful drag. "To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure?" The slight edge to her words told him in no uncertain terms that she knew exactly why he was here, and that she wasn't going to make it easy for him. "I think you know why I'm here," He said quietly, watching her as she tapped an ash. "I haven't seen or spoken to you for three weeks, John. You could be here for any number of reasons for all I know." "I can't go on like this," He said with a trace of emotion behind his words. "I know what I said on the last day of Lauren's trial hurt you, and I'm sorry for that, really I am. But I don't like not talking to you, not being able to just drop in and see you, not being able to ask for an opinion, even though I know the truth will probably hurt. I miss you, Karen. When you're not my friend, I miss you." Karen sat in silence for a moment, thoughtfully smoking. "John," She said eventually. "I haven't been spoken to like that, not for a very long time." Her thoughts briefly drifted to Mark's initial disbelief, when she'd told him about Fenner. "What you said to me, it hurt like hell. You know I couldn't tell you about George, because that had to be her decision. I would like to think, that you know me well enough, to know that picking someone up and throwing them away when I get bored, isn't how I do things. I thoroughly understand why you are so protective of George, but that isn't going to stop me sleeping with her. Just like you, she's a pretty well-adjusted adult, who is perfectly capable of making her own decisions." John took a breath to speak, but Karen held up a hand. She hadn't finished yet, and he was going to sit there, and listen to every single word. "I don't expect to be spoken to like that by anyone, John, and especially not by possibly my closest friend." "I am, really, truly, sorry," He said, spacing out his words to give them better emphasis. "I know you are," Karen said with a smile. "It's taken you three weeks to pluck up the courage to apologise, so I know you're serious about it. Just, please try not to do it again, because believe it or not, I've missed you too." Getting up from her desk, she walked round to stand in front of him. When he rose to his feet, she put her arms round him, needing the friendly, masculine hug that she'd missed far more than she cared to admit. "What made Denny say everything she did?" John asked into her hair, bringing them back onto a safer topic of conversation. Drawing back from him slightly, Karen smiled. "To quote one of the immortal lines in this place, you're just another paid up member of the 'All men are bastards' club." "Charming," He said with a broad grin. "Now I know where you get your, at times, thoroughly unlady-like vocabulary from." "What do you expect?" She said ruefully. "When you consider that I work day in day out, with women whose vocabulary is mainly made up of one-syllable, four-letter words, I think I do very well." "I suppose so. As it is Valentine's day, are you seeing George tonight?" "Yes, I am," Karen said with a soft smile. "Are you seeing Jo?" "Yes," He replied, thinking that at least now, he would be able to tell Jo that he'd apologised to Karen. "I won't hurt her, John, I promise," Karen said quietly, knowing that he needed to hear her say it. "I know you won't," He said, realising that she deserve nothing less than his faith in her integrity, both as a friend to him, and as a lover to George. 


	63. Part Sixty Three

A/N: Credits to the Beatles for the song lyrics  
  
Part Sixty-Three  
  
John's grey convertible sped through the traffic towards his favourite florist, the one place where the tangible ability to demonstrate love was made manifest. He prided himself on the bunch of red roses that he would take to Jo. He was looking forward to her soothing company after the recent mental experience of being cross-examined under hot lights. He never knew that a friend like her could be so tough on him as Karen could be. She had that disconcerting knack of seeing through all the elaborate disguises which he fondly thought placed some distance between himself and the world. It was ironical when he compared her to the friend that Roe Colmore used to be. The man had spent a lifetime climbing his own particular ladder in the police force of all institutions and yet he used to enjoy a fuzzy cameraderie with him. In fact all John's male friends sprang from a shared easy familiarity of some kind, whether it be the string quintet of which he was the acknowledged leader or of any of the friendships over the years. There was a sense of cosy adjustment to each other and a sense of comradeship in one activity or another. Karen was different. She was intellectually challenging but she did not give quarter in the same way that he was used to and yet there was a sense of compassion about her. It came in strange and unfamiliar guises, that's all.  
  
In contrast, his etched defined relationship with Karen never let anything past her and this was disturbing. After all, it was his profession to hand down precisely crafted judgements. He shook his head in wonder as it was only inadvertently that he had started a friendship with Karen which had progressed of its own momentum by no process that he could define, except that he respected her. A random train of thought made him ask himself exactly what he felt about the nameless women with whom he had slept over the years. By chance, the traffic lights suddenly turned red and he had to brake sharply to avoid running into the back of the car ahead of him.  
  
The young receptionist behind the desk was utterly charming and soon found him the selection of flowers that he was after which he carefully laid on the passenger seat. It was no time at all that he stood at Jo's front door as he always had done, for so many years. Jo's house on Valentine's day was a special day to be set aside for her, no matter what irregularities there were in his life. He prepared himself to be ready to slip into the familiar mould of the past where the unsettling experience of a few hours ago would be soothed away.  
  
After Jo's effusive greeting and a hug and a kiss, he made his way into Jo's front room and sank into the comfortable settee, which he could remember of old. The candlelit dinner with John's flowers in pride of place brought on those dreamy feelings for a simple uncomplicated life. His Valentine card occupied pride of place on the mantlepiece. After all, he had sleepwalked his way through life and why had he not just done the simple straightforward thing of simply proposing marriage to her. Why not indeed, his fuzzy mind grappled with something insoluble? Both ate the delicious meal in a calm atmosphere of old friends who could enjoy a companionable silence. While the front room curtains were drawn, John could imagine that the world was shut out and didn't exist and at that moment, it didn't. "Life seems strangely peaceful and undramatic with the trial I am involved with at present," Jo said inconsequentially when they lay back on the sofa, comfortably full up. "It is cut and dried with the inevitability of the ticking clock of Big Ben." "Are you complaining, Jo?" John's smooth melodious tones wrapped themselves round Jo in the same comforting way that his arm encircled Jo's shoulder.  
"It's not that, John. It's that I'll always have warm memories of all those women from Larkhall. I've never come across that sort of warmth and strength before. They make the rest of chambers seem pale and colourless in comparison, that everything in life has been handed to them on a plate." "I've had more recent experience than you, Jo. I just happened to pop into Larkhall today," John said in far too elaborately casual manner for Jo to pass that one up.  
"Oh, and how is your favourite Wing Governor these days?" Jo teased.  
"My relationship with Karen is purely platonic," John said a little stiffly. He was a little tired of the assumption that when he happened to mention a woman's name, he must have a sexual interest in that woman. He sipped at the glass of wine to the side of him and ruminated on the day he had spent there. He needed to talk about it to get everything properly in proportion.  
"I've visited Larkhall before but today was a real eye opener." John started the conversation and stopped not knowing how to proceed.  
"I've been there recently. It is a different world and I can remember Karen having to physically restrain Denny from setting about Al McKenzie. 'These little spats breaking out all over the place,' as it was explained to me." John opened his eyes wide as he struggled to get his head round that one.  
"At least the highlight of your visit didn't directly involve you. I was being subjected to Denny Blood's very frank expression of her views." Jo sighed inwardly at John's studiedly detached shorthand description of the scene, which was far too much the male approach to storytelling. It got the essence of the story right but it missed out on all the dialogue and the description of feelings. It was like the collected works of Shakespeare being summarised down to a cheap novel on sale at a British Railway station bookshop.  
"And?" Jo enquired with a half smile and a raised eyebrow.  
"Well I only tried to help her by advising her that her late partner wouldn't want her to be hurting inside," John admitted sheepishly.  
"John darling, full marks for compassion but two out of ten for sensitivity and timing. On Valentine's Day of all days, when Denny would miss her most." "I just wanted to do something practical to help. I couldn't stand around and ignore her as if she didn't exist," John protested, looking visibly discomforted.  
Jo wrapped her arms round John and gave him a big hug. That impulse in John however expressed in his measured tones was at the source of all the good that she ever saw in him. She never forgot the way he had helped out her father many years ago. Walking on past a human tragedy in the main street of life was alien to him. John visibly relaxed as Jo held him. "What was Karen's opinion?" In a discomforted voice, John slowly articulated the words. "Her precise words, as far as I recall were, 'Sometimes I think that I know the answer to everything, and I don't.'"  
"So the reason you went round to see Karen at Larkhall was to be criticised for your lack of technique as the Florence Nightingale of healing words?" Jo grinned impishly at the way that John stared in shocked surprise. She knew John of old. When he has something to talk about that he feels uncomfortable with, his invariable approach was to ample his way into a learned discourse on the distantly related aspect of it which he was most comfortable to talk about. The more impersonal he is, the more uncomfortable he was. Jo had long learnt to give him so much rope and to gently draw him in.  
"Well, there was a reason why I called and you ought to be proud of me. I apologised to Karen for the way I had behaved to her about George." John's curt throwaway description was capable of two interpretations. Either he was shutting off the feelings that were really there or else his apology was typically throwaway. For the good of his soul, this must be pursued with method.  
"Oh you apologised? In your normal throwaway style?" Jo's dry ironical manner provoked a far stronger reaction in John than she expected. He sprang to his feet and his face was flushed.  
"For God's sake, Jo, I told her that I was really, truly sorry. I meant every word. What kind of man do you take me for? Do I have to get on my knees and beg over and over again for forgiveness?" For a sickening moment, John thought that Jo might actually ask him to beg for forgiveness in such an ungainly, undignified fashion that he had himself described. He had never had to apologise in such an abject way to Roe Colmore. Is this what a friendship with a woman amounted to? He felt as if he were a stranger to a foreign land and struggling with an alien language. "John, I believe you. I'm sorry for doubting your word. Come here." It was the way that she said those words and her body language, which led his mouth to seek out hers and their tongues to deeply explore each other's. The faint smell of her perfume and the delicate pattern her fingertips traced on his shoulders persuaded him that he was finally home as the card smiled down gently on them…  
  
…….By contrast, Yvonne moodily fidgeted her way round her house in a disconnected way. She turned the telly on occasionally but the sunbronzed young kids who presented daytime television were not only talking about bloody valentine's day but were shouting it out at the top of their lungs. Stupid wankers. She wasn't sure if it was her getting old and grumpy or everyone else getting brain dead. She wouldn't wish her back in Larkhall with all the bastard screws around but if she was down, the Julies or Nikki or someone would come around to cheer her up. She had had a brief flavour of that again when everyone was all together for her Lauren. They all promised each other to stay in contact after the trial but it hadn't happened yet. It may happen in future but not when there were so many couples amongst them, Babs and Henry, Crystal and Josh, Helen and Nikki, Cassie and Roisin. So where did that leave her, Yvonne and…….. that brutally truncated cutting short of what should have been there really got to her at that moment. She didn't want to be bleeding smothered or feel joined at the hip but without anything, she felt like some kind of a freak. They'll all be at home or going out to some fancy restaurant or whatever. Everyone but her.  
She glanced at the empty mantlepiece, which stared back at her like an accusation. In a fury of activity, she tore round the house to at least stop the place turning into a dump. She owed it to herself to keep up appearances that way in the same way that she put on her makeup to feel better. She sipped at her generous measure of alcohol that was at her side as she stuck on a CD. She didn't even know what it was but she thought she'd take pot luck and let chance take over. Out of her sound system, there came the sweetly flowing guitar sounds and the high pitched sounds of a man in love started to sing. "Something in the way she moves Attracts me like no other lover Something in the way she woos me I don't want to leave her now You know I believe………"  
  
It got right on her tits and sounded too bleeding sickly sentimental and the guy was sounding as if he was deliberately trying to rub it in. Yvonne clicked the remote control on and another more nasal voice sounded as if it had really got it on him.  
  
"Help me if you can, I'm feeling down And I do appreciate you being round.  
Help me, get my feet back on the ground,  
Won't you please, please help me."  
  
For Christ's sake, he's really down in the dumps and I can't be doing with having that rubbed in my face, Yvonne groaned and had one last shot at the remote control. Hey, this sounds a bit more promising, she thought, this guy was talking about human sympathy that means something to her.  
  
"Hey Jude, don't make it bad.  
Take a sad song and make it better.  
Remember to let her into your heart,  
Then you can start to make it better.  
  
And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain,  
Don't carry the world upon your shoulders.  
For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool By making his world a little colder.  
So let it out and let it in, hey Jude, begin,  
You're waiting for someone to perform with.  
And don't you know that it's just you, hey Jude, you'll do,  
The movement you need is on your shoulder...  
  
Yeah, that part of the song as the crazy exhaltation with which the song drove through all the shit and despair and Yvonne jumped to her feet and danced around as the band steamrollered its way through to the end and that barrage of sound lifted her out of herself. The group was with her to give her the help that she needed. She just needed something to carry her through to the end of the bloody day and life would get normal. Visiting Lauren in prison for a start………   
  
Cassie and Roisin's house was a riotous assembly of activity. They were crouched on the floor while Michael and Niamh were busy as only children can be. Michael was cutting out shapes in coloured paper while Niamh was impatiently urging him to hurry up so that she could glue the shapes onto the huge stiff cardboard of the greetings card.  
"Have we got to wait a year till Auntie Lauren gets out of prison. A year is such a long way off," Niamh urged Cassie and Roisin.  
"That is what the court said, kids. It may be less than that if she gets time off for good behaviour," Cassie said.  
"What sort of good behaviour? Won't some of those horrible people in charge of the prison stop her?" "It's not so bad these days. There are nicer people around these days." "Don't ask us to make any promises we can't keep, kids. You know that she'll do her best to get out as early as she can but its not in our hands or Lauren's. As soon as we know for definite, we'll tell you. We promise that one." Cassie stood up suddenly as she was getting stiff, crouched on the ground. She looked round the room where two huge Valentine cards took pride of place. This was a time of the year when they could openly admit their love for each other in front of the kids. It was always there in a pervasive form in the simple human affection that Roisin and Cassie showed each other. Roisin knew that the children were all the more stable because of it from the way they were when they came out of prison. at that stage they were very clingy as if they were both afraid that she was going to suddenly disappear out of their lives and Aiden's heavy handed parenting hadn't helped. Cassie stretched her back and saw the children start to colour in the card with felt-tip pens with huge bubble writing.  
"Cassie, have we got the prison bars right?" Michael asked They were portraying a smiling Lauren being seen through a huge window with vertical bars. "You've got them exactly right," Cassie's invariable encouragement answered them brightly. Too exact for comfort, Cassie reflected with an inward shiver. "What does Valentine's Day mean, mum?" Niamh asked quite out of the blue like children do.  
"It's the day when two people in love remind themselves what they've got between each other. You take people for granted if you don't watch out." The children nodded in understanding at the straightforward explanation.  
"How about 'We love you and we'll wait for you, Auntie Lauren." "That's lovely," Roisin exclaimed enthusiastically.  
The children worked furiously away until they were tired out at bedtime. By that time, Cassie and Roisin could resume their vows of love with each other in the mysterious darkness of night in the bed that they shared. It was the physical expression, the tender touch and the intensity of the love that they felt for each other. It would be nice one day to have a romantic candlelit dinner for two at the Ivy but since Larkhall, Cassie had learned to put her love of material things second place to the rounded lifestyle that mattered most of all to them. 


	64. Part Sixty Four

Part Sixty-Four  
  
A wintry sun was ready and waiting for Yvonne to gradually open her eyes on a day which had some mark in her life. Even revisiting Larkhall was something different, she reflected as she smoked her first cigarette. If the Yvonne Atkins who had been banged up by the screws had seen herself thinking that way, she would have thought that she needed her head examining. It was February the fifteenth and thank god the bleeding annual hearts and flowers crap is out the window and everything returned to normal, same as her Charlie used to. A calm feeling of self-acceptance bathed her as she had got over the worst of yesterday and the future lay out in front of her like an endless highway. When she was down in the dumps at Larkhall, it was only a matter of time before she got over it. It was funny that, at her lowest, she could never believe that there was a way out of it and the next day or so, she looked backwards and it always seemed only a matter of time before she got back to her old self-confident ways. In that frame of mind, she drove her car up to the familiar sidestreet that led to Larkhall and parked the car outside. She stared up at the high wooden gates while the wind ruffled her hair and stung her cheeks. She grinned to herself, imagining Bodybag inside huffing and puffing and dragging out giving the order to unlock the front gate. Prisons would be fine to her way of thinking if it weren't for the dratted prisoners. Sure enough a few minutes late, a door opened inside the gates and she and a few other women trooped through.  
"Hi Ken," Yvonne called out to the stolid man whose clipboard seemed to be attached to him.  
"Back again? I see more of you since you got out than ever before," His amiable banter greeted her.  
"Excuse me, but which way do we go?" a very nervous middle class middle aged woman asked Yvonne. It was plain that this was all new to her. She was clearly bewildered by the sight of the high walls and the forbidding prisoners block which towered into the sky. "Is this your first time you've visited this place?" Yvonne asked gently. The other woman's manner reminded her vaguely of Monica Lindsay, the same posh motherly type who was clearly like a fish out of water.  
"I've come here to visit my daughter Rita. I've never seen a prison in my life. I never thought I would live to see the day when my little girl ends up in a place like this." Yvonne put her arm round this woman's shoulders. She was obviously so caught up in her own nightmare that she was compelled to reach out to the nearest stranger to hand who looked sympathetic. What could she say about herself that would make her feel that this woman could relate to her except that she was another mother? She had to trust to that and her own instinctive sense of sympathy. All her own moaning about being alone on Valentine's day seemed bloody stupid in comparison.  
"I've visited this place before. My daughter's on G Wing and if your Rita is there, she stands a good chance of being looked after. I mean it." Yvonne's soothing tones took the edge off the woman's fears of her daughter being metaphorically dumped into a tank full of sharks and torn. She could see it and feel it.  
"You follow Yvonne and she'll show you where to go," Called out Ken.  
While another prison officer went on ahead of Yvonne, the other two women followed Yvonne's lead. Old instincts died hard or not at all as the case may be.  
  
On the other side of the prison walls, Lauren was keyed up with excitement and was attending to a last minute adjustment in her makeup. Female Atkins values dictated this at all times. She turned round and glanced round at Denny.  
"Hey Denny, wish me luck." A vague mumble came from the vague huddled shape in the upper bunk. For some inexplicable reason, Denny had taken herself there immediately after mornings activities the first chance that she got. It was becoming a noticeable habit, so unlike the positive caring big sister who had sustained her all this time. After the tremendous news of the trial, Denny ought to be happy for her as she had nursed her unselfishly right from the first day she had entered Larkhall. She couldn't understand it.  
"I'll pass on your love to Yvonne, Denny and tell her how you're getting on." "Do what you want, man. I just want to be left on my own."  
  
The Julies were manhandling mops and buckets but they stopped when they saw Lauren heading for the visitor's room.  
"Tell us how Yvonne's going on and give her our love." "Our love, yeah," Julie Johnson echoed.  
Lauren grinned with all the confidence in the world and turned and waved in general to the others. She had taken a couple of paces when Gina appeared and smiled in her friendly fashion.  
"I expect you and Yvonne will be feeling more cheerful since she saw you before the trial." Lauren's big smile was answer enough for her.  
"Well, don't go upsetting Sylvia. You know how easily she gets upset by you and your mother within fifty miles of her." Lauren was about to move on when a thought struck her mind. There was no better time than the present.  
"Is it all right if I ask you a question, Miss Rossi?" "Go on," Gina answered warily. Though the kid was friendly to her without an ounce of harm in her when you got to treat her properly, her look of angelic innocence looked a little too good to be true.  
"Is there anything in the rumour that Miss Barker isn't coming back to G wing?" How do Atkins women always find out the news round Larkhall almost before it's happened, Gina wondered to herself? "Now that would be telling." Gina started to move away as she spoke but her broad grin from ear to ear told Lauren exactly what she wanted to know.  
  
In the meantime, Yvonne made her way along the corridors towards that very familiar room which, a lifetime ago, she had always seen from the prisoner's viewpoint, sitting at the table and waiting for the first sight of Lauren. She was chatting to the other woman To prepare her for what was to come.  
"You go into this big room and your daughter, like mine, will be wearing this bright orange bib. There will be a prison officer or two on duty at this big desk and they'll tell you what the crack is. If you're lucky, you'll get a decent one. All of them are a bit iffy about all that hugs and kisses sort of stuff only as it is used as a way of getting drugs brought in." The woman nodded, trying to take it all in while the prison officer let Yvonne go ahead with her explanation. He was new to the prison service and what Yvonne said sounded pretty reasonable to him but he was glad that Sylvia wasn't with them, as she would have blown a fit on principle. "….Oh yes, they'll frisk you before you go in." The other woman turned visibly nervous when she heard this news. "Don't worry, love. It will be all right." Yvonne's gentle voice reassured her as she did to anyone she took under her wing. It was what she did best at Larkhall and this entirely random meeting reminded her of something she was best at. Soon they milled around in the anteroom as other visitors filed in behind them. The prison officers methodically searched them all, one at a time, in a correct and businesslike fashion. Selena was one of them who took part and she exchanged a brief word with Yvonne. Now was the moment of truth as the doors opened up.  
"We're out of luck. That's Sylvia Hollamby in charge over there." She gestured to the scowling woman whose fixed gaze picked out Yvonne immediately.  
"What's wrong with her?" "Oh, nothing much. It's just that if she had her way, prisoners would be locked up twenty four seven and only let out to break rocks on Dartmoor. As for home visits, that would be right out of the window. They're not all bad though. There are some decent prison officers among them." The other woman was slightly reassured at the end, the way Yvonne's cynical tones softened at the end. In Yvonne's mind, old loyalties died not at all.  
"Hi Dominic," Yvonne added, smiling in return at his unfailing friendly presence.  
"He's one of the good ones." The room suddenly became a cacophony of echoing voices, which disorientated the other woman. At the same time that Yvonne spotted Lauren waving at her, Rita was sitting a few tables away and spotted her mother.Rita was this rock of certainty to cling to in this whirlpool of strange crowded humanity. "You look great, Lauren." Yvonne admired the glowing look of the younger woman who looked so like her old self, the Lauren that she always liked to remember. "Yeah, everything's fine now, mum. I know that I've got another year inside, with luck less than that and at least I know where I am." Lauren went on to chatter away about all the everyday little incidents and Yvonne could see her as the mirror image of herself, only younger. She had an eye for everything round Larkhall, the same way that Yvonne used to be.  
"Guess what, mum, I've got some good news." Yvonne leaned forward into safe whispering distance and smiled in anticipation.  
"I think Di Barker is off G Wing for good. Gina told me in not so many words." A huge grin split Yvonne's face. Revenge is sweet even if exacted by proxy, care of Karen. At that point, Bodybag stared round suspiciously at her number one enemies and sensed trouble.  
"So that's why she's got a face like a smacked arse?" Yvonne deliberately kept her voice pitched low but enough to entice Bodybag to interfere and walk right into the trap as she always did.  
"Hey, Sylvia, Miss, I haven't seen much of Miss Barker.I so much wanted to talk to her about old times." "Humph. None of your business, Atkins. You're just a visitor these days, don't you forget it. You don't run this place." "No but Karen, sorry, Miss Betts does," taunted Yvonne.  
"Just because you were once in Madam's bed, doesn't mean to say she'll go soft on your daughter." "Jealous are you ,Sylvia?" Yvonne's smirk drove Bodybag to promptly hide herself very conspicuously behind a women's magazine. Prisoner's friend down the far end of the room could look after everything. Dominic's gaze and his cheery smile met Yvonne's in mutual conspiracy as the days of verbal fencing at his expense were long past. "How's Denny?" Yvonne enquired. Lauren's face clouded over.  
"I don't know, mum. She's changed overnight since the trial ended. Up till then, she was the supportive one, always propping me up when I went through one of my depressions. Since then, she's taken to her bunk when she gets the chance and is down in the dumps. She won't talk about it or anything much these days." "Is she using?" Yvonne asked bluntly.  
"Not that I know of. I haven't seen anything that's obvious." Yvonne's eyebrows were furrowed in deep thought. Ain't it just her luck when one daughter is going up in the world, the other suddenly plunges down to rock bottom. "Is it anything to do with the two of us?" "Unless I've missed something that's right under my nose, I'd say not," Lauren replied with slow convincing certainty.  
"Well you keep…." Started Yvonne when Bodybag surfaced to loudly announce the end of visiting at the precise second.  
"Love you, mum. You look after yourself while I'm away. It won't be for ever." Impulsively, Yvonne hugged Lauren and kissed her on her cheek. Lauren saw through her and knew very well how Yvonne had been getting on, or not as was the case. It was very strange to be on the outside waiting on the day that your nearest and dearest gets free. In the past, she was that nearest and dearest.  
As Yvonne left the waiting room, tut tutting at the defective vending machine much to Bodybag's exasperation, her temporary amusement was clouded over in worrying about Denny. She needed to get to the bottom of it. 


	65. Part Sixty Five

A/N: Betaed by Little dorritt and Jen.  
  
Part Sixty-Five  
  
Karen had planned to spend the Friday evening and hopefully the night, with George. Karen would be cooking, which meant they would be in her flat for a change. She was perfectly well aware that neither her living space, nor her cooking, could ever come up to George's standard, but that didn't matter. It was a rainy and freezing February night, and they would be warm and content in her flat, which was really all they seemed to need. George arrived just after seven with a bottle of red wine, which provided a perfect accompaniment to the chicken casserole Karen had thrown together. She was pleased to see that George ate a good-sized helping of the very warming, pretty filling dish. They washed up, and were sitting snugly close on the sofa, drinking the Merlot and listening to some soft music, when the phone rang. Karen ignored it at first, letting the answer phone take it for her. But when she heard Dominic's voice, telling her to pick up, she did. "I am here," She said, switching on the cordless to interrupt his message. "Thank god for that," He said, sounding relieved. "You know I was supposed to be doing the night shift with Gina?" "Yes," Karen replied, not liking where her thoughts were taking her. "I can't do it." "Why the bloody hell not?" Karen demanded. "I've got food poisoning." "Dominic, is this real food poisoning, or Sylvia's kind of food poisoning, just in time for the weekend." "Come on, Karen," He insisted. "You know me better than that." "Yes, I know. I'm sorry. But you could have let me know before now. You're on duty in less than an hour," She said, glancing at her watch. "I thought it would be gone by tonight, but there's no way I'd be any use to anyone." "You do realise, that Colin, Selena, Sylvia and Paula, have all been on duty all day, and so can't cover for you?" "Could you do it?" He asked tentatively. "Shit, Dominic," Karen said in alarm. "I've been drinking." "How much have you had?" "About half a bottle of red wine." "Oh, that's nothing for you," Dominic said confidently. "Dominic, your faith in my tolerance of alcohol is commendable, but I just hope you're right. Just because Fenner used to periodically drink on duty, does not mean that Grayling would thank me for doing the same." "So you'll do it?" "I don't have any choice, do I?"  
  
When she'd replaced the receiver, she turned to George with an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, but I expect you got the gist of that." "Your staff don't know when they're well off," Was George's only comment. "I didn't know this was going to happen," Karen said quietly, feeling unutterably guilty, even though she knew she had nothing to feel guilty about. "I know," George said, trying to hide her disappointment and failing. "If there was the remotest possibility of an alternative, I wouldn't be doing this," Karen insisted. "That's the point though, isn't it?" George said in slight irritation. "There ought to be an alternative for a situation like this, and you shouldn't have to do it." "I'll have to phone Gina," Karen said, wanting to change the subject a little. "She can pick me up. I'm not losing my licence in the midst of waiting for a promotion." After phoning Gina and putting her in the picture, Karen made herself a cup of very strong coffee, in an attempt to sober up slightly, though she didn't in any way feel incapable of doing her job. "Do you mind if I stay?" George asked, not really wanting to go back home to her empty house. "Because you're not the only one who's had a little too much to drive." "No, of course I don't mind," Karen said, putting her arms round her. "You can keep the bed warm for me. I'll hopefully be back some time early tomorrow morning, but you never know." "I wish you didn't have to do this," George said quietly. "I know," Karen responded, gently kissing her. "But when all else fails on my wing, I draw the short straw. That's how it's always been, and I suspect that's how it always will be. That's what my life consists of, Larkhall taking up the vast majority of my time. If I can fit in a beautiful, funny, argumentative, stubborn and at times addictive, woman, then I do. But just occasionally, she may have to play second fiddle to my job. That's not how I want it, but for the moment, that's how it is." Karen had said all this in a calm, gentle but firm voice. George turned her gaze away from Karen, not wanting her to see the brief tears that had risen to her eyes. She felt utterly stupid. She knew that Karen's job always had done and probably always would come first, and she knew that she had absolutely no right to demand more of Karen, than Karen was prepared to give. Karen didn't say anything for the time being, because she knew that George was finding this all a little difficult to deal with, but when the doorbell rang, she turned George's face back to her. "If I can get home earlier than planned, then I will." "I'm sorry," George said in a slightly strangled voice as they kissed each other. "I know," Karen said softly.  
  
When Karen dropped into the passenger seat of Gina's car, she said, "Thanks for this." "That's okay," Gina replied as she started the engine. Then, taking a closer look at Karen's face, she said, "Apart from the red wine, are you all right?" "Not really," Karen found herself admitting. "This job doesn't do much for the home life, does it?" "No," Gina agreed ruefully. "Was that George's car in your driveway?" "Yes, and I don't think I'm going to be forgiven for occasionally having to put my job first." "The thing is," Gina clarified, "Even though someone like her, or the Judge, or that other barrister, the one who defended Lauren Atkins, might do a bloody hard job, it's still only got a nine to five, or Monday to Friday level of commitment. This kind of job, like nursing I suppose, isn't just a way of earning a living, it's a vocation, a way of life, and if you're destined to work in a job like this, it's going to take over your life from time to time. That's just how it works. If you're not prepared for that from the start, you'll never last the course." "That's pretty much what I said at my interview last week," Karen said with a smile. "Well, there you are then. Your commitment to your job is something George and whoever else, is just going to have to get used too." "Did you find it easier, being in a relationship with someone who did the same job as you?" Karen asked, clearly referring to Mark. "No way," Gina said scornfully. "It was a bloody nightmare. But then you'd know that, after constantly being caught in the rows between Fenner and Helen Stewart." Karen neither acknowledged nor denied this assertion. They didn't speak again on their drive to Larkhall, Karen being lost in her thoughts, and Gina wondering if she'd said too much.  
  
When they walked into the officers' room on G wing, they found Sylvia and Colin maintaining a stony silence. "Oh, where's Dominic?" Asked Sylvia on seeing Karen. "He's got food poisoning," Karen replied curtly. "Typical," Sylvia said disdainfully, conveniently forgetting all the times she'd said the same thing. "Oh, well," She added with the edge of spiteful pleasure in her tone. "I suppose this'll remind you what it's like to get your hands dirty." Karen was about to give Sylvia the first impolite retort that came into her head, but Gina got there before her. "Sylvia, why don't you do us all a favour and give it a rest? It's a bloody awful night, so just be glad that you can leave this place and go home. Now, preferably." Taking the hint, Sylvia picked up her coat and her handbag and left the office. "How's it been tonight?" Karen asked Colin, who didn't even bother trying to hide his smile at the way Gina had dealt with Sylvia. "All's very quiet," He said, taking a quick look at the report book. "But everyone's cold. If this wind gets any stronger, you might want to give some of them extra blankets. You know how drafty those cells can be. Oh, and I might be wrong, at least I hope I'm wrong, but I think Denny Blood might be on something." "Oh, you're joking," Karen replied in dismay. "Like I said, I might be barking up the wrong tree. But she seemed a bit out of it in association, and was already crashed out on her bed by lock up." "Which really isn't like Denny," Karen finished for him. "The drugs problem seems to be a hell of a lot worse lately," Gina observed. "Which makes me wonder if they're getting some inside help," Karen said gloomily. "Try the people who work in the officers' club," Suggested Gina. "Or the blokes who do the deliveries." "Well, you need to find out where Denny scored, if she did," Colin finished, as he shrugged into his jacket. "Because it wasn't from Al McKenzie, because she's been down the block all week. If you want my opinion, I'd put my bets on Darlene."  
  
When he'd gone, Karen and Gina began to make a thorough walk round of the wing, making some attempt to tidy up the association area, both of them thinking that Sylvia had left this on purpose. They walked along the landings, starting with the 3s, checking on every cell. The howling wind echoed along the open landings, giving the place a far more eerie and haunted feeling than usual. "Jesus," Gina said with an almost imperceptible shudder. "I wouldn't like to be doing a shift on my own tonight." "The place is full of people, Gina," Karen said with a smile. "Yeah, half of them killers, and the rest of them either out of it on drugs, or hell bent on making mincemeat of themselves. Doesn't exactly fill you with confidence, does it." "Not put like that, no," Karen was forced to agree. "But fortunately for us, they're all behind locked doors." "Yeah, Sylvia's always said that happiness was door shaped, I'm beginning to know what she means." They gave extra blankets to those who asked for them, and it didn't go unnoticed that several inmates were sleeping in the same bed tonight, presumably to share body heat. When they reached Lauren and Denny's cell on the ground floor, Karen went in this time, instead of simply looking through the spy hole. Denny was fast asleep on the top bunk, but Lauren was reading by the light of a candle. "Where did you get that?" Karen asked. "Oh, hi Miss," Lauren said, looking up with a far too innocent look on her face. "I couldn't sleep because of the cold, and because Denny keeps dreaming and calling out all sorts of bollocks." "Where did you get that candle?" Karen persisted, not wanting a fire tonight on top of everything else. "Good, isn't it?" Lauren said, trying to get Karen off the negatives of the situation. "The only thing is, the draught keeps blowing it out." "Well, just be careful," Karen admonished, seeing that she wasn't going to get anywhere with this. "Just make sure you don't set fire to something." "Cheers, Miss," Lauren said with a winning smile. "Any chance of an extra blanket?" "Suppose you'd like a mug of hot chocolate as well, would you?" Gina said dryly, handing a blanket over from the stack she'd been carrying. "Well, if you're offering," Lauren said flashing a cheeky smile over at Gina. "What did your last slave die of?" Gina asked in disgust. "Boredom," Lauren quipped back as Karen moved towards the door. But before she could leave altogether, Denny began murmuring in her sleep, her voice becoming more frantic and desperate with every second. Walking over to her, Karen reached up to the top bunk and shook Denny's shoulder. But this only seemed to make Denny worse. She began struggling, and calling out all manner of indecipherable pleas. "Denny, come on, wake up," Karen gently cajoled. When Denny eventually opened her eyes, the blind terror in them made Karen flinch. Denny was crying now, her whole body shaking, her arms clinging to Karen to stop herself from falling back into her nightmare. Karen gently rubbed her back, almost rocking her like a child, feeling powerless in not knowing the cause of Denny's dream. Leaving them for a moment, Gina soon returned carrying two mugs of tea, handing one to Lauren, and holding the other until Denny was ready for it. Lauren slid out of bed and handed Denny the box of tissues that was on the table. "Are you all right now?" Karen asked as Denny blew her nose. "Why do all the shit things come back to haunt you all at the same time?" Denny asked bitterly. "Sometimes, if we're especially tired, or depressed, the bad things are all we can think about," Karen replied gently. "And, if we take dodgy drugs, to try and make ourselves feel better, that's only going to make it worse." Denny looked her straight in the eye, seeing in an instant that there was no point hiding it because Karen already knew. "Shit," She said miserably. "Go on, get that down you," Gina said, handing her the mug of hot, sweet tea. "That'll do you a lot more good than shoving pills down your gob." When Denny had drunk the tea, Karen picked up a spare blanket and tucked it round her. "I'm going to keep checking on you tonight," She said gently. "Until whatever it is has gone out of your system, and we will be talking about this some time soon. Is that understood?" "Yes, Miss," Denny said quietly, knowing she'd let Karen down. The deal she'd made with Miss Betts, all those months ago, would have been great if Fenner had really got what he deserved. But she couldn't really see the point now in keeping her nose clean. What reason was there for her to even think of getting out of prison? Sure, Yvonne came to see her every fortnight, but she would have Lauren back soon enough, and then she wouldn't need her.  
  
When Karen and Gina returned to the office, Karen turned the radiator up high and put the kettle on for some coffee. "Are you going to go official about Denny?" Gina asked. "I don't want to," Karen admitted. "It ain't like you to go soft on an inmate," Gina observed. "I know. I'm just not sure that punishment will achieve very much in this case. I think this needs a more personal approach." "Is this because of how close Denny is to Yvonne?" Gina asked wisely. "No," Karen replied, seeing just where Gina's thoughts were heading. "Denny always manages to get to you," Gina observed quietly. "Ever since I came back, I've noticed that. You're different with her." "I'm not sure I'd agree with you," Karen said conversationally, though she knew that in some ways, Gina was right. "Yeah, well, you wouldn't, would you," Gina said succinctly. "Gina, if you're trying to say that I'm getting too emotionally involved with Denny's case, then just say it." "Hey, calm down," Gina said persuasively. "It might be understandable if you were. Let's face it, the bloke you were seeing, was part of the cause of Denny's girlfriend being burnt to death. If that doesn't make you feel slightly more responsible for someone, then I don't know what does." Karen just stared at her. She'd never previously even entertained such an idea, though she knew that this was because she'd avoided looking too closely at her interest in Denny. "Look," Gina said, trying to reassure Karen. "Until just lately, Denny's been getting on with it, sorting herself out. So, whatever you said or did to make her do that, was all to the good." Karen laughed mirthlessly. "Do you want to know why she's been almost a model prisoner for quite some time now?" Karen asked a little cynically. Gina just waited. "As a result of the flapping ears and gossip in this place, Denny, as well as a number of the rest of them, was aware of what had happened with me and Fenner, just before Mark left. I agreed to pursue a case against Fenner, if Denny would keep her nose clean and make an effort to get her parole." "Jesus," Gina said in awe. "That's some deal." "Yeah, and it's not as if it came to anything, is it," Karen said bitterly. "Mark told me about what happened with Fenner," Gina said quietly. "That was nice of him," Karen said a little acidly. "Do you still hear from him?" She asked, wanting and yet not wanting to know. "Yeah, from time to time. He usually writes, but occasionally he'll phone me. He got back in touch with me, not long after he left here." "I'm glad he had someone to talk to," Karen said, some of her residual guilt over the way she'd treated Mark beginning to resurface. "He usually asks after you," Gina said gently. "I don't know why he should," Karen answered miserably. "Karen, what happened with you and Mark, wasn't your fault, same as what happened with me and Mark wasn't mine. Di bloody Barker was what did for me and Mark, and Fenner was what screwed things up for you." "I wasn't very nice to Mark when that happened," Karen admitted regretfully. "No, and neither was I when I lost the baby." "Does he still blame me?" Karen found herself asking, though she wasn't sure that she really wanted to know. "No, of course not. He felt terrible about the way he reacted when you told him, but that's Mark all over. When I found out that he'd been shagging Di, all he could do was focus on what he thought I'd been up to with Josh. Then, when I lost the baby, I know part of him thought it was my fault for picking a fight with Di. He never actually said so, but I'd known him long enough to see it in his eyes. Mark has to find a reason for everything. If he can't immediately find some way of explaining all the bad things that happen, he has to find someone to blame. With me, it was easier for him to blame me, because he knew that in blaming Di, he would have to look at his own behaviour where she was concerned. With you, I suspect he couldn't immediately blame Fenner, because you two were supposed to be in something resembling a relationship, and yet you'd gone to bed with Fenner. Mark has quite simple boundaries for right and wrong, and that just confused him."  
  
After Karen had gone, George had sat drinking the rest of the red wine and listening to music. She could relax in Karen's flat; the stylish yet homely surroundings making her feel incredibly comfortable. She'd put a new CD on, and soaked for a long time in a hot, scented bath, allowing her senses to take her through what they might have done had Karen been here. They might well have taken a bath together, soft, soapy hands caressing each other's skin. Her nipples turned hard at this thought, even with the heat of the water. But after eventually dragging herself out, she wrapped herself in a big, fluffy towel, and went to examine Karen's bookcase. She didn't feel like watching a film, and the comforting softness of Karen's goose-feather duvet was calling to her. When she lighted on the line of six Jilly Cooper novels on the second shelf, her face broke into a smile of pure, unadulterated pleasure. It was years since she'd read one of these, the illustrious reprobate, Rupert Campbell-Black, having provided her with many hours of light, trashy entertainment. Selecting the one that had always been her favourite, she snuggled down under the thick duvet and began to read. Even though she must have read this book at least half a dozen times, it still made her laugh. 'The Man who Made Husbands Jealous', with the boyish and hopelessly inefficient Lysander Hawkley, the musical genius and sexual predator, Rannaldini, and the thoroughly wayward Flora Seymour, who reminded George of herself at sixteen. She lost herself in the first few chapters of this well-remembered novel, her imagination and fondness for the characters taking her away from the sound of the weather outside. But at around half past one, her eyes began to grow heavy, the end of a long week's work finally catching up with her. Putting the book down on the bedside table and switching off the lamp, George lay listening to the howling wind and the pounding rain outside the window. Her thoughts drifted to Karen, probably sitting in the officers' room on G wing, drinking coffee to keep her awake and smoking. George knew that she would hate to have to be in a place like Larkhall on such a night, and snuggled deeper into the folds of the duvet, heartily grateful that she was George and not Karen.  
  
Karen and Gina had continued talking about Mark, the escalating weather outside providing the perfect background to such a soul-searching conversation. The wind shook the ill-fitting windowpanes from time to time, but they had steaming mugs of coffee, a good supply of cigarettes, and a thankfully functioning radiator. "I didn't intend to go to bed with Fenner," Karen found herself saying. "It just happened. But when Mark realised that's what I'd done, it was like he thought I'd deserved what I got." "I bet he came over all holier than thou, didn't he?" Gina said knowingly. "Part of me couldn't really blame him," Karen said reasonably. "And the rest of me was hurt and furious with him for not believing me." "I think he couldn't believe you," Gina said slowly. "Because he thought you didn't believe it yourself." "He wanted everything to be so cut and dried," Karen said miserably. "And that's not how things are after something like that." "Look," Gina said gently. "What happened with Fenner, that wasn't your fault. Mark knows that, and you should too. Mark wasn't anywhere near strong enough to deal with me after I lost the baby, so there's no way he would have been for you either. You're like me, you push everyone away when something goes badly wrong, because you think you can deal with it better on your own." "You've become very wise and philosophical in the last few years," Karen said with a wan smile. "Yeah, well, grief and guilt all in one go does that to a person. I did that, I pushed Mark away because I only had room for what I was feeling, not everything he was going through as well. He told me about Buki's kid, and how he'd gone a bit over the top trying to find out what had happened to him. I think he did that, because it was his way of dealing with losing his own kid." "Yeah, I wondered that at the time," Karen agreed meditatively. "He was so single-minded about it." "The point is," Gina continued. "We all deal with stuff like that in different ways. Mark threw himself into helping Buki look for her son, I moved prisons and worked as many shifts as I could, and you had a fling with Ritchie Atkins." Karen looked a little uncomfortable. "I was in court for most of Lauren's trial, Karen," Gina said quietly. "I know," Karen said, hating the fact that her officers always seem to know everything about her life, no matter how hard she tried to keep it separate from her job. "How much does Mark know about that?" She asked, thinking that now was as good a time as any to learn the worst. "He's read the papers, just like everyone else," Gina said matter-of-factly. "And yeah, especially whenever you or Larkhall's been in them. So I guess there ain't much he doesn't know. You definitely gave him a surprise or two, but nothing he won't get over." "I didn't mean to hurt him," Karen said, turning her face away from Gina's all too penetrating gaze. "But it would have been impossible to stay with him. It's been hard enough for me to move on from what Fenner did to me, but I know I couldn't have coped with Mark's feelings about it as well."  
  
They progressed on through the long, dark night, doing rounds of the entire wing, keeping a regular check on those prisoners who were considered to be at risk. They returned intermittently to the subject of Mark, perhaps taking advantage of the opportunity to get everything about him out in the open. Karen knew she had stamina, but she'd been awake for almost twenty-four hours now, and the strain was beginning to tell. "Jesus," Karen said at about half past five, lighting what felt like her hundredth cigarette. "This reminds me of when I was nursing, and had to do double shifts to make ends meet." "Don't you have a son?" Gina asked, suddenly remembering. "Yes," Karen said with a smile that went soul deep. "Ross, I had him when I was eighteen. It was crazy for a few years. I couldn't always afford to be at home and read him a bedtime story myself, but I could just about afford to pay someone else to do it for me." "I take it he wasn't planned," Gina said with a smile. "No," Karen admitted, wondering just where that eighteen-year-old girl had gone. "It was bloody hard at times, but I wouldn't change any of it for the world." "That's what I wanted," Gina said, a slight catch in her voice. "For me, and Mark, and the little one to be a family. I didn't care how hard it was going to be I just knew it was what I wanted. Then, when I found out just how much Mark didn't care about our relationship, I knew I couldn't do it on my own. I might be strong, but I'm not as strong as you." There were brief tears in Gina's eyes, and Karen took her hand and gave it a squeeze. "Just because you've had one miscarriage," She said gently. "That doesn't mean you'll have another." "I know, that's what the hospital said at the time." "Don't give up hope, Gina. That's all any of us have got."  
  
Not long after six, they heard the distinct sound of the gate being unlocked and somebody coming onto the wing. "Sounds like we've got company," Gina said hopefully. A moment later, Dominic walked into the office, looking tired, pale, but basically healthy. "There's a sight for sore eyes," Karen commented dryly. "You feeling better?" "I stopped throwing up at around midnight, so I thought I'd come in." "Now that is dedication for you," Karen said on a yawn. "Go on," Gina said with a tired smile. "Go home, go to bed, and give that woman of yours a reason not to whinge." Karen grinned lop-sidedly at them as she shrugged into her coat. "Thanks for doing this, Karen," Dominic said as she passed him. "As you've come in to finish your shift, I'll forgive you," She said with a smile. "I'll call you a cab," Gina said as Karen walked out of the door. Gina being as good as her word, there was a cab waiting for her by the time she reached the outside, ready to take her home to a warm flat and hopefully a still occupied bed.  
  
When Karen let herself through her front door, all was silent. But it wasn't the empty silence that spoke of no other presence. It was an occupied silence, a quietness that told of contented sleep. Karen smiled as this observation struck her. She liked having George here, in her space, in her bed, waiting for her to come home. Slipping her shoes off, she padded into the bedroom, to see that George was still asleep, her soft, steady breathing the only sound, apart from the still falling rain. Pulling her clothes off, Karen took a quick, hot shower and cleaned her teeth. The combination of exhaustion and caffeine high was making her jittery, and she knew that only a soft, warm cuddle would calm her down. Sliding under the duvet, she found herself submerged in a soft, warm bed, with George's slim, pretty legs stretched over to her side of the bed. Karen smiled. George would be the type of person to hog the entire bed if she was the only one in it. At Karen's first contact with her skin, George groaned softly and put her arms out instinctively. As they came together, George began to wake up. "What time is it?" She asked in a drowsy, sleepy voice. "Not quite seven," Karen said, gently kissing her. "You're back early," George deduced, sounding pleased. "Dominic felt better, so he came in. I haven't been awake for as long as twenty four hours for quite a long time," She said with a yawn. "How was it?" "Fairly quiet. But Denny's started taking drugs again." "Oh, no," George said with feeling. "I thought she was doing well, after you'd made your deal with her." "Yes, so did I. But I think everything's just got a bit too much lately. That's a conversation I'm not looking forward to on Monday." "Darling, I'm sorry I behaved like a spoilt adolescent last night," George said soberly. "You didn't really," Karen said fondly. "And I know how infuriating it can be sometimes." "Am I forgiven?" "Of course," Karen said with a smile. "Would I really be doing this if you weren't?" She asked, deftly stroking one of George's breasts. George laughed deep in her throat. "If doing night shifts puts you in the mood, I might be in favour of you doing them more often," George said with a smirk. "Bloody cheek," Karen quipped, grazing a thumb over George's nipple. "When have I ever not been up for this?" George would have answered, but the feelings Karen was inducing in her, were taking her over. As their kisses became deeper, and their hands began to wander at will, Karen eased a leg between George's, her thigh rubbing up against her soft, warm centre. Their hands progressed down the path of mutual, combined ecstasy, bringing each other to a shuddering, gasping orgasm. They clung to each other as their simultaneous climax approached, thrilling in the reactions of each other's bodies and the celebration of how happy they were. As they lay afterwards, huddled together in the cosy haven of their bed, George wondered how she could ever have reacted the way she had the night before. Karen's job was her life, at least for the most part, and her total dedication to it was something to be praised, not discouraged. They gently kissed each other from time to time, occasionally talking, but mostly taking simple comfort from being in each other's arms. "You look exhausted," George said after a while. "Being awake for over twenty four hours, and making love with a beautiful woman, might account for that," Karen replied, a smile turning up the corners of her mouth. "That's interesting," George mused with a smile. "You used to say 'sleeping with' when you talked about me, and now it's 'making love.' I like that." "Good," Karen said, kissing her again. "I liked coming home, and knowing you were here." As they lay there, both taking in the meaning of their words, they drifted gently to sleep, the wintry, Saturday morning sun peeping through the bedroom curtains. 


	66. Part Sixty Six

A/N: Betaed by Jen.  
  
Part Sixty-Six  
  
As Karen drove into work on the Monday morning, she found herself praying to some unknown deity that Denny wasn't about to go through what Roisin had all that time ago. She knew that Denny had used and dealt drugs before, but she'd perhaps mistakenly thought Denny was passed all that now. But Denny was clearly in a very bad emotional state, and it was up to Karen to try to do something about it. When she'd woken at around eleven on Saturday morning, George had gone, but she'd left a note on the table in the lounge, saying that she had a lot of work to do and thought she may as well leave Karen to sleep. Karen half smiled as she thought of George's reaction to her having to work on the Friday night. But then her smile faded. If work was encroaching on her personal life now, what would it be like if she got the job of Governing Governor? But G wing was her immediate priority, with Denny taking centre stage.  
  
"How's Denny Blood been over the weekend?" Was one of the first things Karen asked at the early morning meeting. "As jumpy as a monkey on a stick," Was Sylvia's curt reply. "Quite jittery and unpredictable," Colin clarified. "Clucking from something if you ask me," Sylvia finished off. "But then you'd know that if you did a decent day's work like the rest of us." "What did it look like I was doing on Friday night?" Quipped back Karen, really not in the mood for Sylvia's antics, but never quite able to resist rising to the bait. "Hmmm! Do half a night shift and you think you know it all." "Well, I have done a decent day's work, week in week out, when I was a prison officer like yourself, Sylvia. I wouldn't be where I am now if I hadn't, now would I?" Karen was trying to keep her voice steady, but Sylvia always managed to make her furious, and always on a Monday morning too. "And there aren't many Wing Governors who'd do night shifts just like the rest of us, Sylv, so give it a rest," Dominic interjected. "Yeah, I bet you didn't do any in your short stint as Wing Governor, did you, Sylvia?" Gina put in quietly, immediately having the desired effect. "No, Sylvia just hid dead bodies in the chapel," Selena reminded them. "You weren't even here then, Geeson," Sylvia said angrily. "Okay, folks," Karen said, trying to calm everyone down. "We don't have time for this. Sylvia, can you bring Denny Blood to my office at eleven, please?" "What for? If she's back on the nasty, she ought to be tested and punished just like the rest of them." "Just do it," Karen said smartly, inviting no argument.  
  
After putting herself to sleep with a downer on the Friday night, Denny had attempted to stay clean all weekend, but it was an uphill struggle. It was amazing, how easy she'd found it to start taking drugs again. But all she'd had to do was to do a little bit of trade with Darlene. But Miss Betts had known, she'd known exactly what Denny had done, and when it came to Monday morning, Denny knew the time had come for her to face the music. Denny wasn't stupid, she knew she'd screwed up, but didn't everyone? Didn't everyone, just once in a while fuck things up? She'd been doing it all her life, so why stop now. When Bodybag had come to let them out first thing, she'd looked down her nose at Denny, even more than usual. "The Governor wants to see you at eleven o'clock, Blood, so make sure you're back on the wing, because I'm not chasing all over the prison looking for you." "Yes, Miss," Denny said quietly. "If I had my way, you'd be back in segregation, but Madam always has to do things differently," Were Sylvia's parting comments. "Karen will go easy on you," Lauren said, as they made their way towards the servery for breakfast. "Ain't no reason why she should, is there?" Denny said miserably. "So you've had one little lapse, that's nothing compared to some in here," Lauren tried to reassure her. "I made a deal with her, Lauren, and I went back on it. That's all there is to it."  
  
When Denny was shown into Karen's office at the appointed time, she didn't know whether to hold her head high in her usual belligerent attitude, or to avoid Karen's gaze like the guilty one she was. Karen saw this moment of indecision on Denny's face, and could see plainly that Denny did know she'd done wrong. "Sit down," She said kindly, moving out from behind the barrier of her desk. To Denny's amazement, Karen asked her secretary to bring them some tea. "How are you feeling?" She asked, taking a seat near Denny and offering her a cigarette. "Not bad," Denny replied, gratefully taking the proffered cigarette. "It ain't like I haven't done cold turkey before." "And what we need to talk about," Karen said slowly. "Is why you've had to go through it again." Denny went and stayed very quiet. "Talk to me, Denny," Karen persisted. "Because this isn't like you, not any more. A few years ago, I'd have put it down to the way you were, but not now. You've been doing so well over the last few months." "Yeah, and for what?" Denny demanded angrily. "Denny, don't you want to get out of here one day?" Karen asked, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible. "I'm not sure any more," Denny replied dully, showing Karen just how low she really was. "If you could do anything in the whole world, what would it be?" Denny spent a moment or two thinking about this. "If Shaz was still here, then I'd want to be out there, making a life for the two of us, for when she got out. That was all I ever wanted. A long time ago, I used to think that about my mum, but you know what happened to her. She preferred the bottle over me, and ended up dying in the gutter. But with Shaz gone, I don't really know what I want." "Don't you want to get out, to be with Yvonne?" "Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don't. Yvonne couldn't have done better by me, I know that, but I don't want her to keep being good to me, just because she feels she has to. I've got to know Lauren really well over the last year, and Yvonne couldn't want for anything better in a daughter." Karen just managed to bite back the comment that Yvonne could have done with a daughter who didn't feel the need to commit murder. The fact that Denny saw Lauren, the woman who had killed a prison officer, to be all that Yvonne could want in a daughter, was something Karen thrust to the back of her mind to be dealt with later. "Denny, if you thought you had a reason to get out of here, would that make it easier?" "Maybe," Denny conceded. "I'm sorry I did drugs again, I'm sorry I went back on our deal." "It didn't exactly help that Fenner wasn't around to get what he deserved, did it?" Karen said quietly. "No," Denny said miserably. "I couldn't ever slag off what Lauren did, but Fenner should have suffered, I mean really suffered for what he did to Shell, and to you," Denny added, remembering just why the deal had been struck in the first place. "Where do you want to go from here, Denny?" Karen asked. "Because I'm at a loss as to how to stop you going down your old self-destructive path." Denny thought long and hard about this. Why wasn't Miss Betts doing what the screws normally did when someone took drugs? Why wasn't she just giving her days down the block and washing her hands of the situation? Denny didn't know. "Miss, why are you being so nice to me?" Denny asked in a small voice, feeling as though she really didn't deserve it. "Because coming down heavy on you almost certainly wouldn't work, would it," Karen stated, knowing it was true. "From your record, I know that it hasn't worked in the past, so maybe it's time to try something new. You usually need an incentive to do something, which in this place is perfectly understandable. The prospect of Fenner being punished for how he'd treated Shell, that was an enormous incentive for you, which is why you tried so hard to keep your nose clean. But now, that's gone. I want to help you, Denny, not punish you again and again, because we both know that isn't what you need. You will get your parole one day, and that time shouldn't be too far away. But you won't get it, if you slide back in to shoving any narcotic substance up your nose or down your throat, just to blot out how miserable you feel. I also know that you've heard every word I'm saying, at least a dozen times before." After first raising her eyes to Karen's in question, Denny took another cigarette from the packet and lit it from the Zippo Karen held for her. "Miss, would I be able to see Shell?" Denny's question was certainly like a bolt from the blue, not something Karen had been expecting at all. "I'm not sure. Why?" "If it was something that was possible at some point in the future, it might give me something to work towards. I haven't even been able to write to Shell since she's been in that place and it would just be nice to see her again. No matter how much shit Shell managed to get us both into, it was always me who got us out. I know you went to see her before Fenner was killed, but that was the last Shell saw of anyone from Larkhall. It's just something I'd like to do, for me and for Shell." Karen looked at Denny through the cigarette smoke. She just might have a point here. Karen had exchanged the odd letter here and there with Shell, telling her about anyone she asked after, trying to keep her in touch with something normal, something she'd once regarded as home. But if Denny could have contact with Shell, that might do them both good. It would give Shell a link back to Larkhall, to the one place where she'd been liked and cared for, to a certain extent, and for Denny, it would give her something new to focus on. "I'm not promising anything," Karen said slowly. "But I'll look into it. There'll be a lot of red tape for me to wade through, in order for this to even be considered, and in the meantime, you need to stay off the drugs. I'm going to enroll you on the frequent testing programme," And at Denny's attempt to protest, she added, "And this isn't negotiable. Denny, I can't ignore the fact that you've become involved with drugs again, you know that. I want to make sure you stay off drugs, and going by this weekend's performance, your word obviously isn't enough." "I won't do it again, Miss, I promise," Denny insisted. "Say that to me at the end of this week, when you're desperate to get to sleep because of all the thoughts running round in your head that you can't control," Karen said challengingly. "I know how it is, Denny, and I know that your word to me is going to be sorely tested over the next few weeks. You might have got through the last couple of days, but time can go very slowly in this place, and I know just as well as you do, that time is something you really don't need when you're trying to escape from everything that's going on in here," She finished gently, tapping her forehead. "So, just take it one day at a time, and the frequent testing programme will keep me informed as to whether or not you really are staying off the Benzos." "I'm sorry," Denny said in a small, quiet voice. "I know," Karen said gently. "Now, the other thing I need to talk to you about is whether or not you want Yvonne told about this." "No," Denny said hurriedly. "Please, don't tell Yvonne. She'd be so ashamed of me," She finished quietly. "Denny, Yvonne knows how it is in this place," Karen tried to reassure her. "And she might be able to help you. She can almost certainly help you better than I can." "No, please, Miss, you mustn't tell Yvonne. Please," Denny begged, with the wide, frightened eyes of a fox, caught in the proverbial jaws of the hound, and about to be shaken to death. "All right," Karen said gently, trying to calm her down. "But please try and talk to her, about wanting to visit Shell, if nothing else." "Okay," Denny conceded. "And Miss, thanks, for not sending me down the block." "Well, I may not be so amenable next time," Karen said firmly. "Just remember that. I'm trying something new with you, but only because any previous punishment hasn't worked. So yes, you are being given a chance, but I will punish you in the usual way if your current behaviour continues. Is that understood?" "Yes, Miss," Denny said meekly, leaving the office a little while later, with the knowledge that somehow, she had to get through this without going back on any drugs. How successful this would be, she didn't know.  
  
When Denny had gone, Karen walked up to Neil's office. She knew that she couldn't make this type of decision on her own. Denny had specifically said that she didn't want Yvonne informed of what was going on, but Karen knew at the same time, that Denny needed some proof from Yvonne that she had something to get out of prison for. Neil was on the phone when she knocked on his door and entered, so he held up a hand, and gestured her to take a seat. Karen took the opportunity to take a good look at his office. If everything went to plan, this might be hers in the not too distant future. When he replaced the receiver, he gave Karen a smile. "That was the accounts department at area, to inform me that we've over spent on our annual budget for the third year running, as if I didn't know already." "I need to make a decision," Karen came straight to the point. "And I think it needs your input." "I'm all ears," Neil replied, folding his hands in front of him on the desk. "Denny Blood has started taking drugs again. I've talked to her, put her on the frequent testing programme, and warned her as to her future conduct, but I think Yvonne needs to be put in the picture about this. Denny needs some kind of proof that she's got a reason to want to get out of here. Denny has specifically begged me not to inform Yvonne about this, but as Yvonne is the closest thing Denny has to a next of kin, I think I ought to tell her." Taking a moment to assimilate the facts in front of him, Neil took in a deep breath. "If you were sitting in my chair, and I was a Wing Governor, having come to you with a similar problem, what would you do?" "I would get to grips with all the facts of the case, find out exactly what the person in question intended doing about it, and if I agreed with them, leave them to it." "Well, there you are then," Neil said succinctly. "I don't need to tell you what to do, do I?" "I just wanted to make sure I was doing the right thing," Karen said quietly. "And in this instance, informing Yvonne Atkins is the right thing. Karen, in two months time, you hopefully will be sitting in this chair, having to make these kinds of decisions, without any support or hindrance from above." "Neil, I wish you wouldn't bank everything on my getting the job," Karen said tartly. "It might never happen, you know." "I know, I know," Neil said placatingly. "But what I'm doing, is trying to prepare you for the possibility that it might. Holding the position of Governing Governor, means that you will have to make decisions with this level of magnitude on a daily basis. The sooner you get used to it, the better." "I'm sorry," Karen said quietly. "I just want to get this right, that's all." "Why does Denny Blood get to you so much?" "You're starting to sound like Gina," Karen replied dryly. "Then, if two of us are saying it, don't you think there might be something in it?" "I suppose I feel a little responsible for the fact that someone I was briefly involved with, was indirectly to blame for the death of her girlfriend." "Which is precisely why," Neil said slowly and quietly. "You need to step back from the situation, and re-examine it from a purely professional perspective. Karen, other than the fact that she is one of the inmates under your care, Daniella Blood's problems are not your responsibility. However, on this occasion, I agree with your judgment, that Yvonne Atkins may be the key to Getting Ms Blood back on track." Karen stayed quiet for a moment, just watching him. Neil was absolutely right, she knew that. So why did she always let it get to her? It wasn't her fault that Snowball Merriman had blown up the library, taking Shaz Wiley with it, but that didn't mean she could always stand back from Denny's case, and deal with it from a purely professional angle.  
  
Back in her office, she reached for the phone. Yvonne had to be informed about this, but it had to be done gently. Yvonne sounded pleased to hear from her, but Karen didn't know how long this was going to last. "We need to talk," She said slowly. "About Denny." "So, I was right," Yvonne said gloomily. "She is using again." "You knew?" Karen sounded surprised. "No, I just wondered. I asked Lauren when I last saw her, but she didn't know." "Yes, she is using again, and I really shouldn't be telling you this. But I think you're the only one who might be able to get through to her." "Go on, fill me in," Yvonne invited, briefly taking Karen back to the times when they'd exchanged confidences without a second thought. "She doesn't think she's got anything to get out for," Karen said slowly. "She thinks that once Lauren's release date arrives, you won't need her any more." "But that's ridiculous," Yvonne insisted. "Oh, I know," Karen agreed. "She's just losing faith in everything at the moment." "I know how she feels," Yvonne said dryly, hurting Karen far more than she'd intended to. "I've put her on the frequent testing programme," Karen continued, trying to ignore Yvonne's innocent twist of the knife. "And I haven't given her any days in segregation. I asked her what she might consider an incentive to stay clean, and she said that she wanted to see Shell." "Dockley?" Yvonne asked in surprise. "The very same. So, I'm going to see what I can do on that score, but I've made her no promises. I don't want to come down heavy on her, Yvonne, but I'm going to have to if she doesn't improve. The thing is, she specifically asked me not to tell you, so if you do talk to her about it, she mustn't think you already know." "Okay," Yvonne replied, hearing in Karen's voice that the throwaway jibe she'd made hadn't gone unnoticed. "I'll see what I can do. I'm coming in to visit her on Sunday, so I'll talk to her then. Thanks, for not washing your hands of her." As Karen ended the call, she reflected that short, brief relationships always did make a difference to friendships, no matter how much you didn't want them to. She and Yvonne were different with each other now, and Karen realised that she would give anything to go back to the way they'd been before that bloody game of spin the bottle. 


	67. Part Sixty Seven

A/N: Any dog behaviour bestowed on Trigger, is taken from Kristine's guide dog Jules.  
  
Part Sixty-Seven  
  
Trigger felt a little happier with himself on the last Sunday morning in February, as he opened a sleepy eye. He was curled up in his large basket padded by an old duvet, situated in his favourite spot in the downstairs living room. He normally felt cheered up by the thoughts of guarding the house after the humans had gone to bed but, of late, even this didn't work. He carried a secret sadness inside of him from when his favourite mistress had disappeared suddenly after those two members of the enemy human pack invaded his territory. He could sense their evil nature and made no bones of concealing his anger. Nobody could explain to him why she had suddenly gone. It was part of the sad side of a dog's life and helped to give it such a name. To make it worse, his other mistress nearly almost equal favourite wouldn't play with him as much as she used to. Oh yes, she never lost affection for him, but there were times when she didn't seem to notice him, not even when he gave her the sad eye, which never used to fail him. Life didn't feel the same and it had been getting him down. True, there was the occasional highpoint when some friendly members of the human pack came round and the one with short straight hair made such a fuss of him as if she had known him all his life. He wished she would come back and that made him sad.  
He rolled around on his back, flailing his paws in the air to squash that itch on his back and because he felt like it. At moments like these, he was lord of the manor no matter how much humans pretended otherwise. This morning, some sixth sense told him that life would get better but he hoped that his breakfast would be served on time.  
That day at Larkhall had given Yvonne the kick up the backside that she needed. Bright and early, she bustled round, tidying clothes away, which she had left strewn about and cleared out old makeup. She enjoyed that sense of well being that came from feeling more centred in the world about her. Outside her window, the bright sun shining low over the horizon cast long shadows on the ground. What she needed was a good long walk and who best as resident silent walking companion than Trigger?  
He could not believe his very sharp ears when he heard the faint sound of the leash and immediately trotted over, ears perked up before he heard the magic words "Walkies, Trigger." He was leader of the pack once again.  
Yvonne made her way out of the drive and drove to the clear open spaces of the nearby park where she could clear her head. Was it the lousy weather, feeling depressed of late or the trial which had cut across everything and separated her from simple life renewing experiences which were so easily to hand?  
Trigger pulled enthusiastically on his leash with immense feelings of satisfaction of a gourmet sat in front of his favourite meal. In his eyes, endless possibilities opened up of fascinating smells, and of company, both human and canine. Presently, Yvonne let trigger off the leash and he gamboled happily approximately next to her, occasionally chasing his tail with a friskiness which he should have outgrown but hadn't. The cold clear wind whipped through the bare trees and over the open spaces. Presently, Yvonne saw the distant shape of a tall stranger, wearing a long dark elegant overcoat and accompanied by a thin, lithe whippet, also off the leash Totally unselfconsciously, both humans let themselves be guided so that their paths converged. From opposite directions. As Yvonne got closer, there was something familiar about the man's wind blown grey hair and chiseled features. "Judge," Yvonne called out, her sharp eyes filling in the identity breaking into John's self absorbed drifting thoughts. At the same moment, Trigger bounded excitably up to the smaller dog, joyfully thinking that his luck was in very approximate parallel to John's very much more guarded reactions in a similar situation.  
"Be nice, Trigger," Followed Yvonne's carrying voice after Trigger. John nervously gauged the relative sizes of the two animals, feeling as defensive as if a lion were rapidly closing in on a nervous gazelle.  
To his surprise, Trigger slowed down at the end while Mimi turned her back, proudly and disdainfully on him and trotted casually up to a park bench and sniffed at its various angles and the surrounding clumps of grass. Both Yvonne and John studied with an anthropological eye, the rituals of canine interactions. It was curious to see the way that trigger did not think to push his way in front of Mimi as he would any much larger human being. Instead, he slavishly followed every nonchalant twist and turn that Mimi paced out. He followed her round as she sniffed at nearby trees.  
Suddenly, he lunged forward right up close to Mimi close enough to sniff her, laying aside any sense of discretion. In a flash, Mimi twisted herself round and lashed out with one of her front paws, smacking him on his nose. Immediately, the much larger dog shot away in horror back to his human protector and sat with his back up against Yvonne's knees, as if begging his mistress to look after him. John burst out laughing at the utterly unexpected spectacle. Words came rushing back to his mind of the recent trial and the policeman's absurdly melodramatic description of the savage beast, which confronted him. The psychiatric report detailing trigger's personality was proved to the hilt except that he realised that it didn't exactly exist but that he had dreamed it. "You soft sod," Yvonne called out while she bent over and comforted the dog.  
John shook his head repeatedly in disbelief and stared as Mimi remained proudly aloof and triumphant. It had the unfortunate effect of putting the ball squarely in Trigger's court in terms of wondering what to do. And the day had started so promisingly.  
"You wouldn't think he'd been trained by Charlie Atkins, would you." "Kipling was right when he said that the female of the species is deadlier than the male. Personally, I thought it was a very vague generalisation," John's melodious voice answered with a trace of amusement. "And does that apply to me, judge?" Yvonne answered challengingly, a smirk on her face. When he was seen closer up in an ordinary park, this man's perfectly ordinary appearance was the most striking aspect of him. Correction, she added, all he had done was to not wear the august robes of his office and not to sit on his throne, the seat of his power. He wasn't one of those stuck up posh blokes who, if you stripped them of their uniforms, were no different from the average member of the 'all men are bastards' club. There's no difference except that they are weak. This bloke had natural class and, for the first time in a life which had been so long immersed in the criminal world, she found a man who was different.  
Trigger made his tentative way over to Mimi who graciously waited for him to make a gradual approach. Now that Mimi knew that she was boss, she allowed him to get closer to her, but all the time maintaining the boundaries she was comfortable with, her being a very small dog compared to Trigger. He continued to follow her wherever she went, as lovestruck as a fifteen-year-old boy with his first crush. John turned to face Yvonne directly, sensing the physical proximity of the woman. He had seen her from afar throughout two trials when he had learned to admire her strength. She had unexpectedly touched him with the heartfelt emotion with which she had expressed her undying thanks after he had sent down her daughter. "Kipling was wrong in your case, Yvonne. You're strong but I know that you're not dangerous for me." This was the first really personal conversation where they were outside their normal lives and he had met her challenge far better than Trigger had faced Mimi's with all the finesse that came natural to him. In a companionable way, they strolled past the children's swings and slides where past incarnations of themselves took their turn to push their offspring on the swings and to watch them as they slid down the slides, laughing and giggling. It was all a long time ago, they thought and always there in their minds but they were living in the present and not the past.  
"It seemed ages ago, judge, when I used to take my Lauren and Ritchie on the swings. It was the only time I felt free." "I used to do the same with my daughter Charlie. I hope you don't mind me asking but I've always wanted to ask you, why you call me judge?" John's shared memory shifted into a very tentatively asked question, a faint smile crinkling his face.  
"It seems the right thing to call you." Yvonne's off the cuff reply was accompanied by a shrug of her shoulders before a thoughtful pause led her to add more slowly.  
"It's like a word of respect, and as you might guess, with my background I've not exactly been used to hobnobbing with the law." "I would rather you called me John," came the answer with all his natural charm of personality.  
What else could Yvonne say to answer this man but yes?  
Trigger and Mimi trotted in the rough direction that the two humans took, still tentative in their relationship. They made their way along the narrow tarmac track which ran alongside the empty football pitch. The wind grew in strength and intensity and began to cut its way through even the stoutest winter clothing.  
"I don't know about you, John, but I could murder a warm drink." "Regrettably, the average English park has only ice cream and tepid coffee at the very most." It was interesting the way that faint turns of phrase always accompanied John wherever he went, Yvonne thought, but this is a natural part of the man, not the judge. They sipped at thin polystyrene mugs of bitter coffee which was only drinkable as they were outside.  
"Do you want to come back later for something stronger?" John asked. This man can turn on the charm, Yvonne thought but, for once, duty clashed with her increasing anticipation of pleasure and duty very regretfully won out. "I can't, not right now. I'd promised Denny Blood that I was going to visit her at Larkhall. She's got problems and I've got to talk to her. You know that she's as good as my daughter." "How about this evening?" He persisted, giving her the old, irresistable charm he hadn't used since his pulling days. "Well, John Deed, Mr. respectable high court judge, if you come and see me this evening, I might just cook you dinner." As his eyes met hers, he saw the spark of what could only be sexual attraction, with a hint of challenge in their depths. He hadn't been seducing women for the best part of forty years, not to instantly recognise the clear invitation Yvonne was giving him. "It would be a pleasure," He replied, his sotto voce response caressing her like the tips of his long masculine fingers. As she told him where she lived, Yvonne's spirits lifted as the conflict between duty and pleasure was so neatly resolved. It was time she treated herself.  
In the meantime, Trigger kept an eye on what was happening and had John pegged as another dog owner. That familiarity with his species was the great divide in his world in the two species of humans. His day had been an up and down affair and it baffled him the distance he was obliged to keep. It was all very confusing and perhaps life at home did have its simplicities. Now if only he and Mimi could keep the humans in the park a little longer by pretending to forget the way home and go back by the wrong park exit, that would make them happy though not as happy as he thought he was going to be. As he thought again, it's a dog's life. 


	68. Part Sixty Eight

Part Sixty-Eight  
  
By the time Yvonne had popped home briefly and was off in her car to Larkhall, ugly grey clouds churned their way rapidly across the sky. In no time at all, squally gusts of wind threw sheets of rain directly at her car, steaming up the windows and, even going full blast, the windscreen wipers were barely keeping up with the assault on them from the elements. Despite all this, she was happy, the hard driving gutsy singing coming from her Heart CD matched her spirits, even with the tricky prospect of seeing Denny at Larkhall.  
"Back again so soon?" Ken at the gatehouse greeted her amiably enough. "I've come to visit Denny Blood this time. Mrs. Hollamby told me herself, personally that she couldn't wait to see me again soon. What else could I do when she put it that way?" "I bet," Laughed Ken. "You'll get made an official prison visitor at this rate." "Yeah and I'd show off my nice new shiny badge to her. She'd love that." A few laughs and jokes with Yvonne brightened up his day. On an endlessly weary Sunday shift, he was tired all the way to his bones and dying to get back to home cooking, his armchair and the sports on the television. He was staying in his draughty gatehouse window, which was better than the rain lashed square, which the visitors had to cross.  
  
"It's nearly visiting time, Denny," Lauren called out anxiously. "You know you've got to look your best." Instantly, Lauren heard her mother down the years saying those very same words. Big mistake. Denny's way of facing the day was that uncertain mixture of doubts, sudden blind instinct in any direction, irrational fear, the after effects of whatever chemicals were in her system and periods when chance placed her into the role of Big Sister. Most of all, whoever was strong for her and could influence her, either good or bad. Lauren knew enough that her ability to be that influence for good was very hit and miss.  
"I don't give a fuck what I look like, Lauren. You should know that by now." "Look here, Denny," Lauren reasoned patiently. "Think, what's your best way of facing the day?" "A fist full of jellies," Denny answered morosely.  
"Well, you're not bloody well going to do that. You're going to see mum and you're not backing out of this." "What's wrong with jellies. They calm you down." "Yeah, right. So calm that you're out of it and depressed so you end up taking whizz to cheer you up so you don't eat, you can't sleep and it makes you paranoid. I've seen some of the other girls go that way." Denny scowled at Lauren's ruthlessly precise description of the drugs cycle, which she had fallen into ever since the trial. It was far easier to resort to this physical crutch than face the fear, which had paralysed her ever since the trial. The longer time went on, the more she had tried to block out that fear and the more impossible it felt to face it. She knew she was acting badly and it wasn't just the picture of Yvonne's silent reproach that drove her into a hole. Lauren was beginning to behave more and more like Yvonne and had the same sort of glamorous looks that she thought she was painfully lacking.  
  
"Your family made all its money by selling stuff to people on the street like me," Denny glared.  
Lauren turned white as the verbal knife thrust went home. She couldn't deny the fact that far too many women around her had bought their drugs from dealers before they ever came to Larkhall. Somewhere out there, the suppliers for the dealers were the likes of Charlie Atkins who were rich and prosperous and safely cuckooned from the consequences of their actions. It had provided the luxury lifestyle in which she, Ritchie and, yes Mum, had grown up in and had taken for granted.  
"All right, Denny," Lauren exhaled the words at last, breathing out deeply as she spoke as if trying to get rid of the feelings of guilt from her body at the same time. "A few days at Larkhall rammed that home. It didn't take rocket science to work that one out when it surrounds us, day in day out in this dump. That's one reason why I was so down for so long, something I could never tell you. I finally realised that I can't do anything about my past, much though I would love to. That's what I finally learnt from all the shit I dumped on everyone around me from killing Fenner. I couldn't undo all that but I could stand in court, day in, day out, while my guilt was being fought on around me. That's what got me out into the witness box which was the most horrible experience of my life, at least one of them. Don't ever think for one minute, Denny Blood, that I was just trying to save my own skin." Lauren's reply built up into a passionate, heartfelt crescendo that opened up the first crack in Denny's numb shell behind which she had walled herself off. She had grabbed Denny by the scruff of her neck and also her full attention.  
"Go on, Lauren." "That's why as soon as Charlie, that's my dad, was banged up, I got rid of all that shit and stuck to the car hire business. It was just as well that he was killed on the day he was let off all the charges, by bribing the jury I might add, as he wouldn't have liked what his protege had done with the business……..." At that point, Lauren's voice faltered and her eyes looked downwards in fear of having betrayed the one event in her past which she wanted to remain as surely buried as was Charlie. Fortunately, Denny didn't spot that one. Quickly, Lauren picked up the thread of what she was saying and plunged on.  
"The day Charlie went inside was the first time that I began to get some control over my life. I thought stupidly that I could put all that shit behind me in one go but I couldn't be further wrong. That Meg Richards who came to see me that day who I talked to for ages got it absolutely right. The other guy only got half the picture." "OK so you're cured or getting that way. What about me?" Denny asked impatiently. What Lauren told her about herself was fine but she really wanted Lauren to talk about herself.  
"You're not going to tell me that you were an innocent child that some evil drug dealer forced you to take stuff. Yeah, the guy was evil, or stupid or drugged up or all three but you can't blame him for everything. From what mum told me, you weren't exactly the woman you'd want to meet down a dark alley." "That's because Shell made me that way," Denny cut in self defensively.  
"It's more likely you wanted her attention," Lauren added shrewdly to Denny's discomfort. "Wanting attention isn't wrong," Lauren added kindly after a couple of seconds, which were painfully long to Denny.  
"You have to know that there's a lot you have to come to terms with same as I have to do, right. But the Denny Blood who kept me going all those months is the Denny Blood that matters, the one who acted as Big Sister, who is a sister of mine. You can't get away from it, when I get out of Larkhall, I'll be waiting for the day when you get out but you're with us already. It's that there are prison walls in the way, only that. Now are you going to get yourself ready, Denny?" "All right, but don't hassle me, sis." Impulsively, Lauren slipped her arms round Denny's thin shoulders. For one instant, she flinched, as it was a long time that she had that sort of physical contact. She wasn't used to being held, except long ago by Shaz. Instinctively, she felt that this was Lauren's warm-hearted sisterly way and it tipped the balance inside her to give way to this good feeling. She hadn't grown up feeling good about herself. "If I send you out to see mum looking like that, I'm going to carry the can and I'll get a right ear bending when she gets home. You know what she's like so please help me out." For the first time in ages Denny laughed and a big smile lit up her face revealing the big kid she still was. Shaz would have been proud to have seen that.  
  
In the split seconds before the door to the visiting room opened, a rush of ideas for what she might say to Denny churned around inside Yvonne's head with feelings of uncertainty as to what she would find. What was Denny like since she had heard about her from Karen, correction, what Denny had said to Karen before that and how right was Lauren when she had talked to her? At one time, her instinctive feelers knew unquestioningly what was going on around her, prisoners and screws alike. Everything was stored in that faultless memory of hers and was bang up to date. Now it was brought home to her that what she remembered was fading into history. It made her painfully aware of how really distant she was from Larkhall and frustrated her that she was dependent of other people's eyes and ears, not her own. Her stomach lurched as the door opened, not that anyone could see into her mind.  
  
Once the doors were flung open, the usual frantic sense of movement and echoing voices in a confined space spelt out the rush of mothers and daughters and boyfriends and girlfriends to find each other. A few little children, wide eyed with fear, tagged on to the grownups. This time at least, Colin and Selena were on visiting duty and proved that talking nicely and politely could achieve as much order as Bodybag's loud, hectoring style. A rapid glance through the room picked out a rather nervous Denny with at least a faint smile on her face, which her downturned eyes told Yvonne that she was making a tentative peace offering. Yvonne acted in the way that came naturally to her and gave Denny a quick hug before even Dominic and Selena might pick up on what they were doing. Yvonne wasn't their problem but they would feel compelled to observe a universal rule designed to stop drugs getting into Larkhall. Denny's smile was slightly wider but she was still reluctant to speak.  
"You know that if I had time, I would give you my typical mum type lecture about using drugs. You have been, haven't you." Yvonne cut to the chase in her best tough/tender, no bullshit fashion. Their privacy was tenuously secured by the background chatter of others trying to cram as much of the pent up conversations in one stream before visiting time ended.  
"Lauren has beaten you to it in straightening me out. She doesn't leave anything out, does she?" A big grin split Yvonne's face from ear to ear at the picture it conveyed to her and a huge sense of relief that part of her task had already been completed.  
"I mean, she can bang on a bit though I suppose she's right." "I don't need to grill you as to exactly what you've done but I want to know why you did it. You're my daughter, ain't you and I love you as much as Lauren. There ain't any difference between the two of you.  
There was something in the hoarse melting tones in Yvonne's voice which soothed the upset child inside Denny but another side of her felt defensive and edgy for letting down the people that she loved, herself most of all. It made it far too easy for her to hate herself. When she got that way, she was apt to try and sound tough and hard to cover up the way she was hurting inside. "I know all this stuff you're telling me but you know what it's like when you're stuck on your own in some poxy cell at night and you've got something under your pillow to take all the pain away." Instant warning bells rang in Yvonne's mind as Denny had conveniently left Lauren out of the picture. She also left out the fact that she would have had to trade her spends with whoever was the local dealer like Al McKenzie. Drugs don't grow under pillows like bleeding mushrooms.  
"Anyway, I'll knock all that on the head. There's no chance anyway now Lauren's on the case." Yvonne let that go. It wasn't perfect but it was something. "You're looking really good, Denny. You becoming a makeup expert as well?" Denny shrugged her shoulders far too self deprecatingly for Yvonne's liking.  
"Ain't much. Just a bit of Lauren's makeup and her choosing something that was stuffed at the back of her wardrobe." "It really suits you, Denny." "Like the way I normally look doesn't?" Denny snapped back with sudden aggression. A light of sudden understanding dawned on the one little puzzle, the one thing right under her nose, which she'd never spotted.  
"So that's the problem." "Problem, what problem?" Denny's edginess and conspicuous self-denial was becoming more and more painfully obvious to Yvonne. In Denny's mind, fear rose up and blotted everything out around her. To make it worse, she was trapped in her seat, trapped under Yvonne's all knowing gaze and trapped by the screws and everyone else round her.  
"You don't have to be afraid. Not of me." Yvonne spoke these words with all the gentleness in her nature that she could summon up. Denny was hers and she would look after her. She knew what she wanted to say but she didn't know exactly how to say it. The only problem was that time was running out with seconds to go.  
  
"I've seen you try and make out how hard and tough you are, and I always knew it was an act to cover up how hurt you are inside. Remember that time when I got you to punch your mattress and really let it out before you could cry, yeah……." Denny could not help but nod her head and squeeze back the tears and let Yvonne continue. Yvonne knew that she was holding Denny's attention and starting to feel confident that she was doing fine as long as she didn't stumble in her words. "……. So when Karen and I got you that day out at my house, I could tell that it was a real eye opener and looked like fairyland. You knew that I had a few pounds stashed away but not as much as I have. I'm not bragging about it, I never have done but I'm trying to explain how you might have seen it. The truth is that you've always felt that Lauren and I have the glamour and the money and where do you fit in? I know by the way you dress and those tattoos of yours that you somehow don't love yourself the way you should, and the way Lauren and I do. It's about looks, isn't it." Denny's emotions were pouring out of her, making her breathe in and out and tears started to run down her face. It brought home how little she thought of herself and how kind and understanding Yvonne was. Nobody else had tried so hard for her. Something in her was afraid that she was so emotionally naked, that everything was on display but she clung to her refuge in front of her even though she was the other side of the formica table, which, like the chairs was fastened down. Nothing existed in the crowded smoky room but the two of them.  
"So how do I compete with Lauren? I mean, she's great and all that stuff and she's been looking after me since the trial but I can't tell her that I want to be like her and never will be." "So what about when she got jealous and hauled me away? Can you believe it, she was scared that you were closer to me than she was. Don't think that she hasn't got her own scars, the sort that you keep inside. That's why the judge decided this was right for her." Denny's face was a picture. Her face was frowning in deep concentration as she tried to make real in her mind what Yvonne was saying.  
"I don't get it. I mean, I'm hearing what you're saying but it doesn't seem real." "I didn't expect it to, Denny. You and Lauren have a long way to go but you'll make it. I know 'cos I'm your mum. Mums know." A foolish smile spread over Denny's face. She didn't get everything Yvonne was saying but this much she did. She would have to try and remember Yvonne's words, to picture her face and imagine her words and she wouldn't mess up for the future.  
"One thing I owe you and that is that you looked after Lauren when she was facing the trial. She would never have faced court if you hadn't been there. I couldn't do it from outside but you did. I'll never forget that and Lauren won't. Not in a million years." "Did I really do that?" Denny asked questioningly.  
"Who else?" Yvonne smiled with all the tenderness there was in her heart.  
"I'll straighten up. I promise. Or at least I'll try to." "That's what I want to hear from you. No fancy promises but something I know you'll do." There was a thoughtful pause between the two of them as a realistic picture of the future started to unfold, one they would all have to struggle for.  
"You're taking on a lot with looking after the two of us," Denny added with a grin of the prospect of all three strong-minded women under the same roof. For once, she allowed herself to look to the future knowing that the everyday grind of Larkhall would soon bury it but it would not be forgotten. This was a big step for a woman like Denny, who life had taught her to be eternally distrustful since she was born. She had found it better not to expect too much of life, of other people so that when she was let down, she didn't feel the pain so much.  
"That's what I'm here for." Yvonne's simple, softly spoken words hung in the air just long enough before there came the inevitable call of "Times up."   
  
As Yvonne drove away from Larkhall, she was drained from the sheer mental concentration but it left her thinking tenderly of the two women in her care, even if it was at a long distance. She was getting ready to settle down to a satisfying drive back home and put her feet up for a well deserved rest when it hit her totally by surprise that John was coming round for dinner. It was time to slip into carefree single woman mode especially in view of what she was sure was in store for her. She grinned at the thought of her choice of company, a high Court judge, and hoped that it would make that bastard Charlie Atkins choke on the thought. It raised two fingers to his memory.  
  
At that precise moment, John laid aside the court papers that he had diligently ploughed through. He fondly thought that after such devotion to duty, he had earned the right to indulge himself. Surely a little pleasure was in order?  
  
He stared into his mirror as he finished shaving and studied the face which looked back at him. He had always been handsome and age and experience had only added to his attractiveness to the female species. Not for him, the undignified overcompensating of some vulgar application of anti greying treatment to his hair that others of his generation desperately resorted to. He knew that age added a certain something to his finely chiselled features and, added to his natural charm, the combination had never let him down. At moments like these, he was a man and not a judge.  
  
It was extraordinary what happened when he set out to have a perfectly innocent walk in the park and had a chance encounter. Somehow, the woman that he had somehow overlooked all this time jumped out at him. Everything logically followed from there. What was intriguing was that she was not his usual type of woman. He usually favoured the younger blonde waitress who aped his sort of accent. There was something exotically different about Yvonne with her Eastend accent and her very challenging personality. As they say, as he finally approved of himself, variety is the spice of life. 


	69. Part Sixty Nine

A/N: Betaed by Jen.  
  
Part Sixty-Nine  
  
When Yvonne returned from the prison, she had a long soak in the bath, mentally and physically preparing herself for what she hoped would come to her that evening. Not since Karen, had Yvonne had anything like a decent orgasm, and nearly eighteen months was far too long for Yvonne Atkins to go without a screw. But just what had possessed her to ask him over for dinner, she didn't know. Yes, John was a very good-looking bloke for his age, which she guessed was a few years older than her, somewhere in his mid fifties. He also had a voice that she knew could turn her to jelly if used in the right way, and on top of that, he had fully understood her meaning behind the euphemism of dinner. But what about Jo? Yvonne couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt when she thought of Jo, the woman who was becoming a friend, the woman who had saved her Lauren from a life sentence, a woman who certainly didn't deserve to have John cheating on her. Don't even go there, she told herself sternly, or you'll back out before you've hardly begun. You know this will only happen once, and what Jo doesn't know won't hurt her, or anyone else. But standing in front of the wardrobe, Yvonne was presented with a quandary. What in God's name should she wear? With any other bloke, her leathers would have been the obvious choice, but she didn't think John would be that kind of guy. He probably liked his women to be feminine, instead of shouting from the rooftops that they knew the ins and outs of a gun as well as a food processor. Finally selecting a very clingy, very understated black dress, knowing that whilst this was undoubtedly feminine, it wouldn't make him think she'd had a personality transplant. Looking at herself in the mirror as she applied her make up, she was forced to admit that she really did look rather good, for someone who would be fifty in August. Then it struck her; it had been almost three years since she'd had sex with a man, not since Ajit Kahn to be exact. Flashing her teeth at her reflection, she just hoped that she hadn't lost her touch.  
  
As John pulled up in Yvonne's drive, his eyebrows soared. He knew Yvonne had money, but he had thoroughly underestimated just how well she'd invested it. Even from the outside, her house looked incredibly well maintained, and the sort of pile that one would hold onto at all costs. He recognised Yvonne's Ferrari, from when he'd seen it outside court, but who did the silver Jag and the sleek, black Mercedes-Benz belong to? What he didn't realise, was that Yvonne had scaled everything down since Lauren had been arrested, getting rid of all but both hers and Lauren's personal cars, and Charlie's Jag. It had seemed to be her way of acknowledging that money wasn't everything, and that she would far rather have her daughter back, than all the possessions Charlie would have bought her. But she couldn't quite make herself get rid of his Jag. She didn't know why, and she knew it was ridiculous, but Charlie had lavished almost more affection on his Jag than he had on his children, and maybe she needed that proof that there had been a normal facet to Charlie's personality, an innocent pride in his favourite car. When she opened the door, she smiled to see him. "I wasn't sure you'd come back," She found herself saying, inwardly kicking herself for revealing her insecurity. "I never, ever, go back on my word," He said, his deep, thoroughly masculine tones creeping over her senses. "Would you mind if I let Mimi out of the car?" "No, of course not." As he walked back to the car to fetch a delighted Mimi, Yvonne scrutinized his figure. Whatever he did to keep in shape, it certainly worked. Recognising a friend, Mimi bounded up to Yvonne, and gave an excited little bark, bringing a surprised Trigger ambling into the hall. "Whose is the Jag?" John asked, as he went in and she closed the door behind him. "It used to be Charlie's," Yvonne replied, leading him towards the kitchen. "It sounds stupid, but it's the one thing of his that I couldn't quite bring myself to part with." If he had been impressed with the outside of her house, that was nothing compared to the interior. Yvonne had the same eye for decor, furnishings, and simple, though expensive, taste as George. This might have been where Charlie Atkins had once lived and ruled supreme, but he could tell that Yvonne had made this house her own. The stone flagged kitchen with its scrubbed wooden table, and faint, February sun creeping in through the windows that looked out onto the garden and swimming pool. "Would you like a glass of wine?" She asked, moving over to the well-stocked wine rack. Saying that yes, he would, John looked her over. She looked incredible, very simply dressed, but stunning. When he was on the pull so to speak, he didn't usually go in for women so close to his own age, but Yvonne intrigued him. She was different from the women he usually made a play for, with an inner poise, a self-confidence that told him she knew exactly what she wanted, if not from life itself, then definitely from him. "So," He said contemplatively. "That's how you keep in such glorious shape." Yvonne, seeing that he was looking out at the pool, smirked at him. "Every day of the year, even if it's raining." "That's just torture," He said with a smile. "Oh, I don't know," She said with a wink. "It's really just an extreme version of a cold shower, which you look like you could do with right now," She added, running her hand suggestively over the neck of the bottle of red, before picking up the corkscrew. He knew she was playing with him, pushing him to the threshold of his restraint, and he loved it. The compliments that were rolling off his tongue with total ease, they weren't things he'd come out with since the old days. He'd been totally and utterly faithful to his three-way relationship with Jo and George, devoted to them and only them for nearly sixteen months, a lifetime in the matter of his previous sexual activity. He had no idea what had possessed him to suddenly break his word, but here he was, slipping so easily back into his old familiar self. "Yvonne," He said carefully, trying to get a grip on himself. "I shouldn't really be doing this." "I know," Yvonne said gently. "And with Jo being a very good friend, neither should I." After removing the cork from the bottle, she laid the corkscrew down on the table and walked over to him. "But I'm not wrong," She said, resting a hand on the collar of his shirt. "To suggest, that this is still what you want, no matter how much we both know we shouldn't be doing it." "No," He said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You wouldn't be wrong in the slightest." When her lips touched his, she thought they were the softest, most pliable lips she'd met in a long time. With the manly texture of his skin, and the pleasant though not overpowering fragrance of his aftershave reaching her nose, he was as far removed from her memories of Karen as he could be. When his arms gently went round her waist, and hers reached up to go round his neck, she felt the comforting strength in his hard, well-muscled chest. "Shall we allow the wine to breathe?" He suggested quietly. "Decent red wine should always be given time to breathe," Yvonne replied, taking his hand and leading the way upstairs.  
  
Once in her gloriously opulent bedroom, his hands began moving over her as if of their own accord, peeling off her clingy, black dress, followed by the simple black, lace bra, and an almost non-existent pair of black, lace knickers, whilst she was simultaneously undoing the buttons on his shirt, and eventually reaching his belt which she undid in a trice. When their clothes had been discarded, they simply stared at each other, Yvonne seeing the well-defined muscles of the man who looked after himself, and John seeing the toned, healthy body of this woman who swam every day, come rain or shine. He watched in amusement, as her eyes dropped fleetingly and assessingly to his cock, taking in its fairly impressive size. "Everything comes to she who waits," John said mockingly, tilting her face, and therefore her eyes, back up to his. "Is that right?" Yvonne replied, as they moved as one under the duvet. "Well, I've never yet disappointed a woman on that score, so yes, I should say so. Is it your usual practice to visually assess the people you are about to sleep with in such detail?" "I haven't been this close to a bloke for nearly three years, so I was just finding out how much I'm likely to enjoy it, that's all." "Oh, and do you think you will, enjoy it, that is?" He asked, grinning wickedly at her as their hands began to wander. "Oh, I think I'm going to enjoy this, considerably," She replied, laying particular emphasis on the word considerably, at the same time laying a hand on his cock. "Well, if you would like me to live up to your expectation," He said between kisses. "Don't do much more of that." "Jesus, a bloke who is actually eager to please," Said Yvonne in surprise. "That's a new one." "Oh, I thought Ajit Kahn was perfectly eager to please," John said with a smile. "Yeah, well, he was being paid for it." "Has it really been that long?" "With a bloke, yes," She confirmed, briefly reminding them both that she had slept with Karen, had been in love with and was possibly still in love with Karen. Laying his hand on one of her breasts and gently fondling it, he said, "Tell me what you like." "Oh, I'm open to suggestion," Yvonne said languidly. "Karen's still talking to you after sleeping with you, so you can't be into anything too weird." His hand freezing on her in mid caress, John moved slightly back from her and just stared. "Oh, don't look like that," Yvonne admonished a little unsympathetically. "How do you know about that?" He asked carefully. "It's obvious," Yvonne replied with a fond smile. "I'd always suspected it, but when you defended her honour so forcefully in court, I was certain. You weren't just defending her as a judge, you were defending her as a friend." "So, why did that lead to the conclusion that I'd slept with her?" "Because I think she slept with you, as a way of getting over me. It's how Karen deals with things that hurt her, and there's a closeness between you two that wouldn't be there if you hadn't." "It only happened the once," He tried to reassure her, though not really knowing why he was. "I know," Yvonne said gently. "Karen, though this probably applies to you too, would have needed to get any sexual attraction out of the way, before she could be as close a friend to you as she is." "So, it doesn't bother you that I have slept with Karen?" "No, why should it? I know she didn't do it while she was still with me, so it doesn't matter." John didn't tell her that there had only been a matter of days between when Karen had ended her relationship with Yvonne, and when she had slept with him. "Hey," Yvonne said affectionately, to get them back on track. "You're not supposed to stop."  
  
Taking her at her word, he began kissing her again, and moving his hand over her delightfully constructed cleavage. "Seeing as you haven't slept with a man in quite a while," He said between kisses. "There must be something you've especially missed." She knew he was goading her, seeing just how open and relaxed she could be. Sod it, she thought with an inward shrug. Here was a man, and a very good-looking man at that, who was at least prepared to consider doing anything for her. A chance like this probably wouldn't come along again for a very long time, so she may as well take the bull by the horns. "I do love being given oral," She said, looking him straight in the eye to gauge his reaction. So many blokes didn't like doing that, and whilst Yvonne might badly want him to do that for her, she wasn't about to pressure anyone into doing anything. "Ah, well," He said with a broad smile at her slight shyness. "It's a good job I very much enjoy giving it then, isn't it." "Thing is," Yvonne said, avoiding his gaze and looking a little uncomfortable. "I'm not especially in the mood for doing that to you." John was touched by her honesty. Many women would have taken all he had to give in that respect, before telling him that they weren't prepared to do the same. "That doesn't matter," He said gently. "It just so happens that giving pleasure, is without doubt one of my favourite pastimes." Yvonne laughed. "Isn't it for everyone?" "Ah, but I am purposefully making the distinction between giving and receiving." As he said this, he trailed his hand down, until he could slide it between her slim, extremely well toned thighs. "I must be doing something right," he said with a smile, on discovering how aroused she was. "Definitely," Yvonne confirmed, her kisses becoming far more intense as John's hand moved between her legs. Regretfully detaching his lips from her utterly enchanting mouth, he began kissing his way down her body, making sure to give both nipples some prolonged attention on his way down. This meant that when he finally arrived at her clit, Yvonne was twitching with extreme arousal, coupled with a desire not to entirely lose control. It had been so long since she'd had a man do this to her, that the effort needed to maintain her self-control, was testing inner reserves that she'd forgotten she had. Of course she wanted to enjoy everything this wonderful man might do for her, but that didn't mean it paid to totally let go with one. He seemed to sense this thought, and whilst his mouth was otherwise engaged, all he could do was to vow to give her an orgasm she wouldn't forget.  
  
As Yvonne felt John's tongue gently tease at her entrance, she gasped. This was perhaps the first sign that her control was slipping, and he was pleased by it. He hadn't doubted in the least that she was loving what he was doing to her, but John was well aware that since Charlie Atkins, she had probably made it her mission to never entirely lose control with anyone. He understood this, because it wasn't very far from his extreme desire to keep a hold on his emotions. But even though both he and Yvonne knew that they would make love once and only the once, he wanted to make her trust him, to let go with him in the way she only had done with Karen. Moving his tongue back up to her clit, he inched three fingers inside her, grazing her G spot with every thrust. Yvonne's breath was coming in quicker and quicker gasps, and John knew she was getting close. "Just let go, Yvonne," He murmured, feeling her internal muscles begin to contract around his fingers. Yvonne couldn't help it, she just had to obey his words of encouragement. This man was far too good at what he was doing, and it was the first orgasm of oral origin she'd had since Karen. She couldn't help crying out as she came, but the vocal reaction to the intensity of her feelings simply burst out of her, her body going rigid, her internal muscles almost squeezing the life out of John's fingers.  
  
When John gently removed his hand, and moved to lie back beside her, she stared at him in amazement. "I think I'd forgotten how good it could be," She said, her breathing gradually returning to normal. When she leaned over to kiss him, she could taste herself on his lips, this briefly reminding her of doing the same to Karen. "So, did I answer your question?" Yvonne looked momentarily baffled. "Of what Karen saw in me?" He clarified, making her look very uncomfortable at being found out. "That wasn't just why I did this, you know," She said with a slightly hesitant smile. "Oh, I know," He replied confidently. "But that was part of it, wasn't it?" "You can't blame me for being curious." "No, of course not." "To answer your question," Yvonne admitted, her smile slipping a little. "I think you might have helped Karen get over me a bit too successfully." Ignoring the veiled compliment for the moment, John said gently, "It wasn't an easy decision for her to make, by any means." "That's debatable," Yvonne replied, beginning to kiss him again, because she knew that if she wanted an answer to the question that had been haunting her for months, she would only get it when he was in a state of post-coital relaxation, where his guard would be well and truly down.  
  
This time, when she laid her well-practiced hand on his cock, he didn't discourage her. Good God, he thought after a while. Her hand is far more sinful than it looks on first inspection. Yvonne gasped when he finally entered her, it having been so long since she'd been in this age-old position. So, it was true, she thought, it really was like riding a bike, something you never ever forgot how to do. This wasn't any ordinary screw, though. This man had class, style and an abundance of finesse when it came to straight, almost primeval fucking. She wrapped her arms and legs round him, reveling whilst she could in the sheer luxury of having a strong, sturdy man to cling to. When he inched a hand between them to touch her clit, she knew he was close, and she took a certain amount of pleasure in making this judge, this embodiment of legal and moral integrity, actually lower his barriers and lose that self-control he held so dear. She kissed him long and hard as they came, gripping him to her, for that one point in time, feeling that all the hurt this may cause would be worth it.  
  
As they lay afterwards, their arms loosely draped around each other and feeling completely boneless, John reflected that even if this was the first time he'd strayed in sixteen months, and even though he knew he would feel guilty, it had been worth it. Yvonne was stunning, she was fantastic in bed, and he knew that she wouldn't go all soppy on him and expect either a repeat performance, or any kind of recognition that it had happened. "You're beautiful," He said softly, dropping a kiss on her shoulder. "That's lust talking," Yvonne said with a smile. "I haven't been beautiful for more years than I care to remember. Besides, most blokes think every woman is beautiful when they've just slept with her." "No, you've got it the wrong way round," He said with a smile. "It's immediately after they've slept with her that reality tends to set in. If a woman isn't beautiful before you sleep with her, then she certainly won't be afterwards." "Was Karen?" Yvonne found herself asking. "Yes, she was," John said fondly. "But then you know that." "It's different," Yvonne told him. "There's something so special about sleeping with a woman, that you just can't get with a bloke, no matter how good he is," She said, smiling at him. "You really miss her, don't you?" He said, seeing a brief flash of intense longing in her eyes. "Some days more than others, but yeah. That ended before it'd really had chance to get going. But then, we both know why it did end, don't we?" Her statement was said in the same afterglow tone of voice, but he could feel an underlying intensity that ought to have given him warning of something a little more sinister. "I know it was partly to do with Lauren," He said carefully. "Oh, that's funny," Yvonne said quietly. "Because I thought it was you who managed to get the identity of Fenner's killer out of her. You, Jo and George." John stayed perfectly still, just managing to school his face into its typically blank expression. Just what had he walked into? "What makes you say that?" He asked, wondering how in hell's name she'd worked it out. "All you will be doing by telling me," Yvonne tried to reassure him. "Is confirming what I've thought for a long time. Karen put an end to our relationship, on the afternoon of the day she'd had a session with the legal profession's answer to MI5. I doubt if I could have kept quiet under that sort of pressure, so Karen had no chance." "By giving you a direct answer to that question, Yvonne, I would be breaking my word, and we all promised Karen we wouldn't do that." "And by saying such a thing, you've done exactly that," Yvonne replied with a lopsided smile. "But I take your point." "You weren't there, Yvonne," He persisted. "George really did think Karen had killed him. I knew she hadn't, and Jo was somewhere in between. We had to know." "I know," Yvonne said, seeing that she had well and truly thrown him by doing this. "Yvonne," He continued, desperate to make her see how serious this was. "She thought you would want her dead." "I know that an' all," Yvonne said bleakly. "Karen could never quite accept that I'm no longer the person I was before Larkhall. I don't blame her really, with what happened with Lauren, but it didn't make it any easier. Karen was, is, the most precious thing that ever happened to me, and I would never want any harm to come to her, no matter what she did." "To give Karen her due," John said gently, seeing such strength of feeling in Yvonne, that he knew Karen would always be perfectly safe where she was concerned. "She didn't give up without a fight. I'm used to seeing George as furious as she was that day, but I'm not used to seeing anyone match her as well as Karen did. She gave George just as good as she got, and only began to crack when George began questioning your involvement. George thought that if Karen hadn't killed Fenner, you might have done, because of what Fenner did to her." "Well, she wasn't far wrong," Yvonne said ruefully. "I did consider it, briefly, but not even for Karen was I prepared to go back inside." They lay there for a while, just taking in everything that had been said. "Karen mustn't know that you know," John said eventually. "No, she won't. She feels guilty enough as it is for being with George, so I'm not about to make it worse."  
  
A while later, when they'd had a gloriously sensual shower together, they went downstairs, to find Trigger and Mimi happily ensconced in the lounge, playfully fighting over a knotted rope, one of Trigger's favourite toys. He was lying on his front, with the rope draped across his front paws, softly nosing Mimi away whenever she tried to steal it. "Are you hungry?" Yvonne asked, prompting an immediate reaction from Trigger, though the question had been meant for John. "After that incredible bit of exercise," He said with a smile. "I certainly am." Smirking at the compliment, Yvonne moved into the kitchen and began rummaging in the fridge, emerging with a couple of fillet steaks, that she'd taken out of the freezer to defrost before going to Larkhall. As she peeled and then began sautéing some potatoes to go with the steak, John made himself useful by chopping some salad, and pouring them both a glass of the red wine which had been given ample breathing time. "So, if I swim every day," Yvonne said, throwing some herbs into the frying pan. "What do you do to keep that extremely good body in shape?" "I fence," John replied, taking a sip of the wine, which he had to admit would be a very good accompaniment to the steak. "You what?" Yvonne looked round at him in surprise. "I fence," He repeated. Yvonne looked at him assessingly. "Yeah, I could see you with a sword, jousting at dawn over some woman." John laughed. "It has been known," He said, thinking of the numerous occasions he'd fenced with Row Colmore, more often than not over Jo. "Though never at dawn." "Boys and their toys," Yvonne said in faint amusement. "How was Denny when you saw her this afternoon?" John asked, as he watched Yvonne put the steaks under the grill. "Not brilliant," Yvonne said despondently. "She's started taking drugs again." "Oh, I'm sorry," John said in sympathy. "Well, drugs can be an occupational hazard when you're inside," Yvonne said matter-of-factly. "But Denny going back on them after all this time isn't a good sign." "I saw her a couple of weeks ago," John enlightened. Then, at Yvonne's raised eyebrow, he clarified. "I dropped in to see Karen about something, and I was fairly forcefully put in my place by Denny." Yvonne couldn't help smiling. "What did she say?" She asked, hoping it wasn't something too outrageous. "A lot of things, but ending with the assertion that just because I hadn't committed a crime, didn't mean I knew everything about how to survive." "That sounds like my Denny," Yvonne said fondly, showing John in those few precious words, just how much Denny meant to her. "It was on Valentine's Day, and I don't think she was very happy." "No, she wouldn't have been. Valentine's Day used to get most of us like that. There'd be a few of the girls who'd get flowers or cards sent in, which kind of hammered it home to the rest of us that we didn't. I'm surprised Karen let you anywhere near the wing on that day of all days. The Julies must be losing their touch if you got away completely unscathed."  
  
As they ate, Yvonne filled him in on some of the slightly scurrilous stories from her days in Larkhall. "Were drugs ever a problem for you?" He found himself asking, his curiosity continually peaked by the brief insight he was being given of that other world. "No," Yvonne said firmly. "Never. I might have got the odd miniature of scotch smuggled in here and there, but that was it." Trigger came up to Yvonne, and sat next to her chair, gazing up at her with the saddest, most doleful eyes he could muster. "Sod off," Yvonne said smartly, flicking him on the end of his nose. "Lauren might feed you from the table, but you know I don't." As Trigger slunk away into the lounge with his tail between his legs, Mimi followed him. "I think Mimi's a little awestruck with him," John said with a smile. "Where did you get her?" Yvonne asked, pouring them both another glass of wine. "My daughter likes to push my patience to the limit, by illegally rescuing dogs from research laboratories. You would think that with both her mother and father working in the legal profession, she might know better, but not so far." John might be casting doubt on his daughter's dubious activities, but Yvonne could see that deep in his heart, he was proud of her. "I can't picture George having a kid," Yvonne said contemplatively. John looked up surprised. "George told us all that she was your ex, on the first day of the trial," Yvonne filled in. "George couldn't picture herself with a child for quite a long time," He said, wondering just how this woman seemed to drag confidences out of him, almost by telepathy. "I know you obviously still see her through what you both do, but what about outside court?" "It's complicated," He replied slowly, and she could see that this was a bit of a forbidden topic. As they finished eating, and put the plates in the dishwasher, they tried to talk about anything that wasn't either George or Karen related. Yvonne badly didn't want him to go, for once in her life thoroughly enjoying having a man in her house again, but she did her best not to let it show. Walking into the lounge, they found Trigger, sprawled contentedly in his basket, with Mimi curled up against him. "She's changed her tune since this morning," Yvonne said with a smile. "Do you mind if I take a picture? That's just too good to miss." "Be my guest," John replied, seeing that Mimi was completely ignoring him, in favour of her new canine friend. When Yvonne returned with her camera, she took a couple of snaps, both dogs seeming to pose with all the natural charm of someone well used to the pointing of the lens. "I'd better go," John said regretfully. "Just one thing," Yvonne said, looking him straight in the eye. "Don't feel guilty about this. We both know it ain't going to happen again, so what Jo doesn't know, won't hurt her." With a surge of gratitude at her understanding and sensitivity, he instinctively put out his arms and drew her to him. "I wouldn't have missed this for the world," He said, gently kissing her. "No, me neither," She replied, kissing him back. As she stood at the front door, with Trigger at her side, the two of them watching John back out of the drive, Yvonne vowed to hold onto the memory of that afternoon, to treasure it somewhere safe, because men, or women, like him, were one in a million, and might not be likely to look her way again for some time to come. 


	70. Part Seventy

A/N: Betaed by Little Dorritt and Jen, and credit to Little dorritt for substantial inspiration.  
  
Part Seventy  
  
On the morning of Tuesday the eighth of March, Karen was sitting at her desk, wading her way through the usual morning's post. The circulars from area, the requests for accounts, and the letters from the concerned relatives of various inmates wanting some sort of a response from her, it was all the same as every other day. It was funny, Karen mused to herself, but the more experienced and the higher up the profession one rose, the more time one had to spend dealing with nameless, pointless admin, when what she actually wanted to do was to be left to get on with the job in hand. But right in the centre of the pile, was a very official-looking letter that bore the Prison Service logo, plus her name and the words "Private and Confidential," stamped in black ink on the envelope. Slipping her thumbnail under the seal, she opened the envelope and removed the letter. Her shout of "Yes!" brought her secretary's head round the door. "You are looking at your new Governing Governor," Karen told her in explanation, her grin spreading from ear to ear. "Congratulations," Sheila replied, seeing the sheer pleasure on Karen's face. Walking out of the office with a spring in her step, Karen almost danced towards her wing, except that it wasn't just her wing anymore. In a few weeks time, on the twenty-ninth of March to be exact, this would be her prison, her very own, bloody, prison! Seeing Grayling ahead of her, she called to him. When he turned round, he knew instantly what she had to tell him. The look of pure, unadulterated happiness on her face was really a sight to see. Karen held out the letter and watched him read it through. "Well done," He said, a broad smile spreading across his face. "I knew you'd get it." "I didn't want to count my chickens," She said seriously. "You really deserve this, Karen, more than anyone. I'll be proud to hand this place on to you." "Bloody relieved more like," Karen said with a smile, not feeling entirely comfortable with his words of encouragement. "I mean it," He said, laying a resting hand on her shoulder. "You'll do things with this prison, I know you will. Now, go and tell everyone, because I can see that's what you're itching to do." "Thank you, Neil," Karen said seriously. "I don't know all of what you said to area, but whatever you did say clearly made a difference." "And one of these days," Neil said in mock exasperation. "You will begin acknowledging that you got this job on merit and merit alone. Is that clear?" "Crystal, sir," she quipped back with a smile as she walked away towards the wing.  
  
As she locked the gates of G wing behind her, she stood and surveyed the scene. Denny was playing Pool with one of the new inmates, whose name Karen couldn't immediately pluck from the recesses of her mind. The two Julies, G wing's longest serving veterans, and two of the fixtures and fittings, who would be sorely missed when they eventually left, were wiping down the servery. The Costa Cons, Karen knew that she shouldn't really accord them that title, were sat smoking, clearly plotting as to how to come by their next supply of gin and tonic. Al McKenzie and Darlene Cake, looked to be in the midst of an argument that may or may not turn nasty. Kris Yates, who reminded Karen of Nikki at times like this, was standing off to one side and also smoking. She was a woman who tried to remain on the sidelines, taking in everything around her, and avoiding any involvement with most of the other prisoners. Of Natalie Buxton, there was nothing to be seen, and Tina Purvis was sat at a table, writing either a letter or an essay for her education class. A broad, fond smile spread over Karen's face as she took in these familiar surroundings. Walking up to the Julies, a grin plastered on her face, she spontaneously put an arm round each of them, and began doing a mock imitation of a waltz. "Something good happened, has it, Miss?" Julie Saunders asked with a smile. "You could say that," Karen replied dryly. "Are you on something, Miss?" Denny asked with a cheeky little grin. "Only success," Karen told her, finally letting go of the Julies. "When Mr. Grayling leaves, at the end of this month, I will be taking over as your new Governing Governor." "Oh, that's brilliant, Miss," Julie S said, her smile broadening. "Yeah, well done, Miss," Julie J chimed in. "We never knew you was going for Grayling's job," Julie S put in, as if truly surprised at this turn of events. "Well, you don't know everything that goes on in this place, Julies," Karen said fondly. "Oh, you'd be surprised," Julie J replied. "There ain't much we don't know." "Aren't you pleased for her, Denny?" Julie S asked, looking over at Denny's glum face. "Being made queen of this shit heap, that ain't exactly something to be proud of, is it." Denny's harsh words cut Karen deeply. She'd mistakenly thought Denny would be pleased for her, but apparently not. "Just give her time," Julie S said as Denny walked away. "Yeah, she'll come round when she's got used to the idea," Julie J added. Then, as Sylvia came over to see what was going on, she said, "Eh, Miss, have you heard the latest, Miss Betts is going to be the new number one." "Oh, Marvellous," Sylvia said gloomily, as if all her nightmares had come at once. "I thought you'd be pleased," Karen said with a smirk. "You'll be getting rid of me at last." "Not far enough if you ask me." When Sylvia had stomped off in disgust, Karen couldn't help smiling. "Do either of you remember that song in the late eighties?" She asked. "I think it was called 'I love to hate you'. That could have been written about me and Sylvia. She's never so happy as when she's got something to moan about, and it's usually me." Julie J burst out laughing and Julie S grinned at the approaching figures of Dominic and Gina. "Are you two laughing at me again?" "No, at Bodybag, I mean Mrs. Hollamby," Julie S replied, her slip up making Karen grin. "I don't know," Tutted Gina with a smile. "Inciting inmates to mock your fellow officers. That's practically a sacking offence." "Not today it's not," Karen replied. "I got the job, so I'm allowed to be as outrageous as possible." "I said you'd walk it, didn't I," Gina responded, sounding incredibly pleased. "Well done," Dominic said, his boyish grin spreading from ear to ear. He stepped forward and gave Karen a quick impulsive hug. "You deserve it." A little while later, when Karen was about to leave the wing and go back to her office to actually do some work, Denny came up to her, looking extremely apologetic. "Miss," She said, coming to stand in front of Karen. "I'm sorry, about what I said. I am pleased for you, honest." "Thank you, Denny," Karen said quietly. "I won't be going that far away, I promise." As Karen let herself through the gate, Denny called after her. "Well done, man," Which made Karen smile.  
  
When she phoned George at lunchtime, Karen hoped that she didn't have anything planned for that evening. "Are you busy this evening?" She asked, before enlightening her. "I don't think so. Why?" George sounded interested, though not overly intrigued. "Do you feel like celebrating?" Karen couldn't help teasing her slightly. "I might do. Why?" George asked suspiciously. "I got the job." "Oh, darling, well done!" George's pleasure came singing down the wire. "When do you officially take over?" "Tuesday the twenty ninth of March," Karen said, quickly glancing at the letter. "The day after Easter Monday." "So, what would you like to do this evening?" George drawled, in a voice that made Karen want to instantly drive to George's office, and screw her wherever they landed, no matter whom was watching. "Oh, I don't know," Karen mused, to give her a moment to come back to Earth. "I wouldn't mind getting slightly drunk, with you and only you, then who knows." "And a combination of ice cold Champagne and gloriously erect nipples, is the most intense feeling you'll ever have in your life," George purred, making Karen's eyes widen in anticipation. "I'll hold you to that," She said in sultry invitation. "Oh, believe me," George drawled as she stretched luxuriously. "It's incredible." After arranging a time to meet that evening, they said goodbye, Karen wondering how she was supposed to do any work that day, with the probability of an intensely satisfying evening ahead of her. As she replaced the receiver, George smirked wickedly at the Munnings above her desk. It was nice to know, that she could still make someone sexually aroused with her voice and voice alone.  
  
Later that evening, George and Karen were lying side by side along the sofa in George's lounge, listening to some soft music, and drinking Champagne. "I haven't drunk Champagne as good as this for a long time," Karen said appreciatively, as George replaced her glass on the coffee table. "Ah, well, I didn't actually buy it," George admitted with a smile. "I went home and raided Daddy's cellar. On an occasion like this, you should only ever drink the real thing." At these words, Karen found herself remembering the time she'd drunk Champagne with Yvonne, on the Saturday in the middle of Ritchie's trial. But here, with this stunningly beautiful woman, the crackling log fire, and the large bowl of deliciously ripe strawberries on the coffee table, she couldn't be further removed from that summer evening party. "Are you happy?" She found herself asking George, definitely confirming the theory that she'd had too much to drink. "Very," George replied without any hesitation. "Are you?" "Yes," Karen answered softly. "Apart from the sporadic relationship I have with my son, things couldn't be better." "How often do you hear from him?" "Usually when he's run out of money," Karen said dryly. "Ever since he dropped out of college, Ross has only seen his mother as something that dispenses cash and unwanted advice in ever dwindling quantities. He'll probably be delighted when he hears about my significant rise in salary," She ended bitterly. "I think that's what Charlie sees me as sometimes," George said, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag. "The one and only time she came to me for real help, was because John wouldn't give her what she wanted. I doubt if she'd have so much as told me if he'd supported her." "What happened?" "Charlie was sleeping with one of her lecturers and got herself pregnant. John behaved like the archetypal Victorian father, demanding to know what her lecturer was going to do about it. When Charlie told John she wanted a termination, he was furious. So, she came to me, as if suddenly remembering I existed. I think she assumed that I would help her get what she wanted, because it was what John didn't want. But Charlie was even less ready for the responsibility of a baby than I was when I had her." "Ross hasn't really ever forgiven me for getting involved with Fenner," Karen continued. "But then I think he's always seen it as his duty, to object to any of the men I've had in my life." "Charlie objected to Neil's politics more than anything. The arguments she had with him over the trade of live animals were monumental." "John told me once, that when he watched Charlie doing a presentation at College, she was the spitting image of you." "Oh, I hope not," George said with a smile. "Poor Charlie." "Telling Helen about my job's going to be an interesting conversation," Karen said dryly. "Why, do you think she won't be pleased?" "I'm not sure. It just might bring back some of the endless rows we had when she was Governing Governor, that's all." "Why don't we ask Helen and Nikki over for dinner?" George suggested. "At least then you'd be in relaxing surroundings, and have Nikki and I to referee." "Are you serious?" Karen asked, incredibly touched that George had thought of this. "Yes. Besides, I haven't seen much of your friends since the trial." Plucking a strawberry from the bowl on the table, George dipped it in her glass of Champagne, and ran it invitingly across Karen's lips. "You do like to live decadently, don't you," Karen said, after eating the strawberry. "It's the best way to live, occasionally," George replied, kissing her way along Karen's jawbone, until she could taste the Champagne on Karen's lips. "You're so good for me, do you know that?" Karen said between kisses. "Oh, am I now," George drawled, thinking that she wouldn't mind a few more compliments like that. As they continued kissing, George began caressing one of Karen's breasts through her blouse. This made Karen smile, because it was usually her who instigated any sexual contact, not George, and this seemed to say that George was becoming far more confident with the situation. Whenever they did touch like this, the first, initial contact seemed to set a match to their passion, making them almost frantically begin removing clothes, to be skin to skin as quickly as possible. "You're insatiable," George said between kisses, as her black lace bra was discarded and unceremoniously shoved under the sofa. "I'm just looking forward to seeing proof of your promise," Karen replied, as they moved as one to the softness of the enormous rug in front of the blazing log fire. "Who said that was a promise?" George asked, knowing Karen was referring to what she'd said about Champagne on naked skin earlier in the day. "And here I thought I'd found a woman who was definitely all talk and all action," Karen quipped, knowing George was teasing her. "Well, I suppose I do have a reputation to maintain." "Have you made love here often?" Karen asked, enchanted by the way the firelight played over George's body, giving her skin a rich, sensual glow that only served to make her look even more beautiful. "Almost as much as I have upstairs," George confirmed, as their hands began to wander at will. "I dread to think how much bodily fluid there is in the depths of this rug." "Yeah, too much information," Karen said with a laugh. "Well, you did ask," George said with a smirk.  
  
Karen was languorously caressing George's breast, warmed by the heat of the fire, when the phone rang. George was all set to leave it, when she heard Jo's voice leaving a message on her answer phone. "George, are you in and otherwise engaged?" Came Jo's voice from the machine in her office across the hall. "Yes," Karen responded, though knowing that Jo couldn't hear her. "Or are you really out?" This was too much for George, whose curiosity rivalled even John's. Gently disentangling herself from Karen, she reached for the cordless on the table, and interrupted Jo's message. "I am here," She said, interrupting Jo in mid flow. "And yes, I am otherwise engaged, drinking Champagne and eating strawberries, and not remotely in the mood for talking about work." "Oh, any special occasion?" Jo asked, sounding intrigued. "Karen has just been made Governing Governor of Larkhall," George said, her voice filled with pride.  
  
To get her back for answering the phone, Karen continued touching George's breast, grazing her thumb over an already erect nipple. "Tell her I said congratulations," Jo said, thoroughly pleased at Karen's success. "I will. You could talk to her yourself," George replied. "But she's got her hands full right now." Karen laughed silently, wondering if Jo would get George's meaning. But as Jo and George continued talking, Karen thought it was time to play George at her own game. Reaching for one of the glasses of Champagne on the coffee table, she dipped her finger in the icy, bubbly height of snobbery, and trailed her finger over the nipple she hadn't previously been touching. George hurriedly tried to stifle a gasp, and her eyes widened in shock. But as Karen took a swig of the Champagne, and began delicately sucking on said nipple, the feeling of her ice-cold lips, and the bubbles of the Champagne bursting on her skin, was driving George absolutely wild. Karen noticed with sincere enjoyment, that George was finding it increasingly difficult to carry on anything like a normal conversation with Jo, though she had to admit that George was putting on a BAFTA performance. As Karen continued her merciless ministrations, alternating between nipples, George screwed her face up in to any number of contortions, that only made Karen grin even more. But when Karen abandoned George's nipples, in favour of taking another mouthful of Champagne, George spared a thought to wonder just what Karen would do next, and to pray that she could keep her response to it from Jo. But what George wasn't prepared for, was for Karen to begin kissing her way down, until she was mercilessly swiping an extremely chilled tongue across George's clit. Her gasp was well and truly audible this time, but Jo didn't appear to notice. As Karen inched her still cool tongue into George's entrance, George decided that enough was enough. She just couldn't go on maintaining this level of detachment in the face of what Karen was doing to her. "I'm sorry, Jo," She said, trying not to groan in delight with every breath she took. "But I've got to go, to, to," She searched for a plausible excuse. "To turn the oven down. I'll talk to you tomorrow." Not waiting for Jo's reply, she switched off the cordless and sent it skidding across the carpet.  
  
"How could you?" George asked, half in laughter, half in mortification, tugging on Karen's shoulder until they were at eye level again. "I didn't feel you complaining," Karen mocked, replacing her recently occupied tongue with her long, slender fingers. "That's not the point," George said between kisses, tasting a combination of herself and Champagne on Karen's lips. "I won't be able to look her in the face again after this." Further conversation was thwarted as Karen increased the speed in her wandering hand, causing George's breathing to quicken. "I'm sorry, darling," George gasped out. "But I'm not going to last very long." "Oh, go ahead," Karen encouraged, her hand moving even faster as George pulled her down to lie half on top of her. George couldn't believe it, all Karen was using on her was her hand, yet she knew she was approaching one of the most explosive orgasms she'd ever had in her life. As her pulse began to race, and her gasps to become almost frantic, she flung her arms round Karen, kissing her long and hard to prevent herself from actually screaming. When she actually came, she almost crushed Karen to her, internally squeezing her fingers, and letting out a strangled sound that in any other circumstance, would have meant she was in a great deal of pain.  
  
As they lay afterwards, George attempting to bring her breathing under control, she briefly held Karen to her, momentarily enjoying the feeling of having most of Karen's weight resting on her, as she might with John in similar circumstances. "I'm sorry I didn't wait for you," George said drowsily. "That's perfectly all right," Karen said with a smile, dropping a kiss on George's shoulder as she moved to lie next to her. "I take it that withholding your reactions until the last minute, is worth it once in a while." "Just a bit," George admitted dryly. "Though I don't know if I could keep up an act like that very often." "Ah, well, the performance was marvelous," Karen said slowly, with the weight of an approaching bombshell. "But your excuse for getting rid of her left a lot to be desired. Telling Jo that you needed to turn the oven down, when you'd already told her you were on dessert. Do I need to say any more?" "Ah," George said in realisation, and then burst into a fit of giggles. "Oh, well," She said, quite unable to stop laughing. "If I'm going to well and truly fail at keeping her in the dark as to your nefarious activities, I may as well do it in style." As they continued making love, both in the lounge and upstairs in George's bed, Karen reflected that laughter suited George, and that it was something she should do more often.  
  
Jo was a little puzzled by George's abrupt departure, but she didn't think any more about it until she was lying in bed that night. Then, just as she was drifting off to sleep, it dawned on her exactly why George had been slightly inattentive during their conversation. When George had said that she was otherwise engaged, she really had been. Groaning in sheer embarrassment, Jo felt as though she was blushing all over. Briefly hiding her head under the duvet, her moan of mortification became a slowly growing peal of laughter. Oh, dear, poor George. Karen must have been persistently teasing her whilst they were talking. George had said that Karen had her hands full, the double entendre being a perfect cover up. As she finally fell asleep, she vowed to have some fun with this.  
  
The next morning, when Jo was doing her make up in the ladies' before court, she kept grinning at herself in the mirror, at how George had clearly dropped herself in it. Right on cue, George walked through the door. They made polite conversation for a little while, as George tugged a brush through her hair, the brisk March wind having left her looking like the wild woman of the west, and touching up her own make up. "Call me conventional, George," Jo said, thinking that the time had come. "But I always thought dessert came after dinner, not before." Whirling round to face her, mascara wand poised to apply an extra layer, George just stared at her. "Oh," She said eventually, a faint blush staining her cheeks. Jo's bright, warm smile left her in no doubt, that Jo had seen right through her feeble excuse of the night before. Jo began to laugh quietly. "Can I just die now?" George responded, also seeing the funny side. "With a request for no flowers or letters please." "You didn't have to answer the phone, you know," Jo persisted, her smile putting George at ease. "Yes, thank you, Karen was kind enough to make me aware of that last night. She said that my curiosity level is even higher than John's." "I hope I didn't entirely ruin your evening," Jo said, turning serious. "Oh, no," George drawled, a hint of flirtation in her tone. "On the contrary, it proved to be an added bonus. You've no idea just how explosive having to hide any vocal reactions can actually be." "And for you, that must have been incredible," Jo said dryly, but not missing the clear suggestion in George's voice. "Oh, yes," George replied with utter conviction, and as she dropped the mascara wand into her handbag, and strolled nonchalantly out of the door, Jo was left with the feeling that a line had been crossed. 


	71. Part Seventy One

A/N: Betaed by Jen.  
  
Part Seventy-One  
  
When Nikki had received Karen's call on the Wednesday, inviting them over for dinner at George's on the Saturday, she had been pleasantly surprised. "This a special occasion, is it?" Nikki asked. "I've got something to tell Helen, and I'm not entirely sure how she's going to take it," Karen admitted. "That sounds ominous," Nikki replied, not wanting to hear anything that might put any strain on Helen and Karen's friendship again. They had managed to repair the damage that Fenner's interference had caused, but Nikki knew that her part in that was still there in Karen's mind. "I'm hoping she'll be happy for me, but I'd like to be in friendly surroundings when I tell her." "Well, I'm working every night this week, so Trisha shouldn't get funny about me taking Saturday off," Nikki said decisively. "You're really not enjoying working with her, are you?" Karen said sympathetically. "No, but until I get any bright ideas about what to do next, it's all I've got."  
  
George was looking forward to Saturday. She liked the challenge of cooking for people, showing off one of her skills that wasn't remotely connected to the legal profession. This would also give her ample opportunity to get to know a couple of Karen's friends a lot better than she did. She'd liked Nikki instantly, feeling a certain gratitude at the way Nikki had tried to include her with the rest of them on that first day of Lauren's trial, which now seemed a lifetime ago, and she knew that it would do her good to be in the company of people from whom she wouldn't have to hide her relationship with Karen. On the Saturday afternoon, she put some happy music on, something she could sing to, and began making the pudding, because it required a few hours in the fridge to set. As she washed and de-stalked strawberries, halved grapes and sliced kiwi fruit, she sang to the CD she'd put on in the lounge, feeling lighter of heart than she had done in a while. She knew that at this point in her life, she was happy. She had John, on a leash so to speak, giving her as much or as little attention as she wanted. She had Karen, who was introducing her to a side of her personality that she'd been dying to explore for years. She had Jo, who was becoming the closest friend she'd ever had, helping to keep her on the straight and narrow if she looked in danger of straying off the rails. She hadn't had a row with Charlie in ages, and she was still seeing a lot of and getting on very well with her father. In her eyes, things couldn't possibly be better. The fruit would be placed decoratively in a meringue base, then to be topped with homemade chocolate mousse and cream, and to be further decorated with chocolate leaves. She hadn't made this pudding for ages, but the occasion seemed to demand something special. The only thing Karen had told her to steer clear of was avocado, because Helen loathed it, but otherwise she had a free rein. She knew that Karen was worried about telling Helen about her new job, but George personally didn't think Helen would be anything other than pleased for her. Karen was almost desperate to maintain her friendship with Helen, to avoid doing anything that might send it back into the rocky waters it had been in when Karen lived with Fenner. As she arranged the fruit inside the meringue, her thoughts turned to John. There had been something a little different about him this week, not exactly distant, maybe just preoccupied. He had certainly had something on his mind, though for the life of her she couldn't imagine what it was. It hadn't stopped him from being his usual, amorous self though. She couldn't help but to smirk at the strawberries as she thought of this. She must be the luckiest woman in the world, with a male and a female lover, both satisfying her every sexual need. She wasn't sure how long it would last, this contented equilibrium, but right now that didn't matter. She was happy, Karen was happy, and John and Jo were happy. Retrieving the chocolate mousse she'd made earlier, she began folding it over the fruit, not leaving any gaps, but creating a suggestion of the juicy delicacies underneath. Rather like clothes, she thought. Next came the cream, which she piped around the edges and in little zigzag spirals over the top. Finally, she got out the packet of pre-prepared chocolate leaves. Not even she was going to spend hours creating those. Placing them here and there over the top of the pudding, she stood back to admire her handy work. "Not bad, even if I do say so myself," She said out loud, thinking that it had been far too long since she'd had reason to make something so erotically sumptuous. When she'd cleared away the debris from the pudding, and put her glorious creation in the fridge, she began to make the apricot and cashew nut stuffing for the chicken. George loved this stuffing, it making an ordinary roast chicken just that little bit special. Once the stuffing was made, she began cramming it inside the plump breast of the chicken, eventually putting a tiny skewer through the skin to keep it in place. Putting the bird in the oven on a low heat to start with, she peeled the potatoes, which would only need to be sautéed at the last minute with some thyme and parsley. Whilst she was in the middle of chopping the parsnips for the parsnip puree, the doorbell rang. Wiping her hands on a dishcloth, she went to answer it. Standing on the doorstep, holding a bag that looked like it contained several bottles of wine, was Karen. "I thought I'd come and see if you wanted a hand with anything," Karen said as she moved into the hall. "Not so far," George said as they went into the kitchen. "Though a glass of wine would go down a treat, and then I must have a bath." Whilst George threw the chunks of parsnip into the blender, with cream, lemon juice and black pepper, Karen opened a bottle of chilled Chablis that had been resting in the fridge, and poured them both a glass. They didn't talk whilst the blender did its work, and when George had transferred the contents to a bowl, she dipped in a finger and tasted it. "Even raw that tastes divine," She said, after licking her finger. Putting this in the fridge until it was needed, she went upstairs for a bath, leaving Karen to set the table. About an hour later, when George reappeared, she looked sensational. "I don't know which looks more delectable," Karen said with a smile. "You or that pudding." "Well, as long as that pudding doesn't start to separate, I don't mind," George replied, for once knowing that she looked infinitely more beautiful than the food she had created. A pleasant aroma of roasting chicken was beginning to fill the house, briefly reminding George of the days when she cooked for more than herself on a regular basis.  
  
When Helen and Nikki arrived, Nikki's words as she locked the car made Helen smile. "Jesus, it certainly looks like she's landed on her feet." "Nikki, Karen is not a gold digger," Helen said with a laugh, knowing Nikki didn't really mean it. "Oh, I know, but with Yvonne and now George, she's somehow managed to find the rich ones." "And look how her relationship with Yvonne ended," Helen reminded her soberly. When George let them in, Helen handed her some wine and some flowers. "I wasn't sure if you were a chocolate person," Helen said with a smile. "They're lovely," George replied, thinking that yes, flowers were always more preferable than things she would feel guilty for eating. "Nice place you have here," Nikki commented, as they moved into the lounge. "I've lived here for over twenty seven years now." "Hey, you," Helen said fondly to Karen, as George went to get them drinks. "What's this piece of news you've got to tell me?" "I'll tell you later," Karen said, and Helen could see that though she appeared to be relaxed on the surface, there was an underlying nervous tension in her, as if she was anticipating an earthquake. "Something smells good," Nikki said, as George handed her a glass of wine. "Roast chicken with apricot and cashew nut stuffing," George replied. "Sounds gorgeous," Nikki said, clearly looking forward to it. "Was Trisha all right about you having the night off?" Karen asked. "I expect she whinged about it," Nikki replied nonchalantly. "But to be honest, it goes in one ear and out the other these days. I'm so bored, that I'd even consider applying for a job at Larkhall if there was one going." Karen couldn't prevent a broad smile crossing her face. Jesus, Nikki Wade might be the answer to all her problems. But she'd have to bide her time a little, and do a lot of spade work with area before it could even be considered. "Tell me I'm being nosy," Nikki said, looking over at the painting above the piano. "But is that a Stubs?" George smiled. "Yes. Daddy gave it to me for my twenty-first. He knew I was probably going to marry John, and I think he thought that if it didn't work out, I could sell it. But no way was I going to part with it." Nikki heard the depth of fondness in George's voice for her father, and it made her briefly wish she'd had something remotely as close with her own parents.  
  
A little while later when George went into the kitchen to do the last minute cooking of the parsnip puree, the spinach, and the sautéing of the potatoes, both Karen and Nikki asked her if she wanted them to do anything. "No, really, it's fine," George replied. "I get quite territorial when I'm cooking." "I would offer," Said Helen with a grin. "But Nikki will tell you, that if it doesn't involve a microwave, I'm absolutely no use in the kitchen." Smiling at Helen over her shoulder, George left them to it. "You just like having someone to do all the cooking," Nikki said with a fond smile. "I can't help it if both Sean and Thomas were far better with a bread knife than I was," Helen insisted. When they eventually sat round the mahogany dining table that could comfortably seat eight, and Karen had helped to carry in the dishes, Nikki positively groaned at the sight of the plump-breasted chicken, which was emitting a combination of wonderful aromas. "After three years of the Julies' cooking," She said with a self-deprecating smile. "You get a bit obsessed with good food." "They're not that bad," Karen tried to defend the two most reliable cooks and cleaners she'd ever had on G wing. "How're they getting on?" Helen asked. "Still five years to do, and that's as long as they don't get into any more trouble," Karen said resignedly. As George began to carve the chicken, they could se just how succulent the meat was, as tender as the best fillet steak, and as juicy as an orange. When Karen had handed round the potatoes, garnished with a scattering of parsley, the parsnip puree and the spinach, both she and George sat down, and George filled up their glasses. "So, are you going to finally put me out of my misery?" Helen asked, quite unable to wait any longer. After taking a swig of her wine to give her courage, Karen cleared her throat. "I've been made Governing Governor of Larkhall." Instantly, a broad smile spread over Helen's face. "Oh, well done," She said, immediately getting to her feet, and walking round the table to give Karen a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "You soft sod," She said affectionately. "Did you think I'd be jealous or something?" "No, I don't know, I just wasn't sure how you would react." "Honestly," Helen said as she sat down and picked up her knife and fork. "And you didn't even tell me you had a promotion board." "She hardly told anyone," George filled in with a soft smile. "Only I and Grayling knew she'd gone for the interview." "Was it hell?" Helen asked, remembering her various promotion boards whilst she'd been at Larkhall. "Alison Warner tried to use her size fives on me, but I gave her pretty short shrift." "Only way to treat that brainless cow," Helen replied, after swallowing a mouthful of chicken. "George, this is beautiful," She said, now thoroughly relaxed by Karen having got what she'd wanted to say out in the open. "George knows Alison Warner," Karen put in, watching in amusement as Helen's face went scarlet. "Oh, don't worry," Said George with a laugh. "She's no friend of mine, and brainless cow is probably the best description anyone could come up with for her." "How do you know her?" Nikki asked around a mouthful of stuffing. "I managed to get her off paying an enormous fine, for violation of the Data Protection Act some years ago, before she started working for the prison service." "The only way to deal with her," Helen said decisively. "Which as number one, you will have to from time to time, is to stay as rigidly calm as possible." "I couldn't agree with you more," George said, taking a swig of her wine. "Remain totally aloof and detached, and she'll always be the one to crack first." "When she accused me of being responsible for Shell and Denny's escape," Helen continued. "She was the one who got all stressed about it. She was desperate to pin it on me, and when she couldn't, it was as if it was her own personal tragedy." George laughed. "She was just like that, when I used that particular incident as blackmail on her during the trial." "During Lauren's trial?" Nikki asked in slight astonishment. "Well, after what you two told Jo about Di Barker, it seemed the only way to get hold of her personnel file. So, I carefully reminded Mrs. Warner, that I had a staggering amount of evidence to prove that she hadn't done her job after the three escapes, which had come into my hands when Jo and I were putting the case together against Fenner. She wasn't very pleased to say the least." "What I wouldn't give to have heard that," Helen said, clearly impressed. "I wondered where Jo had managed to lay her hands on all that stuff," Nikki put in. "Now it makes sense." After they'd finished eating, and all had a cigarette break, George returned with the pudding, now looking glossy, firm, and extremely erotic. "Did Karen tell you," Helen said slowly. "That I'm a bit of a closet chocoholic?" "No, she didn't," George said with a broad smile. "In that case, I definitely hope the chocolate mousse is still as good as when I made it earlier." The combination of the crisp meringue base, the juicy tang of the fruit, and the bittersweet mixture of chocolate mousse and cream, made that pudding a thing to remember. As George reached to fill their glasses, Nikki said to Helen, "Am I driving, or are you?" "Go on then," Helen said, putting a hand over her glass. "It's your night off, so I'll drive." "I don't think I'll move for a week now," Nikki said as she put down her spoon. "That was lovely." "Shall you and me do the washing up?" Helen asked, looking over at Karen, and the other two could see that Helen wanted the excuse to talk to Karen alone.  
  
When they were half way through the washing up, Helen said, "You're really happy with George, aren't you?" "Yes," Karen said with a warm smile. "It's hard to explain, but at the moment, she doesn't want anything very committed from me, which is exactly how I like it." "To be honest," Helen said carefully. "It's probably for the best. I found it hard enough with Sean and with Nikki when I was at Larkhall. They don't tell you, but the prison service doesn't allow for that much of a private life." "It's odd, but George, she's just so, I don't know, beautiful, sensitive, incredibly complicated, and doesn't mind me cracking up every so often, all in one." "Sounds pretty bloody perfect to me," Helen replied, thinking that the sheer happiness in Karen's voice was the best thing she'd heard in a long time. "Yeah, at the moment, it is. I'm not sure quite how long it will last, but for now, I don't care." "Why?" Helen was curious now. "I shouldn't really tell you, and it sounds completely mad, but the reason she doesn't want anything heavy from me, is because she's still involved to a certain extent with John." "With the judge? But I thought he was her ex." "Oh, he is. He is sleeping with both Jo and George, who are both aware of the situation, and George is sleeping with me as well. I said it was complicated, didn't I." "Well, as long as it works, each to their own, I suppose." "Believe it or not, it does work. Before he started sleeping with George again, John had a different woman every week. So, Jo came up with the idea of restricting him to George and only George." "Good God, talk about a grip of steel," Helen said, sincerely impressed. "And so far, he hasn't gone back on the arrangement, which means that Jo is a lot happier, and George has back what she never entirely got over." "Karen, I know you said that you're happy with the way things are, but just be careful," Helen said quietly. "I'm not going to get hurt, at least not by George," Karen said with utter certainty. After a moment's silence, Helen finally approached what she'd really wanted to say. "Did you really think I wouldn't be pleased for you?" She asked, as Karen put the plates away in the cupboard. "I wasn't sure," Karen admitted. "When you were Governing Governor, I was a complete cow, and whilst I know that shouldn't have any bearing on me being Governing Governor, I just didn't want it to bring back any awkward memories." "Listen," Helen said, feeling a rush of emotion at Karen's words. "I know how strong Fenner's influence was, and whilst I might have been angry and frustrated with you at the time, I know it wasn't your fault. At least you never let him force you out of a job." "He might not have been able to, if I'd listened to you," Karen found herself saying. "You don't know that," Helen said quietly. "Just do one thing for me, just make sure you do a better job of it than I did."  
  
As George and Nikki happily left the others to it, sitting down in the lounge and immediately lighting cigarettes, Nikki's eyes again strayed to the paintings, the Stubs above the piano, and the Monet above the fireplace. "Are you into paintings?" George asked, after taking a grateful drag of her cigarette. "Sort of," Nikki replied, forcing her attention back to George. "I nearly got involved with someone who was, while I was inside. I learnt a lot from her, one way and another, only then she turned out to be a sex offender." "Oh, dear," George said in sympathy. "Yeah, I had it pointed out to me by Maxi bloody Purvis of all people." "Ouch. What happened?" "Helen had Caroline transferred. Good thing really, or I might have ended up doing a stretch for GBH alongside the Julies." "A couple of years ago, I defended a company who, in the name of success at any cost, managed to put child pornography on John's computer, because they knew he wasn't open to bribery and corruption. I had absolutely no idea they would even consider doing such a thing, so I know that finding out something like that can be quite a shock." Nikki was touched at the feeling in George's words, and knew that Karen would be happy with this woman. "Did Karen really think Helen wouldn't be pleased for her?" Nikki asked, trying to take them away from anything dark. "Karen still feels incredibly guilty for how she was with Helen, when Helen was Governing Governor. I doubt she'll ever stop feeling guilty about that. I think she just wants to avoid anything that might put her and Helen back to the way they were then. It's totally irrational, because Karen being made Governing Governor, doesn't mean anything of the sort will happen, but who ever said that fears were rational." "Karen shouldn't still feel guilty about that," Nikki said gently. "Helen knows just how much of an influence Fenner had over her. Jesus, I saw him do exactly the same to Rachel Hicks." "Was she the young girl who hanged herself in her cell?" "Yeah, that's the one. I lost count of the times I warned her off Fenner, but once he had his claws in, that was it." George then saw Nikki stare at something by George's feet, and then immediately move her eyes away. "What?" George asked, seeing Nikki's eyes moving back as if drawn, to whatever she'd seen. Nikki began to laugh quietly. "What?" George persisted, wondering just what was about to embarrass her. "From here," Nikki said, still laughing. "It looks like a bra strap." Bending down, George retrieved her black bra that had been so unceremoniously shoved under the sofa on Tuesday night. "Oh," She said, a faint blush staining her cheeks. "I wondered where that had got to." "I don't know why," Nikki said, clearly talking from experience. "But it's always bras that turn up in the most unexpected places." "Do you two want coffee?" Karen asked, coming into the lounge. "Where did that spring from?" She asked, glancing at the small black bra in George's hand. "It was sticking out from under the sofa," George replied, now seeing the funny side. "Oh, that must have been from Tuesday," Karen replied, thinking that the shy little blush made George look incredibly sweet. Quickly running upstairs to dispose of her wayward underwear, George thought that she'd not had such a relaxing, amusing, and above all, normal evening for quite a long time. She wasn't at all used to an abundance of female company, but she knew she could come to like Helen and Nikki enormously. It made her feel younger somehow, doing something as perfectly ordinary as cooking a meal, and having a few too many with a couple of friends. A good while later, as they stood on the doorstep and watched Helen and Nikki drive away, George felt thoroughly content. When she'd closed and locked the front door, Karen put her arms round her and kissed her. "Thank you for tonight," She said into George's hair. "I enjoyed it," George replied, kissing her back, knowing that this new area of her life, this being in love with a woman, and getting to know other women in a way she wouldn't previously have contemplated, was exactly what she wanted. If it was making her happy, which for now it appeared to be, then this was how she wanted it to stay. 


	72. Part Seventy Two

Part Seventy-Two  
  
It had come to that occasion in the year. The notice had been pinned up on the notice board in the barrister's room in the Old Bailey, conspicuously central in its pristine freshness over the top of the forgotten yellowed parchments. Monty and Vera Everard arrived first, giving a misleading impression of public togetherness but eager for what mutual advantage the meeting might have in store. Sir Ian and Lawrence James followed closely behind in their contrastingly but professional 'joined at the hip' routine. Lastly, thirty paces behind, John casually sauntered into the room and immediately raised the hackles of the other four. Finally, Joe Channing huffed and puffed his way into the cluttered room and sank into the one comfortable chair in the austerely furnished room.  
"Ladies and gentlemen, I have recently come from a meeting of the Bar Council which endorsed an initiative which will affect us all." Joe's dramatic pause let the thought sink in and eyes to flit around the room, speculating on what he might have up his sleeve.  
"It is about time that the brethren felt more of a sense of community. We are living in troubled times when the old certainties of our position are no longer as secure as they once were. It is less possible and even less desirable for any of us to indulge in the sort of petty bickering which, regrettably appears to have crept in, in recent years." Joe rolled an expressive eye in the direction of John. He was sitting next to Sir Ian but their body language conveyed a sense of mutual aversion, both physical and personal. Two landmark trials had done much to sour relationships between the two of them. That perverse man, drat him, had that confounded expression of innocence on his face and totally and utterly ignored his gentle hint. "That is why a team building exercise has been decided upon." "You mean we are to all don battle dress, army boots and rifles and yomp all over Dartmoor while the Bar Council fire at us from behind, friendly fire just to encourage us of course." His barb was aimed deliberately at the very unmilitary Sir Ian who twitched at the thought of John's very real scenario. He had watched Holby City and chanced upon an episode when an accountancy firm had dressed up as medieval knights in armour and fairy princesses and one of them ended up in hospital, unpleasantly skewered by a very sharp and very real sword. "No, I am not suggesting risking valuable lives in such a foolish, undignified fashion," Spluttered Joe Channing, reprimanding that reprobate fourth former in the back row.  
"My idea is altogether more peaceful, more dignified." "Meaning?" "All of us have been educated at the finest schools and universities which instilled a sound musical background. I propose that we form an orchestra for the purpose of putting on a public performance." "A brilliant suggestion," gushed Vera Everard, using her overpowering presence to seize control of the meeting. "But is the performance to be only for the instrumentalists amongst us?" "What did you have in mind, Vera?" Joe answered with an ingratiating expression on his face. He had the sickening feeling that his first instinct to placate this terrible woman meant that he would be relegated to the sidelines and she would browbeat everyone else into what suited her, first and foremost.  
"My own very favourite piece of music just has to be Haydn's 'Creation.' It has everything you could wish for, violins, cellos, woodwind, trumpets and singers. I used to perform in it at school. I made a very fetching Eve, so I used to be told." Both John and Sir Ian made a very curious temporary alliance in exchanging a look of derision at the thought. Evidently. the years since Vera's schooldays had not been kind to her.  
"Monty, you would make an absolutely marvellous Adam," Vera pronounced.  
From the look of extreme discomfort on his face, this idea had been suddenly landed on him and said a lot about the sort of communication within their household. His evident distaste for playing Adam to Vera's Eve was plain for all to see when in real life, his occupation of his place in the digs conveniently distanced him from Vera's residence elsewhere. A conflicting desire achieved mastery within him by a hairbreadth. This was his intense desire to be in the limelight and make his presence felt in a setting where his talents would surely receive the respect which he felt to be his due. It gave him a good opportunity to curry favour with the Bar Council who would be bound to watch the performance. The man is so transparent, John reflected, as he weighed in with his contribution.  
"I think that we should not be too precipitous in deciding which individuals perform particular roles. Vera's choice of music is an excellent one, which I would endorse for the reasons she sets out. However, we should be certain that we have between us, the ensemble talent to take on such an ambitious work of art. We should go round the table and say what experience we have." Joe Channing's expression showed his utter gratitude for the adroit way that John's quiet but steely tones had sidelined the Everards. How does the fellow manage it, he wondered.  
"We might as well start with Ian and work round the group." "I play in a woodwind quintet, and have played on and off ever since my schooldays." "You are a musician?" John's hushed, respectful reply contrasted with his previous verbal sniping which had made him pick on that wretched fellow and put him on the spot. The memories of the Atkins trial had rankled. This revelation made him see Sir Ian in a new light. Loathsome careerist and sycophant though he might be, it summoned up a new understanding between them. He could no more pass this up any more than he could pass by an attractive woman unregarded nor fight a crusade for justice however unfavourable the odds were stacked against him. "I play the clarinet, John," Sir Ian replied a little stiffly.  
"That is good, Ian. I am pleased." Sir Ian was unsettled by the total lack of irony or trickery in John's manner and had trouble getting his head round it.  
"I play the oboe in the same quintet that Ian plays in," Laurence James intoned in his flat, expressionless voice.  
Again, John was taken aback. His sense of irony at the way the Old boy's network would relish the possibility that the Lord Chancellor was a third member of the quintet but it would clash severely with his passionately held beliefs as to the nature of art. The fact that these three despicable men had any trace of an artistic soul had not entered his comprehension. His contempt for them was centred on his unwavering belief that they had long since sold their souls to the devil, or to the Stock Exchange or both at a very handsome profit. "This is excellent," John exclaimed heartily. His enthusiasm for the project was growing by the minute. "Can either of you play an instrument?" John politely enquired of the Everards, both fuming, as the spotlight was not on them any more. Both of them frowned and shook their heads.  
"I intend to be the conductor if I had not made it clear before. I do not make such a claim because of my position amongst the brethren but upon my long experience in the musical field." John nodded in appreciation. As his ex-father-in-law, he did not think to question Joe's accomplishments in this area.  
"We will, of course, need to throw this open far and wide amongst the brethren but it is highly encouraging that, of the few of us present, all of us can lay claim to musical accomplishments without exception. It is a very encouraging sign." "By the way, John, you have not declared your own interest," Sir Ian asked, a trace of nastiness in his voice. The fellow had forced everyone else to lay his cards on the table and kept suspiciously quiet about himself. "Oh, didn't I say before? Lead violinist in an amateur string quintet," John replied with the utmost nonchalance, his eyes meeting Ian's. Everyone else sat back in their seats in shocked surprise at this exploding bombshell. Deed, the incorrigible womaniser was a matter of endless gossip round the chambers as was that maverick whose legal judgements were perverse and downright Bolshevik. Deed, the amateur musician, was a persona that they were not prepared for. "Oh, I'm glad to hear that you kept up your music." Joe Channing's hearty response was entirely genuine. His first instinct was that he could see the light at the end of the tunnel and it wasn't the headlight of the express train driven by Vera Everard which threatened to drive all over him, blowing her whistle.  
Sir Ian's musicianly solidarity had flickered briefly into life before being snuffed out by baser instincts. He knew well enough that Deed was more talented than he made out and that meant that he would seek to take control. Lead violinist, always had a higher status and profile than his journeyman position as clarinettist, especially the enlarged setting in relation to his own woodwind quintet. Those idiots, the Everards, were alternately squabbling amongst themselves or lost in delusions of their own grandeur to recognise the threat that was taking shape.  
"This would be a good point for a natural break and the time to take stock of what musical talent we know amongst the rest of the brethren. We must carry on in the spirit of teamwork to welcome others into the musical fold." From the rapidity with which he trod a dead straight line to the balcony, Joe had practical reasons to adjourn the meeting.  
Without delay, Vera launched into her grand plan for self-aggrandisement and to put some backbone into her shilly shallying husband to lay their claim for supremacy once and for all. "This is our heaven sent opportunity for us to put one over that wretched Deed character. If we have to suffer the presence of the less desirable characters, then it is for us to be on top. I have no more time for you than you have for me but it is quite possible for us to pretend for the sake of a few rehearsals and the performance before the Bar Council. It will help your future career." "Yes, Vera." Oh the problems of being the power behind the throne, Vera sighed. Only she knew how weak and vacillating the man could be, however much in his public role he acted as the stern unbending judge. She made a mental note to look out some dress patterns to bring out the best in her.  
John had casually strolled after Joe who turned round when he quietly shut the door behind him.  
"I have to thank you for putting a stop to that fearful woman taking over. I very much doubt that she is anywhere near the standard required of playing the part of Eve. She would dictate to everyone what they would do and everyone would end up smiling and going along with her. Giving that woman control would be catastrophic. I will not involve myself in a total musical fiasco." Joe Channing had had many experiences when John's conduct had caused him acute political embarrassment but that was one thing. It was quite another thing if what he most loved outside his profession was brought into ridicule. To his own surprise, he found himself unburdening himself to the man whom he had always seen as his chief tormentor.  
  
"Have you thought of George taking the part of Eve?" Joe suddenly smiled at John's suggestion as if a lightbulb had been turned on in his mind. Why had he never thought of this before? A sudden rush of memories flooded back of him perched on a narrow uncomfortable school chair and entranced by his beloved daughter's crystal clear singing, which soared and described intricate musical loops.  
"That is a damned good idea, John. Do you think she would agree to it?" "I could try and persuade her." Joe darted a look of suspicion at the look of limpid innocence on John's face.  
"That is what I am afraid of." "…..unless you want to talk to her, yourself?" Joe shuddered at the fear that George might jump in an unreasonably perverse direction to his eminently reasonable suggestions. Once she set her mind against an idea, she became all the more stubborn and obstinate the more he reasoned with her. To his mind, women could be contrary creatures.  
"I will leave that in your capable hands." While Joe's response to John's idea was reluctant, on a deeper level, he was making some rapid calculations in his mind. The man did talk sense, so his memory told him years ago in happier days when he had first talked to him, man to man. He also remembered John's musical talents, which had instantly become a strong bond between them. "I have made up my mind, John, I need a leader of the orchestra to help keep it running smoothly. I think you are the man for the job." Joe Channing's gruff voice understated his gratitude in true old school style. It felt peculiar that he owed his peace of mind to Deed, the invariable grit that jammed the smooth running of the machinery of law.  
"So the chief poacher is promoted to the position of gamekeeper?" John enquired in his laziest, yet most searching tones.  
"If you want an answer, then it is yes, but only partly so. If you are left to yourself, you will be your usual troublemaking self. If you are given a position of responsibility, then your sense of duty, however peculiar a form it is rooted in you, may make this work. Besides, if you are anything like the musician you used to be, then you deserve the position on sheer merit. I am not indulging in a foolish old man's sentimentality about some sort of golden past." There was a strange look in Joe's eye as it shifted either side of John's steady gaze.  
"All right Joe." He stretched out his hand, which Joe, to his surprise, shook hard. It gave a sense of reassurance in contrast to that bounder Neil Houghton's very limp handshake. Joe stubbed out the cigarette and led the way back to the main room.  
Sir Ian and Monty Everard looked very suspiciously at the two of them as they entered the room. It was obvious that they had been cooking something up together.  
"I have a possible idea that George might be agreeable to take the part of Eve. I have heard her singing over the years and her voice is quite extraordinary." "That is an excellent idea, John. I attended a school performance of her in the creation and she made an utterly enchanting Eve." "So any daughter would appear to a father or so I am told," Came Vera's sour reply. "I am not prepared to accept a slur or insult to my daughter, Vera. Nor am I prepared to tolerate an attack on my artistic judgement. You will kindly remember that I am the director of this musical company and I am in charge." There was a stunned silence. Not only had Joe Channing verbally put Vera Everard in her place for the first time in his life, he was stamping his authority to treat them as his orchestral ensemble.  
"Of course, these are preliminary suggestions and where there is more than one volunteer for a role, then I as conductor and leader, shall have the final say." John sat back with amazement at the way Joe built up his very real forceful and decisive leadership into a crescendo and the way he took the wind out of Vera's sails. Joe was similarly astonished at the consequences of his outburst and only wished he could achieve similar results in his arguments with George. "We ought to explore possibilities for other parts. All of us have had a hard enough day in court. For instance, I know that Jo Mills plays the cello." "Didn't Mrs. Mills tell me she was having tuba lessons?" "I regret that she was being a little facetious, but she was not entirely joking. I can assure you of this point, Mr. James." John endeavoured to smooth Lawrence James down. Jo's wisecrack to this interfering official had clearly rankled and now was the chance to set the record straight. Joe Channing was secretly amazed by John's unexpected capacity for diplomacy and mentally gave him full marks for this.  
"In that case, we have another possible cellist. Brian Cantwell comes to mind from my acquaintance with him." John raised his eyebrows at yet another surprise. He had Cantwell pegged as an utter philistine as well as a reactionary fool.  
"This is starting to take excellent shape. I had no idea that we had so much unexpected talent amongst us," Joe boomed, as he started to relax for the first time since the Bar council had landed the idea of this team building exercise on him. He had come up with the first idea that came off the top of his head, which seemed a good idea at the time. In the cold light of day when he contemplated the idea, he had been worried about the reception the idea he would get at the end of the day from such a warring collection of individualists and prima donnas. "Well, in that case," snorted Monty Everard, seeing himself increasingly relegated to the sidelines. "I have heard it on the grapevine that Neumann Mason-Alan plays the trumpet. He would blow his own trumpet, of course." "That starts to fill the gap in the brass section. Do we have any other suggestions?" Sir Ian had watched the way the conversation taking shape, unable to believe the evidence of his own ears. This was the man who had severely reined in Neumann and repeatedly castigated him and his conduct in the last trial that Neumann appeared before him. Besides what he had seen for himself, he had heard the bitter complaints from Neumann and had supposed that John would have gone along with Monty Everard's little joke at his expense. Yet he had not uttered a word against Neumann. He resolved to sit back, watch and see how things took shape and play along with this.  
"I have heard on the grapevine that there is a new appointee to the Prison Service area management, who has a deep love of classical singing. He may well be amenable to take part." "That sounds promising, Ian. By the way, doesn't your wife play the oboe?" Sir Ian flared up straightaway. He had deliberately held back mentioning his wife's name. To his suspicious mind, the casual way which John dropped in this suggestion, showed Deed at his most untrustworthy and betrayed his real reason for his enthusiasm for this project.  
"I see, John. This will provide an ideal opportunity and cover for you to resume your squalid little affair with my wife." "I can assure you, Ian, that I have absolutely none of the intentions you describe. If there is any such danger, it would be completely the other way round. I can assure you that I have not the slightest intention of going nearer your wife than I am professionally required to do. It's the case of once bitten, twice shy." The room sank into shocked silence at John's description of himself as 'shy' which was precisely the reaction he intended.  
"Are there any other expressions of interest that we know of?" Joe at last declared, wanting to move the business on. He gave the meeting two clear minutes for any responses. "Well, that about concludes the meeting. We have got through the business in far better time than I had thought we would. Hopefully, this will be a sign of the way we shall continue." "One last point, Joe. Oughtn't the Bar Council to advertise this by e-mail to all members and spread out the net wider." "Then why couldn't this have been done in the first place instead of spending an hour at this time of night, sitting in uncomfortable chairs and gassing away," Came Vera's petulent outburst. It was surprising that she had shut up for so long but the conversation had unrolled without a break so that she couldn't get a look in.  
"Cold calling is not the best way of advertising, Vera. This is only going to look a possibility when it is seen that a number of us are prepared to come forward. Without this discussion, none of us would have had the remotest idea of what each other can do. Let's face it, we are not in a profession noted for artistic creativity. Now we know more of what is possible, we can go on to the next stage." "My sentiments exactly. I intend to compile a list of all the parts required for the entire ensemble and note expressions of interest based on what we have found out tonight. This will be put on the notice board and the Bar Council will advertise this by e-mail to all members. I must remind you that this performance is intended as a team building exercise so that we are most truly brothers and sisters. Now, I am sure we all have homes to go to." The room emptied fairly rapidly as each of them went home with their own very mixed feelings. Joe sank back into the driving seat of his sedate Rolls Royce and lit a much needed cigarette. He had the most mixed feelings of all, surprise that somehow, against the odds, the first faltering step had been taken and fear as to exactly what he had unleashed. He felt he thoroughly deserved a nightcap when he got home. 


	73. Part Seventy Three

Part Seventy Three  
  
The Julies had been hard at work with stiff white card, scizzors and felt tips in creating a 'leaving card' for Grayling. They had scratched their heads in what to feature on the card as their invariable recipient had been female up till now.  
"I ain't sure what sort of card to do for a man," Julie Saunders complained, twirling her favourite pen with the green spiky plastic attachment.  
"……especially for a…" she continued after a long pause.  
"Now then, Ju, what about his 'keep fit' stuff. I've got it, what about him riding that bike of his and a slogan - 'On your bike'?" "For Gawds sake, leave that one out. That's what that there Norman Tebbit used to say to the unemployed. The drawing's fine but we'll have to come up with different words." "Eh?" asked Julie Johnson in blank incomprehension.  
"Can you do me a favour, mate. Can you ask Denny to come along and help me with the artwork? She's dead talented. We haven't much time…….."  
  
At another time and place, Grayling came up to the gatehouse for the last time as Governing Governor. His fondest and most intense memories of this place were about to be lived. "Hi, Ken," Grayling called out to the very same man who had signed him in on his first day at Larkhall. "Is it really your last day here, Mr. Grayling?" The other man asked with obvious regret. On a day like this, Grayling's sensibilities were abnormally sharpened.  
"It is. It all seems strange, unreal," He confided.  
"Well, all the lads are going to miss you for a start. You've made a difference to this place." "Why thank you," Grayling called out cheerily. Inwardly, he was touched by the simple compliment. When he came here, he had been instructed by Area to shake this prison out of its complacency and to force through changes at a blinding speed. He had set out to be tough and had never thought in terms of personal popularity. He had gradually changed over the months to the man he is now but it had never occurred to him that one day, he would be missed. Something held him back in getting all emotional and so he hit upon his own way of expressing how he felt.  
"Well, if any strange cyclists come up to the gatehouse, think carefully what you say. They might not be all that they seem." "I'll never live that down, Mr. Grayling." Grayling grinned broadly with that hint of mischief he had never been known to display before. It crossed Ken's mind that this was the first time a Governing Governor had taken the time to laugh and joke with him. Grayling shook his hand firmly and went on his way. The first goodbye, he allowed himself to think poignantly. Curiously enough, there was no one on the wing at that moment and so he threaded his way along the shabby paintwork and endless corridors back to his room. He wanted time for inward reflection before doing his farewell tour. It was funny, he thought as he helped himself to a glass of spring water, how his sensitivities had shrank from the ugliness of the place which made him feel defiled. That was his surface impression. His feelings became nightmarish as the full twisted nature of the place seemed to cast a jinx on him. Whatever snap decision he made seemed to take some malevolent life form and come back to mock him. A whole series of Wing Governors pirouetted before his eyes in some demonic dance of death with him at the centre of affairs. The phone call from area from time to time had made him squirm in his chair far too often for his liking. As for the prisoners, they seemed to be walk on parts in the general conspiracy against him. All he had ever wanted was for deliverance to the part of area which was the most cutting edge in the radical ideas that the prison service desperately wanted. So what had changed so that, instinctively, without any ideological framework, he had come to feel centred and in control? He had not taken the time for reflection. The ideas came off the top of his head in rapid succession, Fenner no longer being here, the transformation in his relationship with Karen, Di Barker being taken off G Wing and that everyone started acting like human beings, himself included. Grayling looked around his very bare office. It had been stripped of all his personal belongings which had been packed up into a big orange skip and labelled to reach his new place of work, it looked bare and without any personality, most of all, his own. He picked up one of his well-thumbed books on management in a neglected corner of his office, glanced at it and none of it made the sense that it once had. He had read it from cover to cover and though it talked about developing human potential, it was all abstract and unreal. He was about to dump it in the bin until, on second thoughts, he edged it into a corner of the crate and resolved to put it through the shredder at his new place of work.  
It came to his mind that he would become the new boy, a small fish in a very large pool in the remote offices of Cleland House. Everything that he had got to know about the practicalities of running a prison would be what he would be taking with him besides pin trays and photographs.  
  
A part of him didn't want to go but he firmly suppressed that thought. It wasn't the soft sentimentality that he once despised but the realisation that his time was passing. It was time to make way for Karen and his final performance would be a duty and a pleasure. It was his last gift to her. He drained his glass of water and strode out to start to say his farewells, subconsciously leaving G wing till last.  
  
A couple of hours later, Grayling returned to his room having shaken endless hands, been wished all the best and stood in front of group after group of prison officers and repeated the standard sentiments expected of such an occasion. His smile had stretched his face muscles for what seemed like hours upon end and it had all gone into one big blur. He ended up with a carrier bag full of very tasteful presents and large, expensive cards with lots of signatures and everything flowed along on a vague flow of bonhomie. He knew the score as he had been to many leaving receptions for other prison officers and governors who had transferred or retired. The scripts unconsciously repeated themselves, not that he didn't feel well disposed to the well wishers.  
One jarring moment of reality was like a bucket of water thrown in his face.  
"So you finally got what you always wanted," Di's venomous voice caught him in an empty corridor. It took him aback but something in him seemed to rise to the cheap words more worthy of a second rate soap opera.  
"You're wrong, Di, as usual. I really did want to climb the ladder of success and I didn't care what happened to those who worked for me. Now I've got that promotion, I'll be able to help them from a distance. Karen Betts is perfectly able to do my job as you will find out." "Mr. Principle," Sneered Di, angered by Grayling's smirk. "I'm sure you'll tell your latest boyfriend all that high minded rubbish. Only you know and I know what your mucky past is like." "You say that to all those at the Atkins trial, the jury, the spectators, the defence barrister the judge about the part you took in the trial and most of all, Karen Betts, your Governing Governor from next week. The thing is, I've changed but it's a pity you never will." Grayling's intense scorn merged into the sort of lofty disdain that he could never manage when they were together. His spirits were curiously lightened by that last ugly scene as he walked away, leaving Di fuming in impotent rage.  
  
As Grayling strode back into G Wing, Lauren, on lookout, gave a short whistle for the group of prisoners to crowd round him.  
"What have we here?" he asked jovially, sensing the welcoming atmosphere.  
"Only a little leaving card from all the girls. Ain't up to much what with all your other cards and presents," Julie Johnson said diffidently, sensing the contents of grayling's carrier bag. Grayling looked at the slightly cartoon figure of him riding a bike and the caption,"To our Favourite Gov", all the care put into the colouring and all the little individual touches to the prisoner's inscriptions. He didn't know what to say for the first time in his life. The sheer unexpectedness of the event caused a huge welling up of choked emotion in him. At an earlier time, he might have got angry or hugely embarrassed and covered it up with some clever quip, designed to put as much distance between him and his feelings but not today.  
"You shouldn't have," He said gently.  
"We're sorry if we've embarrassed you," Julie Saunders answered softly.  
With a huge outward breath, Grayling found the answer and a big smile spread across his face as he said, "This card will stay in pride of place on my new desk in my new office. It will remind me of everything I've learned to hold dear. I can't believe you did this for me," He finished, his voice slightly breaking.  
"You got Miss Betts her new job, man," Denny grinned, joining the conversation in her inimitable fashion. "Hardly that," came the self deprecating reply. "But I might have helped a little." The women smiled but said nothing as they suspected otherwise. "You all really think a lot of her don't you," Grayling added in a low, reflective tone.  
"Yeah, but don't think we don't know who's backing her up. We can tell the change round here." "You're Yvonne's daughter all right," Grayling said softly in tones of real respect. The black penetrating eyes of the young woman looked him straight in the eye as Yvonne used to do. The way she spoke was a chip off the old block.  
"Talking about my mum, I wanted to pass on a message that she's really sorry about the way she used to take the piss out of you. She understands now what it's all about." Grayling nodded, not sure what he should say in answer. His eye glanced at the clock and saw Karen approaching the group and he realised he had to move on.  
"I'll have to go now and see the prison officers on G wing. Karen's here to collect me." He smiled, waved and headed in the direction of the PO's room.  
  
"I suppose one good thing with grayling going is that Madam will be out of the way. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't use the Old Boys network, serve the job up on a platter. Typical," Grumbled Bodybag, as she ignored in one breathtaking jump, the earlier years when the two of them had been daggers drawn and that Karen had been demoted for a while.  
"Mr. Grayling, sir," She added a fraction too late to avoid his sharp ears hearing the remarks not intended for his ears. He smiled cynically with a meaning expression on his face.  
"Don't get up. I've stood on ceremony the past few hours. Is there a spare chair for the two of us?" Dominic moved out two chairs from the back, which were then arranged in a circle. It felt friendlier now that they were sitting comfortably.  
"I wanted to make quite sure that I dropped in on G wing as it has been the making of me." Some of the others blinked to hear this normally aloof man speak so frankly without any artifice. Selena, who was sitting the other side of Grayling from Karen, pulled out the large card and one wrapped up present and a second smaller thin square shaped present. He unwrapped the smaller of the presents and a smile lit his face to see that it was a CD of Haydn's 'Creation.' The second present was one, which he insisted he open when he got home.  
He studied the card and smiled cynically to read Bodybag's effusive writing of 'good luck in your new job'. Which he read to mean 'good riddance.' "If I hadn't been duty bound to say a few words beforehand, I certainly am now. I could write a book on how not to be Governing Governor but also, hopefully, I now know how it should be done. There are things I've done which, looking back, I wince in embarrassment but I shall now take what I've learnt and defend my views at Area unflinchingly, whether I am popular or not. This will be repayment to Karen of her commitment to the job and honesty when she disagreed with me. The job I am going to will enable me to indirectly enable Karen, along with all your sterling support, to be unfettered in being the Governing Governer that Larkhall needs." There was a round of genuine applause at his short, sharp speech and the meeting broke into a general conversation and reminiscence about old times as these sort of meetings do. As time went on, a small part of him felt uncomfortable that the sands of time were running out for him as part of this informal gathering and that he had to move on. He finally got to his feet with the parting words.  
"I've got to go, guys, but one last thought. I'm glad I never finally made this place 'no smoking' as I wanted to do." "There would have been a riot on your hands and not from the prisoners. I'll see you to the gates," Karen said dryly.  
  
It was not lost on Karen how sensitively he felt about leaving Larkhall. A whole swirl of thoughts revolved in his head that never again, would he see the people he had come to feel at home with, even the sort of crises which he knew made him feel rooted to something real. All the prisoners he knew would stay frozen in time from the day that he is last seeing them. He would go on in his life and they would go on with theirs. A real phase in his life was drawing to an end and he would be entering a new world he had longed to be part of.  
"You'll miss this place, Neil, even that some crisis has blown up somewhere. You know, that some deranged prisoner has set off a bomb that has blown up the library." Neil laughed. He knew that where he was going to work, even such a first class disaster would attract its nostalgic sheen.  
"If you remember, I was flat out cold with a chunk of metal in my side and didn't wake up till I was in hospital. I have Cassie Tyler and Roisin Connor to thank for that. Even though I made a lousy speech, I did get them a free pardon, didn't I?" "You did indeed, Neil," She shook his hand firmly.  
"Well, as of now, it's your prison. Look after it." For the last time, Grayling passed through the gates and took several backward glances at it. He glanced up at the prisoners block and could swear that he could see some of the smiling faces of the prisoners and the odd fluttering wave of fingertips. He blinked his eyes to see if it was real and was gratified that it was as real as anything he had now come to realise in his life. He waved back at them and Larkhall in general before turning away to drop in his keys for the very last time and signed his name on the clipboard. He suspected already that it would stay forever part of him, which was not the view he first took of the place as being just a rung on the ladder of his success.  
  
"Well, that's the day over and it's the end of a week. I suppose that Madam will go power crazy and ask us to slave harder than ever with her do gooding ways. We had enough of that with Stewart. Remember that time when she wanted to empty the Muppet Wing and rehabilitate them. She forgot that if Dr. Nicholson put them there, they had a screw loose and needed to be locked up in a padded cell. That fire in the 3s soon proved who was right and who was wrong." Bodybag shared a drink in the smoky atmosphere of the PO social Club with Di. It was their chance for Di to catch up with the latest gossip and Bodybag's pent up grumbles and grudges to be unloaded in one go. She had been deprived of that valuable person to grumble at since Jim passed away and Di was forced out of G Wing.  
"Who's going to be made acting Principal Officer now, Sylv? With your years and seniority, you ought to get it as a matter of course. "I don't know," She sighed. "All I know is that I'm not exactly favourite with Madam and I can't expect anything from her." "It would have been the case in Stubberfield's day and before Stewart first came." "Those were the days," Bodybag sighed. "We had a first rate governor till he retired. He had no truck on all that lily livered business of 'prisoners rights'. Cons were cons and that was the way he wanted it. You didn't get any backchat from them. We all stuck together so that we were supported in whatever happened. You were a prison officer and what you said mattered in any run in with any con. There was none of that 'education' which Wade got herself on through Stewart's do gooding ways. "At least we've seen the back of her." "True but as soon as one trouble maker leaves, there's ten more to take their place. It's the upbringing these days. No respect for discipline. It is let down in the home and then they run wild. By the time they come our way, there's not a cat in hell's chance of changing them. I found that out when I tried to be nice to them years ago. They kick you in the teeth." "And now we've got Miss Betts to rule the roost. Heaven preserve us." They each commiserated with the other for the way they felt mistreated. After a few drinks and comfortable seats, away from the demands of the prison wing, they both faced the journey home. As they came into the quadrangle, all was quiet and deserted.  
"It's safe to go home. All the celebrations have ended. See you on Monday, Di." "Same to you, Sylv," Di called out.  
Di smirked secretly to herself as Bodybag walked off down the road. Fenner had been the only one person who knew her secret, and he was gone. At least her faked miscarriage would never see the light of day. 


	74. Part Seventy Four

A/N: Betaed by Jen.  
  
Part Seventy-Four  
  
On Easter Sunday, two days before Karen was to officially take over Larkhall, George cooked lunch for herself, Karen, Jo and John. George thought that she hadn't seen anywhere near enough of Jo recently, and she wanted an opportunity for John to get used to seeing her and Karen together. He hadn't mentioned it, but she knew that he was still very insecure about the situation, and she wanted to reassure him that Karen didn't pose any threat. John and Jo arrived at about twelve, Jo looking very relaxed and utterly sated. There was still a good hour until dinner would be ready, so John said that he would take Mimi for a walk. When he'd gone, George began peeling and chopping some carrots. "Can I do anything?" Jo asked, following her into the kitchen. "You could pour me a drink," George replied. When Jo put a glass of very cold, very dry Martini down next to the chopping board, George took a close look at her. "You look like you had a good night," She said with a smirk. Jo smiled broadly. "Yes, you could say that. What about you?" "No, not this week. I might not believe in God and the whole seven day burst of inspiration thing, but whoever made it possible for men to have sex every day of the year, definitely was a man." "Yes," Jo said with a wry smile. "John has absolutely no idea how lucky he is." "I asked all three of you over, because John needs to get used to seeing me with Karen." "I don't know if it'll be that easy, George." "No, neither do I, but I had to start somewhere. We both managed to get used to each other being with John, so John can come down off his high horse and do the same with Karen." "You're really happy with her, aren't you?" Jo said wonderingly. "Yes, and though it sounds terribly soppy and adolescent to say it, I haven't been this happy for a long time. I don't think I'll quite get it out of my head, that John agreed to this arrangement because it meant he could go on being with you. I suppose I sometimes wonder if he would have stayed with me, if there wasn't a far stronger motive." "Don't think like that, George," Jo said, feeling a twinge of sadness that George still had so little confidence in how much John loved her. "John wouldn't give you up for the world." "He might," George said philosophically. "If you ever asked him to. With Karen, I feel like I've got someone there who is with me because they really want to be, not because it keeps them on a leash and gives them a quiet life."  
  
A while later, when John had returned, and the dinner was approaching that hectic stage of everything coming to boiling point at the same time, Karen arrived. "Jo, could you let her in for me?" George called, as she opened the oven door to check on the beef. Karen was pleased to see Jo, not having had much contact with her since Lauren's trial. "How are you?" She said, as Jo closed the door behind her. "I'm fine. How's Lauren getting on?" "Okay, trying to help me and Yvonne keep Denny off drugs, generally taking over where her mother left off, you name it." Then, they exchanged a knowing smile as they heard George's slightly harassed voice. "John, will you please get your wayward animal out from under my feet?" "Sounds like a recipe for disaster," Karen said, walking passed Jo towards the kitchen. After replacing the beef in the oven, George looked up to see Karen smiling at her. "Honestly," She said, walking over to give Karen a hug. "Why does everything insist on being ready at the same time?" Karen laughed and then kissed her. "I'd have come over earlier, but I overslept." "That's what Sundays are supposed to be for," George said, kissing her back. "I've needed that all week," George added in a low, meaningful drawl, clearly wishing they could abandon dinner in favour of more inviting delicacies. "Have you been drinking already?" Karen said, after kissing her some more. "You taste of Martini." "That's what cooking Sunday dinner drives me to," George said, giving Karen one last, hard kiss before disentangling herself. When she looked up, George saw John, standing in the kitchen doorway, staring at them. He cleared his throat a little uncertainly. "Mimi," He called, bringing her reluctantly out from under the kitchen table. "John, do you feel like opening the wine?" George asked, trying to find a neutral topic. "Do you want me to do anything?" Karen asked, also trying to get them back onto safer ground. John just managed to resist the urge to say that it looked like she'd done enough already, and deposited Mimi in the lounge, before returning to open the wine. "Is John all right?" Jo asked Karen when she went to sit down on the sofa. "He was scowling." "He's just had his first sight of me kissing one of the lights of his life, so I'm not surprised he was scowling." Karen said this in a slightly lowered voice so that it wouldn't reach either John or George, who were still in the kitchen. "Ah," Jo said in understanding. "He'll get used to it, in time." "He'll have to," Karen said succinctly, showing Jo that she definitely wouldn't stand for John giving George anything like the things he'd said to her.  
  
"Have you seen much of Yvonne lately?" Jo asked Karen, when they were working their way through roast beef and all the trimmings. "I saw her a couple of weeks ago," Karen replied, after taking a swig of wine. "She seemed a lot happier. I think she might at last have got herself someone new." John almost choked on a piece of roast potato. Karen surely didn't know about that glorious Sunday afternoon he'd spent with Yvonne, did she? "She looked like she'd definitely been seeing someone," Karen added, at last feeling that perhaps she could begin to let go of some of the guilt she had over finishing with Yvonne. "Man or woman?" George asked, clearly intrigued. "I haven't got a clue," Karen said with a smile. "Probably a man though." John was doing his utmost to keep a thoroughly blank, well and truly uninterested look on his face, but he wasn't entirely sure he was succeeding. He could remember her beautiful body, the way she'd clung to him as she came, the way she'd not wanted him to go, but had done her best to hide it. He knew it would never happen again, but that didn't stop him thinking about it. But he was suddenly brought back to the present, by Jo saying his name. "John," Jo said, when he looked up at her. "You were miles away." "I'm sorry," He said, feeling a complete and utter fool, and thinking that he would have to be more on his guard than this, if she wasn't going to find out what he'd done. "Were you thinking about last night?" George asked, a wicked little smirk on her face, knowing this would embarrass him. "No, as it happens, I wasn't," He said, predictably rising to the bait. Looking closely at John, Karen could see that he really had been somewhere else entirely. No, she thought in dawning comprehension, surely not. Yvonne's new lover, it couldn't be John, could it? Staring at him intently, her theory was confirmed when he refused to meet her gaze. "I asked you," Jo repeated. "If you'd told George about the bar counsel's idea of team spirit." "No, not yet," He replied, extremely relieved at the change of subject. "What outlandish idea have they come up with now?" George asked, not altogether interested. "Their idea of a team building exercise," John said slowly to grab her attention. "Endorsed I might add by your father, is for those of us who can, to put on a performance of 'The Creation.' They seem to have the thoroughly misguided notion, that it will persuade us to be nicer to each other." "Some hope," George said on a laugh. "Trust daddy to get involved with something like that. He always did want to play at being Simon Rattle." "What John hasn't told you," Jo said, a light dancing in her eyes. "Is that they want you to sing Eve." George, who had been about to take a sip of wine, put her glass back down on the table. "No chance," She said without any hesitation whatsoever. "Oh, come on," John cajoled. "You'd enjoy it." "Enjoy making a complete fool of myself? I don't think so." "I promised your father I'd try and persuade you," John persisted. "John, you should know by now, that my father wanting me to do something, has never worked all on its own. The fact that daddy didn't ask me himself says it all. I'd have asked him over today, but he said he was going away this weekend. I know why now." "Didn't you sing Eve in your last year at school?" John was determined to succeed. "John, that was thirty years ago," George said in disgust. "You talk as if it was at least in the last decade." John knew exactly what she was doing, putting on her mask of indifference, and flatly refusing to consider it, because the idea terrified her. It was extremely rare that he heard George sing, far less now than in the days when they were married and she was happy. Singing was something George held very dear to her, something she regarded as utterly personal and entirely her own. John wasn't the only one aware of George's defense mechanism. Both Jo and Karen could see it a mile off. Somewhere deep inside her, George longed to do what John was asking of her, but the fear of failure in front of so many people was preventing her. "I didn't know you could sing," Karen put in, trying to appeal to any ego George had left. "I can't," George replied tartly. "At least not to the kind of standard something like 'The Creation' demands." "Yes, you can," John insisted. "I'm not doing it, John, and that's final. You'll be waving your bow, I suppose?" "And Jo will," John said proudly, letting her digress until he could return to the attack. "I didn't know you played," George said in surprise. "The cello, for my sins," Jo said with a fond smile, not for the first time wondering just what she'd got herself into.  
  
When they'd finished eating, and Jo and Karen had cleared away, Karen made some coffee and they sat down in the lounge. When the other three had lit cigarettes, John began again. "You know," He said, almost as if by accident. "If you don't sing Eve, we're going to be lumbered with Vera Everard." "You've got to be joking," George said in disgust. "Gilbert and Sullivan's Katisha perhaps," She said, referring to the very unattractive octogenarian, who's lust for a man in his twenties led her to make a very public fool of herself. "But Eve?" Seeing far too many similarities in the comparison, John laughed. "She's not that bad," He said with a grin. "Oh, John, she's vile," George said with utter sincerity. "She makes Myra Hindley look attractive and motherly." Jo laughed. "Actually, that's not a bad description," She said, smiling broadly. "Who's playing Adam?" George asked, not yet revealing that she was considering saying yes. "We don't know as yet, though one contender is Monty Everard." "Play Eve opposite Legover's Adam, no way. He'd be forever trying to rip off my fig leaf." "Okay, so what if we cast Monty as the tenor." "Actually, that would suit him," George said with a smile. "He'd have to be in a big, self-righteous sulk at the end. He'd love that." "Would it help if I said please?" John asked, now almost desperate because he was running out of persuasory tactics. "Not on this occasion, no," George responded with a smirk. "What do you think about this?" She asked Karen, who so far hadn't offered up an opinion. "I'm not taking anyone's side," Karen replied, eager to avoid any arguments. "But I know that if you really want to do it, you will." George was incredibly touched by Karen's words of encouragement. "George," Jo said, suddenly having a burst of inspiration. "Why not try something from the score, something not especially taxing, and see what you think after that." "I don't know if I've still got a copy of the score," George said contemplatively, forced to admit that Jo had her over a barrel. "Yes, you have," John said in triumph. "I looked earlier." "Bloody typical," George replied in irritation. "You'd better go and get it then, if you're so sure you know where it is." Taking her at her word, John got up, and returned in an infuriatingly short time, having seen it earlier on the top shelf in George's office across the hall. "You had this all planned out, didn't you?" George said, as he handed her the slightly battered score. "Of course," He said matter-of-factly.  
  
As George began to flip through the score, the margins full of her eighteen-year-old handwriting, the other three watched her. John knew George well enough, to be well aware that she was gradually cracking. All it would take was a little more persuasion and a shove in the right direction, and she would submit as easily as she did to his sexual advances. "Do you have any idea what you're asking of me?" She said, looking up from the page. "The very first soprano solo goes up to top C. That's sixth octave C, John. There's no way I can get up there." "Oh, I don't know," He said with a wink. "I'm sure you've hit that pitch at the point of orgasm before now." Karen laughed, Jo smiled, and George blushed. Thumbing the pages until she came across the second soprano solo, George looked suddenly wistful. She could vividly remember her eighteen-year-old self, playing Eve in a performance of 'The Creation' at the end of the spring term. She could remember her father, sat in the audience, taking in every word she sang. John came to look over her shoulder. "Why not try that one?" He said, seeing what she was looking at. "No," George replied, dragged back to the present. "'With Verdure Clad', was always my favourite. I'm not about to ruin it just to please you." John was a little disconcerted, to see a broad, thoroughly evil grin spreading over her face as she continued to flick through the pages. When she began to laugh quietly, he knew he was in for it. "I know," She said, almost gleefully. "If you really want to see if I'm capable, then I'll try one of the love duets." "But..." He said, and then it dawned on him. "Oh, no." "Oh, yes," George insisted. "You can sing Adam for me. After all, if you want a thing badly enough, you'll do anything to get it, won't you?" Karen and Jo were quietly impressed at George's methods. "Play the violin I might," John insisted. "But sing, I definitely don't." "Have you ever heard him sing?" George asked Jo. "Only in the shower, when he thinks I can't hear him," Jo said with a smile. "George, you can't be serious," He protested, seeing his dignity disappearing into thin air. "You will, if you want me to even consider playing Eve," She said firmly, getting up and moving over to the piano. "Besides, this one has an accompaniment I can probably sight read." "Are you really sure you want me to do this?" He asked, admiring her tactics but desperate to maintain his dignity all the same. "Yes," George said firmly. "I'm not going down on my own, John." "I've never heard you complain," Karen said quietly, provoking a laugh from George and a smile from Jo. "I didn't need to know that," John said disgustedly, now unable to get the vision of George giving Karen oral out of his head.  
  
As George began playing the very slow waltz-like accompaniment of the first love duet, John moved to stand behind her, so that he could read the music. Vowing not to make a fool of himself, he examined the words and the notes he had to sing, finding to his surprise that it wasn't too difficult. When George opened her mouth, the voice that emerged, wasn't one she'd heard in far too long. It was pure, a little feeble until she found her nerve, and when she eventually began to relax, with a touch of vibrato. John's voice, though a little uncertain to start with, surprised both Karen and Jo. They could tell he was a little rusty, but as his confidence grew, so did the sound that emanated from him.  
  
"By thee with bliss, oh bounteous Lord, Both heaven and Earth are stored."  
  
When George heard John begin to falter, she added his bass line into the accompaniment she was playing, giving him a much-needed helping hand. As they moved into the words,  
"This world, so great, so wonderful," The triplet quavers made the music softly swing, giving the impression of a boat, gently drifting on a tide of love coming from these very first two of God's people. George found that she was able to rise to the G and eventually the A with almost no difficulty at all. The words she was singing seemed to give her courage, her voice pouring out of her, as the sun out of the departing storm clouds onto a rain drenched lawn. George's emerging confidence seemed to give John the extra encouragement he needed, both of them soaring up and down their respective registers, for the moment united in their single endeavour. Both Jo and Karen immediately felt the feeling of togetherness that seemed to surround John and George. Their eyes met, exchanging a brief look of combined pride and wonder, but with a tinge of hurt lurking somewhere in the background. Never had John and George looked so complete, so in their own league of united strength, in so little need of another's interruption. But this moment was only a fleeting one, both Karen and Jo feeling a certain awe at what John and George were doing.  
  
When the piece came to an end, George realised that her eyes were full of tears. But she couldn't help it. A part of her, which she'd thought she'd buried a long time ago, had just resurrected itself, emerging to shine out of her again. She could do this, she really could do this. She could make her father, and John, proud of her again. All three of them could see her emotional reaction to the re-discovery of what had once been one of her most prized assets. "I never knew you had it in you," Jo said, her own voice a little unsteady. "Neither did I, until now," George replied, slightly ashamed of her tears. "I knew I could do it once, a very long time ago, but I thought it would have gone, what with all the smoking and shouting I've done over the years." John laughed softly. "Now do you see why you have to do it?" He said, determined to get a final yes out of her. "Okay," She said. "But if I screw up, don't say I didn't warn you." "You're not going to screw up," John said, putting his arms round her as she stood up from the piano. "On the contrary, I think you're going to put all the other singers to shame." It felt right to kiss him, as if to affirm the words they'd just bestowed on each other. George knew she shouldn't, not with both Jo and Karen watching her, but she couldn't help it. What she'd just done with John had touched her soul, made her see just how much she still loved him. To her astonishment, Jo found that seeing George and John kissing each other didn't bother her. They looked beautiful, utterly serene, and not in the least bit wrong.  
  
When they parted, John went to make them all some more coffee, needing a moment to emotionally regroup. Doing something so personal with George had touched him too. He had helped her to release the voice she had forgotten she had, and in doing so had maybe brought her even closer to him. "That was beautiful," Karen said, taking and squeezing George's hand. "I wish you could be a part of this," George said, not knowing how to respond to the compliment. "What do you play?" Jo asked. "The viola, when I've got the time." "Do you think there might be a spare viola part going?" Jo asked, as John came into the lounge with their coffee. "I'm not sure," He said, putting the mugs down on the coffee table. "I don't see why not. If it'll make your viola come out from behind your bedroom door for once in it's life, I'll see what I can do." There was a long, awful pause. Just how was John going to explain, that he knew that this was where Karen kept her viola? Karen gave him a look of pure irritated anger. Couldn't he control his tongue, just for one afternoon? "Don't look at me like that," He said, seeing Karen's glare. "Jo and George both know I once slept with you, so why hide it?" "A little word called diplomacy, John," Karen said carefully. "As John says," Jo said to Karen, trying to reassure her. "It's not something I didn't know already." To give her some thinking time, George lit a cigarette, not expecting this to break the ice in the way it did. "You can give those up for a start," John said, removing the barely smoked cigarette from her hand and stubbing it out in the ashtray. "Cut down, perhaps, but you will not find me giving up altogether. My secretary would resign." Jo laughed, thinking that even with George cutting down on her nicotine habit, her secretary would have her work cut out as it was. "Why don't you cut down with me?" George said pleadingly to Karen. "You want me to get through my first week as Governing Governor, without the highest level of nicotine I feel necessary to keep me sane? You must be joking."  
  
They managed to move away from the subject of John and Karen's one night together, but Karen couldn't entirely relax. When she and Jo eventually left, as John was staying, Karen offered Jo a lift home, they having come in John's car. They'd been driving for a few minutes, when Karen decided that she couldn't leave things as they were any longer. "I'm sorry, Jo, about John." Jo had wondered how long it would take Karen to do this. She'd felt her guilt and discomfort all afternoon. "There's really no need to be," Jo said quietly. "I know it happened a long time ago, and I know it happened before John agreed to what he now has with me and George. You forget, that John has been doing this to me for more years than I care to remember." "That doesn't mean I should have done it," Karen said regretfully. "It's funny," Jo continued. "But when Fenner's body was found, George accused John of believing you because he wanted to sleep with you." Karen laughed. "I don't think even John would go that far." "No, he wouldn't," Jo said seriously. "But you mustn't underestimate his determination to succeed, both in court and out of it. If he wants a woman, there isn't much he won't do to get her." "I didn't mean to hurt you, Jo." "I know you didn't. If it happened when I think it did, I suspect you slept with John for very similar reasons as I began sleeping with him all those years ago, to get away from what was happening at the time. There isn't anything wrong in that. I used to think there was, but I've lived long enough to know it doesn't always work like that." After a few moments of companionable silence, Jo said, "Does it sound selfish of me to say that I felt left out when they were singing together?" "You felt it too?" Karen asked, briefly taking her eyes off the road to glance at Jo. "Yes, and I know it sounds silly, but I suppose it hammered home to me that John was once married to George, lived day in and day out with her, knew every little detail about her." "They could never again live together, you know that." "Yes, I do, I just wish I could be more certain of it."  
  
When Jo and Karen had gone, George made them some more coffee, and they went back into the lounge. They moved by mutual consensus towards the enormous armchair where Jo had been sitting, John sitting down and pulling George down onto his lap. He loved having her in his arms, her small frame fitting easily against his chest. George always felt safe when she was like this with John; the position making her feel that little bit more protected. "I think we need to talk," George said slowly, finally biting the bullet. "What about?" He asked carefully. "About Karen, and about why you looked so frightfully insulted when you saw me kissing her." "I didn't," He protested, but knowing he had. "Darling, I'm not blind," George said gently. "I just didn't expect it, that's all. Being told a thing, and actually witnessing it, are really quite different." "I know, but it is something you're going to have to get used to. I'm not going to apologise for who I am, or refuse to acknowledge something that's part of me, just because it makes you feel uncomfortable." "I don't expect you to," He insisted, hating the fact that she could see right through him. "You might not expect me to," George replied seriously. "But I know that part of you would like me to. It would be far easier for you if you didn't have to acknowledge that I find women sexually attractive as well as men. You think it gives you a type of rival that you can't compete with." "I suppose that's what it feels like sometimes," He admitted. "And do you really think I don't occasionally see Jo as something I can't compete with?" "Why should you?" "For any number of reasons, John, most of which I'm not going to bother to go into now. The point is, I got used to Jo's presence in your life, and Jo got used to mine. You don't know it, but it was an uphill struggle for both of us. You will begin to accept that Karen is part of my life, because that is the only way we can all be happy. I do love you, and I will always love you. Nothing will ever change that. But with me, for now, comes Karen as well. She's part of the package, and that's how it's going to stay." 


	75. Part Seventy Five

A/N: Betaed by Jen.  
  
Part Seventy-Five  
  
On the Tuesday morning, Karen drove into work with a feeling of slight nervousness. This was it. From today, she was entirely responsible for the running of this prison. Driving into the parking space that bore the nameplate of Governing Governor gave her a feeling of importance. She just prayed that she could put all those high-minded principles she'd come out with at her interview into practice. She had to consciously alter her step, and walk up to her new office, rather than to the one she'd had as Governor of G wing. The one thought that she didn't find all that attractive, was the prospect of moving all her accumulated clutter from one office to the next. But when she walked through the door of Neil's, no her, office, she had a pleasant surprise. The room was absolutely spotless, the desk, the wooden bookcase and any other polishable surface had been well and truly denuded of dust, the carpet had been thoroughly hoovered, and all cobwebs removed from the ceiling. In one corner, there were four cardboard boxes, clearly containing all of her belongings from her old office, her books, her stationery, her own personal copies of various items of computer software, and even her bottle of whisky and accompanying glasses. Finding a note on the desk, Karen read Dominic's untidy scrawl.  
  
"I was bored yesterday, so I got the Julies to give your office a good clean, and got Denny and Lauren to help me move your stuff. It's all there, all accounted for, even your bottle of Scotch."  
  
Smiling at Dominic's innovative way to pass the time, Karen was touched to see that someone had unearthed her picture of Ross, and placed it in pride of place on her desk, next to an ashtray and her clean favourite coffee mug. Also on the desk, was a little plant in a pot, accompanied by a note, in Denny's even untidier scribble.  
  
"Miss, just make sure you come back and see us, from Denny and Lauren."  
  
Sitting down and lighting a cigarette, Karen contemplated the computer in front of her. Dominic and the others might have been a great help in moving all her possessions, but nobody but her could configure the computer to accept her e-mails. Having got this slightly laborious task out of the way, she looked up at the clock, to see that the time was approaching for her to hold her first meeting in her new position. She'd notified every member of staff to, if possible, be in the one conference room Larkhall had, at nine on the Tuesday morning. Taking a quick glance at Ross's picture to give herself courage, she made her way to greet her new ranks of employees.  
  
As she approached the conference room, she could hear the rumble of voices. There would probably be some, like Di and Sylvia, who had only turned up to watch her make a fool of herself. Well, she was about to prove that she was up to this job, and that she was going to do this job, no matter how much the likes of Di and Sylvia didn't like it. Holding her head high, she opened the door, and walked up to the top of the long table. She could see them all, the ones who'd only turned up to gawp, the ones who had an open mind as to her future success, and the few friends she had in this place, all smiling at her and clearly wishing her well. As she began talking, her confidence steadily grew. She gave them her mission, spelt out to them exactly what she had planned for the future of Larkhall, surprising some of them with her wish for fair treatment of officers as well as inmates. "That'll be the day," Sylvia grumbled to Di. "I don't go back on my promises, Sylvia," Karen said, humiliating Sylvia and making everyone else laugh. Then she carried on. "I meant what I said to Sylvia," She said to the room at large. "Unless there is a satisfactory reason, or unless area pulls the plug on the finance, I don't back out of my agreements. It isn't fair on any one of you, and it gives the inmates false hope, which we all know is a recipe for disaster. I am your ultimate point of contact, and the buffer between the initiatives coming from area, and helping all of you to put them into practice. I am thoroughly open minded with regards to the membership of the Prison Officers' Association, but I would like to think that any minor grievances could be sorted out between us, without their interference. I am always open to suggestion and new ideas, and I will listen to anyone's point of view, as long as it isn't driven by internal politics or backstabbing. I don't like liars, and I don't like skivers. Those of you who have worked with me on G wing for the last few years will already be aware of this. Please don't think that just because I am new to the job, I can be sidelined and ignored, leaving you free to pursue your own agenda. You will find me to be a very 'hands on' Governor, and will probably find yourselves heartily wishing I would get out from under your feet from time to time. I don't pretend to be perfect, and I have no doubt that I will get things wrong, and that I will not always make the right decisions. All I ask is your commitment, your co-operation, and your continuing devotion to duty. Thank you."  
  
As the meeting began to break up, Karen caught Gina's eye. "Have you got a moment?" She said, working her way through the mass of people towards G wing's new acting Governor. "All the time you want," Gina said, thinking that this might be the first time in her life she'd come to work in a suit and not her uniform. "That won't last," Karen said knowingly, leading the way up to her new office, pausing to thank Dominic for his efforts the day before. Asking her secretary to make them some coffee, Karen took a seat behind her new, far larger desk. "How does it feel?" Gina asked, lighting a cigarette. "It hasn't quite sunk in yet, and I could ask you the same." "Well, apart from Sylvia looking astonished to see that I could actually come up with anything resembling a formal suit, yeah, okay so far. I just hope I'm up to the job." "You and me both," Karen said with a smile. "But don't let Sylvia get under your skin. The only way to deal with her is to ignore all the little jibes. As infuriating as it is, it's just her way of getting through the working day. She likes to have someone to bitch about, and now that I'm not directly in her field of accusation, you'll probably come in for the brunt of it. However, don't fall into the trap of coming down heavy on her, just because you can. You will have the urge to reprimand her constantly at first, but don't give into it." Gina took a grateful drag. "She's going to make my life hell, isn't she?" Gina said ruefully. "For the first few weeks, yes," Karen told her. "But you'll handle her. Gina, I'm not in the least worried about how you're going to handle the people side of being a Wing Governor, because I've seen you dealing with officers and inmates for quite a while now. Your first couple of weeks will be the worst, until you get used to what's being expected of you. I also know that if you do have any problems, you'll bring them to me. That's what I'm here for. What you are also going to have to get your head round, is the administrational side of managing a wing. That means getting used to dealing with budgets, allocations, adjudications, and the general day to day management of the officers and inmates under your jurisdiction." Gina took a sip of her coffee, briefly wondering just how successful she was going to be at all this. "How long do you think it will take to find a replacement?" Karen smiled. "I'm not trying to put you off," She said reassuringly. "I'm just trying to make you fully aware of what's in store for you. I know you're perfectly capable of it, or I wouldn't have appointed you acting Wing Governor in the first place. The position has been advertised, and will continue to be advertised until we find someone. If, after a few months of doing this, we still haven't found anyone, feel free to apply for the job yourself." Gina looked at Karen, feeling flattered at Karen's confidence in her. "Look," She said carefully. "I might have jumped at the opportunity to see what I'm made of, but I know it's not something I'd want to do on a permanent basis. I like being on the ground too much, actually getting involved with the women, rather than managing their lives from a distance." "Say something like that at any interview, and you'd get the job straight away," Karen said with a smile. "Now, I don't need to go through G wing's current inmates with you, because you're perfectly well aware of the ones to watch, and the ones who can, to some extent, be left to get on with it. Whilst you're finding your feet, I would far rather you came to me with too many queries, than not inform me about an emerging crisis. I will be keeping an extra eye on G wing, partly because your position is hopefully temporary, and because I suspect I'm not going to find it that easy to let go." Gina grinned. "Don't feel like you're treading on any toes," She said fondly. "I'm going to need all the help I can get with this job, so feel free to interfere whenever you like. Besides, you wouldn't want to let Sylvia get too comfortable, now would you?" Karen laughed. "She doesn't know what's coming to her, does she?" "No, she doesn't," Gina said firmly. "I'm well aware that I can't just sack her, or demote her without probable cause, but it won't stop me from showing her just who is boss, if only for the moment." As Gina left her office a little while later, Karen grinned to herself. Sylvia was going to have her work cut out, if she didn't accept the situation fairly quickly and learn to get on with it. 


	76. Part Seventy Six

Part Seventy-Six  
  
Grayling stepped into another world, into the imposing foyer of Cleland House. It was the antiseptic calm and utter quiet of it that hit him. An automatic pilot still running half expected the chorus of voices that he was used to and the still frozen blasts of air and cold feel of metal barred gates. Here, the efficient heating system of the old building wrapped him up in a womb-like warmth, leaving the cold outside. A row of rich red mahogany benches and high backs ran along the wall and in the corner the foliage of a large potted plant added a civilised touch. Such indeed was the symbolic core of the headquarters and the engine room of the prison service. Grayling's attention was fixed upon the man at the wide waist height reception desk, which ran the length of an angle of the room. The man had the untroubled air of an office where the greatest danger to life and limb was if the cleaners hadn't done their job properly. With a sudden shock, Grayling realised that the receptionist wasn't Ken. "You go to the fourth floor, turn right along the corridor, go through two sets of double doors and your office is the first one you come to. The box with all your personal effects is on your desk." "Thanks." It seemed that he was symbolically re-enacting his spiralling career climb to the dizzy heights that he had now ascended to when he had got to the fourth floor. He trod sedately along the grey carpets along the tastefully off white painted corridors while neon strip lights illuminated his journey. Not a soul stirred and this was a million miles away from the prison officers passing along the drearily painted bare brick narrow twisting tunnels that he was used to. He found his large office in a style that made his old office seem like a shabby imitation of it. He had done his best to make the creature comforts of his old position to personalise the place. Here, he was starting off with a blank sheet against the sort of furniture that symbolised what the workshops had fitted out a Victorian era of empire builders with. This wasn't elitism in its modern, aggressively plastic form but the continuum of rule despite the necessary grafting on of modern methods. As such a modern concession, he took in the flat wide screen computer at the corner of his desk and studied it approvingly.  
Right in the middle of everything was the crate of his personal belongings which he had last seen at Larkhall, his link to his past and his own identity. His first job was to make himself at home. He sorted his stuff out into his desk drawers and, in pride of place, he put the card that the Julies had made. This was the symbol of his own continuity of his own past and a warning 'lest he forget.' He had made his promises and was determined to make good on it for the long term. He knew, well enough, that he would be the subject of much secret evaluation, how he 'fitted in' to the new culture and resolved that he would need to get the measure of the new relationships, not least his new boss, Alison Warner.  
As he sat back in his comfortable chair, he noticed an empty secretary's desk and that he had an utterly cuckooned feeling. This place spoke of an utterly relaxed mode of operations in this atmosphere of mild spring. His old office was either hot and sweltering in summer or cold and draughty in winter. The utter silence of it was deafening compared to the background shouts of the women on the wings, the metallic clang of metal doors, the thud of cell doors closed. It had all merged into a background chorus while life went on all around him. Right now, he felt for a moment that he had bunked off school and had absconded in a building that he didn't belong to and someone would find him out. Yet his increased salary would be paid into the bank account from the Prison Service Pay Section indicating this new location. "Mr. Grayling, sir," Called out the cheerful fresh voiced woman who interrupted his musings. "I'm your secretary. I've kept out of your way, and I've been working elsewhere till you've settled yourself in. I thought you wouldn't want anyone poking their nose in till you were done." "Since you know my name already, perhaps I ought to know yours." "Tricia. Tricia Edwards. I was wondering if you wanted a cup of tea. I can brew up if you want." "Milk with no sugar. And thanks," Grayling smiled briefly.  
Tricia's glance had taken in the layout of his desk straight away. There was no framed happy snapshot of wife and/or children that was common for this type of boss. The look of it was very neat, everything laid out very precisely in its geometrical and fastidious precision. It was bare, uncluttered and innexpressive except the oddly crudely coloured card in the middle of his desk. It was inscribed "To our Favourite Gov" and was clearly a leaving card from his last job. It was odd enough for a card to be on public display. Such cards were normally kept in the depths of some bureau to be studied in private moments of contemplation. They were not to be put on public display and were certainly not these strangely styled offerings. It spoke of the one inconsistency and was enigmatic.  
Otherwise, he was neater, more fastidious than other men of his age, no wedding ring but pleasant and courteous enough. "You look as if you're at your first day at school, if I might say so." It was a bold move that might have spelt disaster for her if she had spoken that way to her average sort of boss. If there were anything in it, that type of inexpressive man would have translated it into furious anger at her. There had been something a little lost looking in Grayling's body language that prompted her to be more forward than she normally was on first acquaintance. "I feel like a new boy on my first day, Trisha." Grayling's face and whole body movement relaxed into a broad grin as he frankly admitted his unease. This woman was neatly dressed and immaculately groomed in the approved look that the head office required, even a typist required. She had that particular look but her manner reminded him of, dare he say it, the two Julies? He found that as they started to chat away to each other, he became more animated in his manner and opened up.  
"It's nice having a real gent as a boss. My last one expected me to rush around in my lunch break to buy all his family's birthday cards so that he could pretend to his wife how thoughtful he was." "That won't be much of a problem as I haven't got much family. I could do with you watering the plants from time to time." "Oh that's all right. I like that sort of thing." Unconsciously, he was making his first presence felt quietly and unassumingly, learning his way around gradually, the utter opposite from the way he zoomed into Larkhall on his bike and carrying a sackful of grandiose plans. Just then, the phone rang.  
"Grayling," He spoke automatically.  
"Is that Performance Development?" "You're through to the Governing Governor at……." "Sorry, I've dialled the wrong number." The toneless voice at the other end paralleled Grayling's conversation but did not meet it, having realised his mistake.  
  
"Well, it comes of being new around here. I'll learn." Trisha grinned at Grayling's wry smile and shrug of his shoulders as he nonchalantly passed off his mistake. "I suppose I need to get password access to my computer and browse round what is there. Who normally sorts out that sort of thing?" "I'll phone …." The second jangled phone ring cut Trisha short and this time, it was Alison Warner's voice.  
"Grayling." "Ah Neil. I trust you have settled in comfortably." Her first words triggered Grayling's sense of caution. He would have to manage the first delicate power play to decide the balance of relations. He had run two prisons and had enjoyed years of relative autonomy from Area, buttressed by the fact of the miles of physical space between Larkhall and Cleland House. Now he was to become that more accessible. He had to learn to box clever, especially in this temporary period when he was new to the job. "Couldn't be better, Mrs. Warner," Grayling responded cheerily. "All I have to do is to get my access set up to my computer." "You can leave that till later as I thought it would be a good idea to have an introductory chat over coffee. It's by way of getting to know each other better." Grayling wasn't fooled by the over elaborate casual tone in her voice. In the past, he had pulled this sort of stroke on staff working for him.  
  
Mrs. Warner put her cup of espresso coffee down after the preliminaries which defined more exactly where he fitted in and the day to day processes of his work and the relevant people he would need to be aware of. "Well, I hope I've made it clearer exactly what your duties are and where you fit into the scheme of things, Neil. I would be interested in your views of how you see yourself in your new role, bearing in mind the delicacy of balancing between the dictates of the Home Office on the one hand and your responsibility for a group of prisons on the other." Neil sipped slowly from the cup of coffee in order to finalise his thoughts.  
"My approach is to learn the job from the bottom up, use what I have learned as Governing Governor and integrate it in the wider picture in which we operate. I would never want to gloss over the reality of those who do the day to day jobs in the prisons. After that, I constantly re-evaluate my perspective and that I pay particular attention to the lines of communication, that whoever I deal with understands where I am coming from and vice versa." "Your views are surprisingly unadventurous and pedestrian for your proven reputation. I quote from a speech at a conference where you delivered a paper on the part privatisation model and I quote. 'My vision of the future of the prison service as one of part privatisation. It marries up what is best preserved of the traditions of the public service, its maintenance of standards, its conscientious spirit, with the thrusting dynamic entrepreneurial , go getting spirit of private initiative which will dare conceive of new ideas." Grayling was taken aback by the smug, triumphant tone in Alison Warner's voice which tried to trap him in the prison of his past. Did he really come out with that load of bollocks and do it, speaking into a microphone and standing before a crowded conference hall?  
"My direct experience of Lynfords Security showed that the reality was less satisfying than the promise. It is a firm you may remember," Grayling started, speaking slowly, watching Mrs. Warner wince at the name that was best forgotten. "The trouble with many marriages these days is that they end up in too many broken homes for children to grow up in, which I did." She reacted sharply to this heresy in slightly hostile tones. It felt right to start drawing the line with him and get things clear right from the start. However, her big weakness was in working from Grayling's reputation and not from the reality of him.  
"It's ironical that your speech went down well here and in other quarters. The sort of sentiments which you seem to disown and turn your back on. You ought to sound out the views of your colleagues before you make free with your present sentiments and the rather blunt way you express them. You don't want to get a reputation as a maverick, as a bad team player if you know what's good for you." "Times change people, me included. I have learned to become careful in being over eager in building castles upon sand foundations. My approach is entirely pragmatic, Mrs. Warner. I have no fixed political ideology. I am simply concerned to find out what works and what doesn't. I'm quite sure that you value success as much as I do." Grayling's silky tones and hint of a smile disarmed Mrs. Warner's frosty and vaguely threatening manner. It attracted her with the one sure argument, that most addictive temptation of the desire for success. However, she could not let matters go without one last parting shot.  
"It was you that sold area on the idea of Karen Betts as the new Governing Governor of Larkhall. It has had a chequered past, hasn't it. Of course you know that if its reputation doesn't change, eyes will turn to you as the person who recommended her for the job, won't they?" "Time will tell either way, Mrs. Warner," Came Grayling's unconcerned reply before he made his unhurried exit.  
  
Neil was finally enabled to unlock the secrets of the computer which were stored within it. He navigated his way round the structure of the Word directories and the chain of sub sub directories and the E mail database and felt easier in his mind. "Mr. Grayling, you have a visitor," Trisha's voice disturbed his thoughts. "Sir Ian Rochester." "Show him in." Inwardly, Grayling was startled. It was the first time he had spoken up close to the man for a long time. Their normal occasions for communications was the long distance phone call. Both of their careers needed far reaching contacts that would be useful. He remembered with a twinge of bad conscience the time when his desires for Jim Fenner made him prepared to sacrifice Karen to the demands of expediency. He didn't like to think back to that part of his life. Otherwise, he and Laurence James were two brooding background physical presences at the back of the visitor's gallery at the time of the Atkins trial. He gestured him to comfortable seats and Sir Ian failed to spot the card on his office desk.  
"Sir Ian, it's a long time since we have properly talked. What brings you here?" Sir Ian smiled affably. He wasn't sure how to play his cards in this delicate manoeuvre. It wasn't every day that his skills of persuasion were called upon to recruit members for an amateur orchestra. Nevertheless he supposed that his normal gambits would be enough to secure compliance so long as the man was as good a singer as the grapevine told him that he was. "I thought I'd look you up while I'm on my rounds. I was expecting to have to go through the bolts and bars at Larkhall till I was told you'd got your promotion. It must be quite a change after years at the coal face as it were." "Early days, Ian. I'm sure that there isn't anything that I won't get to grips with sooner or later." Sir Ian smiled faintly. A Neil Grayling harassed and run off his feet was hardly likely to devote slabs of leisure time playing amateur classical singer on the side.  
"I am involved in an interesting project that involves the united forces of the London based legal profession. It isn't by any means exclusive and I heard on the grapevine that this might be your cup of tea." "And what project is that?" Sir Ian took a deep breath and came to the point.  
"We are getting together an amateur company to put on a performance of Haydn's "Creation." "That's quite a substantial enterprise, but well worth it if it is performed well," Grayling's considered judgement delivered his verdict as his mind's ear conjured up the piece. "You need to be sure that you have the people of the right calibre and the will to work together." "That's the point. A surprisingly large number of volunteers have come forward according to the latest that Joe Channing told me in passing. We understand that you might be interested in taking the part of Adam." A huge triumphant feeling of joy ran through his veins as if the Last Night of the Proms had invaded his spirits. If he had free rein to choose the ideal part, both the rich textures of the music and that particular part made it his first choice.  
He had always known that a side of him felt born to be up there on the stage and was not afraid of the limelight. He had heard one of the Costa Cons describe him as a "media tart" When he wasn't supposed to be hearing. Secretly, he wouldn't disagree with this so long as his desire to hog centre stage of any photograph was as much as that side of him got a look in and that this was a surface symptom. Far deeper in him ran that deep love of classical music, which he had felt, forced to conceal deep inside him. Football and page 3 pinups formed the staple diet of the traditional PO Room and so this desire, along with the sexual side of him was suppressed and remained private. However his new job panned out, his tidy mind resolved to parcel out spare time spent in rehearsals, both personal and in a group. That decision was made in a flash.  
"I would be proud and honoured to take up your offer, Ian, and play my part in the company." "If you had any thoughts of eventually working for us in the Lord Chancellor's Department, a sideways move across departments could be easily arranged. You are at the level where your management skills are easily transferable." Grayling hardly heard him. In the grand scheme of things, looking backward through time, this was remarkable of Grayling, the man whose hearing had always been finely attuned and responsive to whoever could advance his career. "I'll bear what you say in mind, Ian. This is something for us to get our teeth into." "I ought to warn you that this company won't be immune to the sorts of internal politics and rivalries that any organisation is subject to." Sir Ian felt duty bound to point out the pitfalls and warn this man whose enthusiasm was in danger of running away with him.  
"After a working life in the prison service?" Grayling tactfully reminded him. "Don't worry, I'm used to finding my feet right now and I'll pull my weight. I give you my word on this." Grayling's assurance appeared lightly offered, almost throwaway in the eyes of the man who used to inhabit his skin a number of years ago. It was all the more real, despite that. 


	77. Part Seventy Seven

A/N: Betaed by Little Dorritt and Jen.  
  
Part Seventy-Seven  
  
On the Wednesday evening, Karen was relaxing in her flat, a large scotch and her cigarettes to hand, and with some soft music playing on the stereo. The last two days had been a whirlwind, spent trying to get to grips with the complex juggling of ten different accommodation wings, plus the hospital wing, education wing and administrative offices. She'd visited them all, introduced herself to everyone, and now couldn't remember half their names. Some of them she'd obviously known before, but not all. She decided that it was really quite nice to have an evening to herself, not to have to make polite conversation, something she felt she'd been doing almost constantly since yesterday morning. Taking a swig of the scotch, she rolled the liquid round her mouth, luxuriating in its fiery tingle as it slid down her throat. She hadn't come home till after eight last night, though that wasn't really anything new, and had slumped on the sofa with no energy for anything. Fully intent on doing the same tonight, even though she'd come home earlier, Karen briefly wondered if this was what her life would consist of from now on. She had to fit George in somewhere, though for the life of her she couldn't quite see where at the moment.  
  
She was just reaching for a cigarette, when the phone rang. "How's your bowing hand these days?" Were John's opening words to her. "None of your business," Karen replied with a laugh. "And that has to be the worst chat up line I've ever heard." "Are you busy?" John asked, getting to the point. "Yes, working my way through an enormous scotch and doing absolutely nothing. Why?" "Do you feel like coming over?" "What's it worth?" "Bring your viola with you, and it might get you a part in 'The Creation.'" "Well, I'm not entirely sure I'd have the time for it anyway. Quite how Simon managed to fit in so many rounds of golf is beyond me." "Come on, you know you want to," He cajoled. "Besides, we need an experienced violist." "Flattery will get you nowhere this time, John, I'm exhausted." "You're not going to do a George on me, are you?" "Meaning?" "Meaning, I do hope you're not going to back out on me, just because you don't think you're up to it." "You bastard," Karen said slowly, knowing she couldn't wriggle out of this, and knowing that he knew it too. "I will excuse your pitiful vocabulary on this occasion," He said, his grin audible because he'd got what he wanted. "Where are you?" Karen asked in resigned acceptance. "At the digs. Oh, and you'll get to meet George's father." "John, are you seriously telling me that you want me to do an utterly impromptu audition, when I haven't practiced in weeks?" "More like months," John admonished. "Yes, I am." "Give me half an hour to make myself vaguely presentable." "I'll have a scotch on ice for you." "I'll bloody need it." Slamming down the phone, and kissing a wistful goodbye to her restful evening, Karen splashed her face with cold water, redid her make up and picked up her viola.  
  
She had been to see John at the digs before, but this time was different. If she did take a part in 'The Creation', then she would be really entering into his world, into George's world. Still, if she did, at least she now had a job that could begin to match the level of a barrister. She didn't just work for the prison service any more, she was a prison governor, and she knew this gave her the sort of professional standing that would demand an approximate, if not similar, level of respect. Locking the car, she hoisted her viola under her arm, and followed the doorman up to John's rooms. As they approached, she smiled as she heard the incredibly pretty sound of his violin, tinkling its way through a cheerful run of notes that immediately lifted her spirits. When John came to the door, he looked happier than Karen had seen him in a long time. "You look like you're enjoying yourself," She said, kissing him on the cheek. "I am, and will be even more if you agree to play." "I'm not promising anything, John," Karen insisted, knowing he would probably win in the end, but determined to give him a good run for his money. It was as she said this that Karen took notice of the other occupant of the room. He was tall, with hair graying to almost white, and who looked to be in his late seventies. "Joe," John said, seeing Karen's appraising glance. "This is Karen Betts, and Karen, this is Sir Joseph Channing, George's father." "It's a pleasure to meet you," Karen said, holding out her hand, which he shook. Joe's piercing gaze wavered assessingly between John and Karen. "Don't look like that, Joe," John said, interpreting his stare. "Karen's just a friend." "Hmm," Joe said in his deep, gravelly voice. "That's what you keep saying about Mrs. Mills." "Would you like a drink?" John said to Karen, ignoring Joe's jibe. Saying that she would, Karen sat down in one of the armchairs and laid her viola case on the floor beside her. "Karen's just been made Governor of Larkhall prison," John said, handing Karen a scotch and refilling Joe's glass. "Yes, so I've heard," Joe said dryly. "It's been doing the rounds of the Lord Chancellor's department." "I wouldn't have thought it was such a ground breaking story," Karen said, wanting to provoke this man into a discussion with her. "Ah, well," Joe said, lighting a cigarette. "Larkhall has been in the news rather too much in the past couple of years. So, whilst a young, attractive female governor might not be such a novel idea, one who has been well and truly submerged in the unfortunate events surrounding the prison she is now governing, is ground breaking." John looked a little uncomfortable. "That's hardly fair, Joe," He said, not wanting him to frighten Karen off altogether. But he had completely underestimated Karen's ability to deal with unwanted comments. "I wouldn't exactly say I was young," She said with a smile. "Though the rest is true. I take it you don't approve of such a voyage into the unknown? Perhaps a straight, white, upper class male, without such a colourful past would have been better?" John couldn't help but grin. He knew Karen was purposefully goading Joe, and he wanted to see how Joe would react. "There are worse things than a touch of tradition at the top end of one's profession." "Oh, I'm sure," Karen said dryly. "Though we do have to move with the times." "Yes, so my daughter and my granddaughter are always telling me. The more you say, the more you sound like George." Karen smiled, this indirect compliment touching her deeper than Joe Channing could ever have suspected.  
  
After John had given Karen a while to sink her scotch and to relax, he broached the subject of her taking a part in 'The Creation.' "What do you think we should get Karen to play?" He asked Joe, picking up the score. "The viola might be a start," Karen quipped back, knowing that John was about to really push her to the limits of her ability. But it was Joe who, after thumbing through the score, allowed a slightly malevolent, very George-like grin to spread over his face. "Why don't you play with her?" He said to John, as if Karen wasn't there. "Give her some moral support." "She'll need it," John said, looking over Joe's shoulder at the piece he had selected. "Precisely what do you have in store for me?" Karen asked, knowing that if John thought she needed some moral support, it really must be difficult. "Oh, only this," John said, holding out the score to Karen. Glancing at the music she was about to attempt to play, Karen nearly fled. 'Rolling in Foaming Billows', the aria was called, and the violas were clearly supposed to represent the waves breaking on a rocky shore. But these weren't any calm, gentle waves that you might find on a beach in Cornwall, but more like the forceful current swept back and forth by the driving rain, slapping against the side of a ship. John saw the brief flash of trepidation in Karen's face, soon to be replaced with her usual calm and focused exterior. Getting her viola out of its case, she stood, running her hand almost lovingly along its curved neck of maple, softly plucking the open strings. Handing her the bow, John watched as she swiftly warmed up, giving her time to regain the feel of gracefully sliding bow over string. Picking up his violin from where it had been resting in an armchair, John stood next to her, the open score propped on his rickety music stand. Raising his slightly gnarled hand to keep the time for them, Joe said, "Try the first twenty seven bars." Then, fixing his piercing gaze on Karen, he added, "Let's see what you're made of." Fervently praying that she could live up to the expectations being placed on her, Karen raised her bow.  
  
The suggested estimation of speed for this aria was allegro, and Joe Channing was taking this recommendation to the letter. As his hand moved to and fro and up and down, Karen struggled to keep up with him. Flatly ignoring whatever John and his violin were doing, she strove to climb and descend the chromatic runs in the manner in which they'd been written, not simply in a random conglomeration of tangled notes. There were twelve bars of frantic semiquavers to get through, before she would reach anything even vaguely in tune with her own ability. As her bow slid swiftly up and down the approximation of a tempestuous storm, the fingers of her left hand moving rapidly on the strings, Joe Channing could see that her body, apart from her moving hands, was as tense as a statue. He reflected that perhaps he had been a little too hard in suggesting this particular piece, though she was living up to the challenge admirably. The sultry, smoky sound that resonated from her instrument, reminded him of a bird, an eagle maybe, who has witnessed many tragedies, and whom life has given many scars. With everything that had been said about this woman in the papers over the last couple of years, Joe supposed that this is what she was. When Karen reached the point at which the bass singer should have entered, she could relax. The second violins would have taken over the waves if they were there, the violas being given a brief respite with a few bars of far simpler work, though returning to the beating storm to introduce the bass solo's second subject. The twenty-seven bars assigned to them might have only taken a matter of minutes to play, but to Karen they had felt like an endless climb up a treacherously icy mountain. When they stopped, Karen realised that she had been gripping her bow so tightly that her fingers were now stiff. Slipping her bow into the hand that held the viola, she began flexing them. When she looked up, John was smiling at her. "How long is it since you last played?" He asked, the pride dancing in his eyes. "Believe me, you really don't want to know," Karen replied, because no way was she about to confess that it had been several months since she had last exercised her strings. "You rose to the challenge," Joe Channing said with a smile. "Which is almost more important than your actual skill." When he said this, Karen was hit with the realisation that he hadn't just been assessing whether or not she would be a suitable participant in any musical endeavour, but whether or not she would make a successful governing governor. "Did I pass?" She asked him, for an unfathomable reason, desperately wanting to make a good impression with George's father. "With flying colours," Joe replied, holding out a hand to shake hers. "Welcome aboard. I will add your name to the list forthwith."  
  
A while later, when Joe Channing had left, John refilled Karen's glass. "Are you trying to get me drunk?" Karen asked fondly. "No," John replied, sitting down in a chair near her. Karen lit a cigarette. "So, apart from being tiring, how's the job?" "I love it," Karen said firmly. "I'm not sure how long the novelty will last, but I'm happy, exhausted, but happy." "Good," He said with a smile. "It's about time you got some payback from the prison service. Oh, and talking of your recent rise in status, guess who we've picked up to play Adam?" "No-one I know, surely," Karen replied, unable to think of anyone who might fit the bill. "Neil Grayling." Karen almost choked on her scotch. "Grayling? We are talking about the same man, here?" "Oh, yes. The circuit administrator, possibly the biggest irritation I have, discovered via the grapevine, that Neil Grayling disclosed a devout interest in classical music at his interview. So, Ian Rochester paid him a visit yesterday, and the word is, that he is delighted to join us." "This is going to be more fun than I first thought," Karen said with a smile, wondering just what George would say to playing Eve opposite Grayling's Adam. "Yes, it certainly looks that way, but don't tell George. I want this to be a surprise for her." "John, even for you that's a little cruel," Karen said with a laugh. "Oh, I don't know," John said almost evilly. "Singing opposite someone she's previously crucified in court, it might be good for her. By the way, what did you think of George's father?" Karen smiled. "He's very like her, in some ways, isn't he?" "Just as stubborn and just as determined to succeed," John said succinctly. "There's no doubt that George gets her argumentative streak from him." "I bet he makes a good appeal judge," Karen said, taking a long drag. "Oh, he does, when he's not being pressured by the establishment," John agreed. "The rows I used to have with him about politics and the judiciary, when I was married to George were sensational." "Poor George," Karen commiserated. "Being stuck in the middle." Then, looking at him closely, she added, "You miss the father-in-law figure, don't you?" "Perhaps," John admitted. "Though it wasn't always enjoyable. Joe thought I wasn't good enough for his daughter." "He probably would have thought that about anyone," Karen replied. "He didn't think that a liaison with a baker's boy was quite the right image for an up and coming legal star." "Well, you've hardly failed on that score." "I suppose so, and who knows, maybe doing this will bring back some of the friendship we once had." 


	78. Part Seventy Eight

Part Seventy-Eight  
  
It all started the Thursday night before lockup when the Julies, Lauren and Denny were sat on the bunks in the Julies' cell and hatching plans.  
"So we're agreed who are to be on the hit list," Summarised Lauren.  
"Eh?" Julie Johnson queried. "We're not risking doing any more time than we're already doing." "You ain't got to worry, mate. We'll keep it light, no problems except for Bodybag, the evil old cow," Julie Saunders reassured her, muttering venomously about the only pain in the neck on G wing these days.  
They discussed various options and finally settled on what was going to happen. They all grinned at the thought and were sure everything would go off like clockwork if they handled it right.  
  
The Julies were up, bright and early, and got cracking on their kitchen duties straightaway. Dominic thanked their fortunes that G wing was lucky in having redbans who were hardworking and wouldn't abuse their position of trust as Shell Dockley used to do.  
"Morning Mr. McAllister," They smiled brightly and respectfully at him.  
Julie Saunders spotted what she was looking for at the back of the pantry, the large bag of plain flour and the other magic ingredient that she needed.  
"Sausages it will have to be," Julie Johnson muttered to herself. "There ain't much in the pantry and they always go down well at breakfast. Everyone's off pancakes right now." "Will you be OK while I prepare the specials, Ju. I'll be a little while till I can give you a hand." "Yeah, no probs, Ju." A strong odour of frying fat and cooking sausages announced that the mass production of sausages was well in hand and wafted out from the servery into the canteen area. The Julies blinked their eyes as. Even for them, the cooking fumes were strong. "And now, Ju's special ingredient. This is a step up from Noreen Biggs cheese straws recipe. home made cookies." She popped them on a metal tray and into the oven. She kept a special lookout for them to make sure they didn't get burnt and, sure enough, when they were laid out to cool on a mesh tray.  
In the meantime, those first out of the cells and the hungriest, were starting to form an orderly queue, Denny near the front.  
"For you, Denny mate, a couple of extra sausages and your eggs, sunny side up as you like them." "Wicked," Grinned Denny. She was always ready to tuck into a hearty breakfast first thing in the morning. "And the other?" "Sorted," Grinned Julie Saunders.  
At that moment, Karen and Gina took the opportunity to stroll down to the wing. On a day like this, all the women were friendly and good-natured without the periodic atmosphere between a few of them that could cut like a knife. Karen deliberately held back behind Gina as, after all, it was her wing at least temporarily. That way, the day to day queries from the women went to Gina and not her. She was glad to get a breath of fresh air from the solid grind of paperwork and could understand now why Grayling used to come onto the wing from time to time. Today, the air was not as fresh as it might be. With a bright smile, Julie Saunders came up to her from behind the servery, flourishing a plate with a handful of home made cookies.  
"A special present to our favourite governors. Here's to Miss Betts and Miss Rossi, what deserve this little treat." "These look lovely," Karen smiled appreciatively. "I haven't had home made biscuits for years." "Don't mind if I do. A little of what you fancy does you good, eh." "That's exactly what I say to myself," Julie Johnson answered with a grin on her face.  
They both bit into the cookies which positively melted in their mouths. They had a nice texture about them.  
"Here, take another," She offered generously.  
"Why, thank you, Julies," Karen replied warmly and Gina followed suit in taking another tempting morsel.  
Lauren had taken her place in the queue and her sharp eyes noted that, while Karen delicately nibbled her cookie, Gina took several large bites into hers and devoured it with relish. "Morning, Miss Betts," She said, drawing Karen into a little polite and friendly conversation and, in true Atkins style, made suitable replies while taking in the Julies broad wink. So far, so good.  
Karen and Gina eventually drifted off to what was now Gina's office. She was glad to get away from the flood of paperwork emanating from Area adding to the wearisome list of 'must be dones' which could get her down. She nibbled at the cookie as she walked and savoured the taste as she finished it off.  
  
Meanwhile, the Julies smiled winningly at Dominic and drifted over to him with an unconvincing air of nonchalance.  
"Mr. McAllister, Sir. We was wondering about a little scheme to brighten up the day, so to speak." "Go on Julies," Dominic answered with a half smile.  
"It's kind of a totally harmless April fool thing that would cheer up the girls no end, but we was wondering if it might get us into trouble, like," Julie Saunders started the delicate negotiations.  
"You're our favourite screw and we've known you for simply ages, ever since you first started here. We've never done nothing to harm you all these years," Joined in Julie Johnson, laying her hand on his arm and turning on the charm.  
"Tell me the worst." "It's Mrs. Hollamby. We was thinking of changing the notes in her purse for monopoly money, only we didn't want to be accused of robbing her, that would be bang out of order. In any case, you might send us down the block," Julie Saunders protested stoutly and hedging her bets.  
"The block." "But seeing as it's April fool's day, we was wondering if you would look after her money for us and we pop the kiddies money in her purse instead to spend at the bar. You'd keep an eye on us while we do the business. Please." "Please." To their wonder, Dominic put his hand over his mouth and leant back against the wall, his shoulders shaking. They thought he might have had a funny turn or was going to get funny with them. Men could get that way in their experience.  
"It's a great idea, Julies," Dominic spoke at length in a voice half smothered with laughter and a big grin all over his face. "Tell you what, you two come up to the PO's room at 12 and we'll work it between us. I'll arrange afterwards for some of the prison officers to take her for a drink at the social club." "It's a shame we couldn't come and watch the fun but I don't suppose it could be done." "I'm sorry, Julies but you said it." "But you've got to tell us all the details afterwards, blow by blow. We know what men are like, they miss out on the details." "I promise, Julies," Dominic said hastily, bowing to the inevitable and nervous whether or not his idea of detail matched theirs.  
  
Once in Gina's office, Karen and Gina felt the formal chairs unusually irksome and uncomfortable and longed to sprawl back in comfort. They talked lightly of trivial matters and soon finished off the second cookie. All of a sudden, Gina spoke out of nowhere.  
"You do know what day it is today, Karen?" "Friday isn't it." "I mean what month and day of the month?" Gina pursued in answer to Karen's vague reply.  
"April the first. Yes, I'm quite sure of that." "And what happens on that special day?" After a distinct pause, Karen's reply was a little sharper.  
"Oh no, Gina. G Wing has its share of practical jokers. Goodness knows what some of them might be cooking up." "I think it's already happened, Karen. Why do you sound more relaxed than you normally do?" Gina was right, Karen thought a few distinct seconds later. She ought to go into full adrenaline mode, clicking straight into action, working out several lines of action but she chose not to. It didn't worry her for some reason.  
"I don't know. Perhaps I'm in a good mood. Everyone has their ups and downs. Perhaps it's because it's a nice sunny spring day outside." "Or perhaps," countered Gina in a more forceful manner. "It's because we've just eaten Julie's special cannabis cookies, and not the chocolate chip cookies you buy at Tesco's. I've smoked the stuff years ago and it's the same bloody feeling." There was a pause of precisely ten seconds while they reflected deeply upon the situation.  
"Sylvia!" Both of them chorussed with better timing than the two Julies.  
"She's a natural target for a spectacular April fool stunt." "Should we worry, Karen?" "Well," Karen continued thoughtfully, "if it's the Julies, Denny and last but not least, the chief mastermind, Lauren Atkins at work, they know just how far they can go - I think." "Should we warn her?" "It may never happen," came Karen's very nonchalant reply. "I mean, we can't be everywhere and turn over G Wing on a mere hunch. What are we to ask the prison officers to look out for and to tell the prisoners? After all, they're all peaceful if those cookies are doing the rounds. It would be a shame to spoil the good mood." The sun shining through the window was bright and friendly and the world was at peace with itself. At length, Gina regretfully informed Karen that she ought to keep her eyes open on the wing.  
"Have a nice day." "Don't worry, I will," Gina grinned at Karen's vague wave as she disappeared out of the door. Life right now was intensely peaceful as time passed. Presently, she could think of nothing else to do but phone George. Perhaps she could cast a light on the situation.  
"George, I'm stoned." "Well, well, well. A bit early in the morning for me, darling. Personally, I'm an evening drinker," George drawled in her best royal tones at a Mad Hatter's Tea Party.  
"Not drunk, I mean stoned. As in the non liquid narcotic type of stoned." George laughed heartily at Karen's slight discomfiture at having to be more explicit than she liked.  
"Well, you Governing Governors certainly know how to live it up." Karen sighed with exasperation. How could she persuade anyone that she was a perfectly innocent victim of circumstance if her lover concluded that she was indulging in illicit pleasures?  
"I assure you that this situation is not of my making. I was offered a hash cookie….." "……Sounds interesting. I haven't had one of those since I was a student…." "Without me knowing what on earth it was," protested Karen. Why couldn't George of all people understand? "You surely don't think I did it deliberately?" "I'm sorry, darling. If you want to be perfectly serious, is there anything in your present situation that you should be worrying about? I mean, do you want me to give you a lift home to be on the safe side?" "I'll be fine later." "Are you going to take disciplinary action against those concerned? I mean it is April Fool's day. Is there any real harm done?" George's cajoling tone of voice and her own secret amusement at the situation dissolved away her official sense of unease. It would be my luck, falling in love with a gorgeous high-powered barrister who is becoming a born again liberal with a ready appreciation for the mischievous? What could she say to her never mind the prisoners? She finally managed to get her reluctant brain to resolve that she would have a quiet word with the jokers concerned only after she was sure that no other practical jokes had come to light, which did overstep the mark. She wanted to be careful if and how to declare any amnesties.  
"If nothing goes seriously wrong, George, perhaps I'll go gentle with them. After all, I'm only a brand new Governing Governor with a reputation to establish," Sighed Karen eventually.  
"Yes, but what type of reputation?" came the very amused voice down the phone.  
Karen stuck her tongue out at the mouthpiece of the phone even if it was a fruitless token gesture.  
  
"Let's all go down to the club for a quick drink, Sylvia," Dominic spoke heartily.  
Surprisingly Colin and Selena agreed to accompany them having been let into the secret. Paula and a few of the newer prison officers offered to cover for them with surprising readiness as they trooped off to the Social Club. Bodybag preened herself as she fancied herself leader of the crowd, forgetting that the others were not exactly known to be her friends. The club decorated in all its awful smoke grimed swirly seventies wallpaper beckoned them in.  
"We'll all get our own drinks as we've got to be back and cover the others soon enough. Besides, I have to be careful with money being on my own." "You lead the way to the bar, Sylv and get served first as you deserve what's coming to you," Dominic proclaimed heartily while Selena smiled inwardly to herself.  
Bodybag reached inside her purse by feel and pulled out a note. Unfortunately it was coloured bright red and had the doubtful inscription of '£500' on it in a style that hadn't fallen off the Bank of England printing press. She clutched it in her hand in full sight of everyone.  
"What the flaming hell is this?" shouted Bodybag, red faced and shouting, drawing attention to the others in the club who were locked into their own conversations. "Enough to buy the Old Kent Road as well as a round for your friends." "Always said that you are the last of the big spenders, Sylvia. That should be enough for Tequila sunrise all round." The barman fell about laughing as Selena's wisecrack followed his own in quick succession.  
"What's it to be for the number forty eight bus home, Sylv? A pink fifty pound note and keep the change?" Laughed Colin.  
"What the hell is going on here?" Di yelled, her attention drawn to the uproar. "Is this the way you treat your mates? If that is, then God help Larkhall." "It's an April Fool's joke," Dominic explained in reasonable tones. "Don't worry, I've kept your money safe in my pocket." "You're flaming irresponsible, no better than when you first came to Larkhall. You were wet behind the ears and you're no better now." There was a brief ugly silence. Selena and Colin looked up to Dominic for his quiet understanding of what went around him as opposed to Sylvia's and Fenner's noisy outpourings. Both of them hesitated those few seconds as they saw Dominic's anger rise inside him until at last he found his voice.  
"Irresponsible, yeah. You tell everyone how you let a woman called Carol Byatt miscarry instead of calling for the doctor when you should have done. What about when you were on reception, you mixed up the records between Barbara Hunt and a dangerous woman called Tessa Spall, so she came close to kidnapping the Governor with a hypodermic needle held to her throat. What's a bit of Monopoly money in comparison? If I were you, Sylv, I'd leave it out." Bodybag blushed with embarrassment at the memories but it was difficult to decide if it was real guilt or that her past actions had found her out. She had thought that those events were safely buried in the past. She took her drink of orange and sidled off with Di.  
"This round's on me. What are you all having?" Dominic's cheery voice banished the bad atmosphere and his smile was contagious as was the memory of the best April fool they had seen for a long time. They collected their drinks and laughed and chatted away the lunchbreak, spirits very much raised.  
  
The Julies, Denny and Lauren were laughing together after Dominic had duly reported back to them when the cell door suddenly opened to admit Karen and Gina. At once they straightened their faces, sat up straight and gave the room a quick twirl as a token effort. They looked at the expressions of the two women to gauge what might be coming their way. On the one hand, their mouths were pursed and Karen's eyebrow was raised but on the other, there was a suspicion of a twinkle in her eye.  
"I suppose that you won't attempt to deny that those cookies had an extra cannabis spicing in them, and that you were involved with it. I mean it's not anyone else's style to pull off a stunt like that, is it?" "No, Miss." "Good," Karen's voice drawled with satisfaction that they had cut out the bullshit. "I am wondering just exactly what sort of line we ought to take over this and we were wondering if you could help us out." "You're asking us, Miss. you're normally telling us at adjudication and throwing the book at us," Julie Saunders asked with raised eyebrows. It's a pity she couldn't clear her head after having an attack of the munchies earlier on.  
"On the one hand, no harm was done to us…" "……So you both had a good trip, Miss….." interjected Denny with a slight grin on her face. Leave it out, Denny, you'll get us banged up for sure, all the others thought.  
"……..But on the other hand, someone will hear of your amusing prank, it's bound to happen and that person will take it that bit further and next time, we definitely won't be laughing." Karen paused and propped herself against the washstand and the faintest grin spread over her face as she saw the astonishment of the four prisoners as they tried to grapple with this enigmatic situation.  
"You see our problem," Gina weighed in with her part of the double act and she was definitely grinning. "Of course we can see the funny side of it, we're not like one prison officer I could name but I'd hate to be out for a drink and some right bastard spiked it. Not much difference is there in principle except that that cannabis was a bloody sight safer." The four prisoners noticed the very obvious wink but their confusion was getting to the desperation stage. Why the bleeding hell couldn't they put them out of their misery.  
"What about a cut in next week's spends just to say you've punished us just enough to make the point," Lauren suggested, the idea flashing into her head. Somehow this crazy situation needed resolving.  
"What a brilliant idea," Karen and Gina said to each other with exaggerated praise. "That sorts everything out. We can go with this one." "Why didn't you tell us that in the first place," groaned Julie Saunders as she sank back on the bunk in utter relief.  
"Why indeed?" Karen asked openly grinning. "And you had nothing to do with the other prank where Sylvia Hollamby tried to used Monopoly money to buy a drink at the social club?" "No Miss. We ain't never heard of that in our lives," Julie Saunders exclaimed, her heart in her mouth. For one frightening moment, she thought Miss Betts was dropping them in it at the last minute.  
"Right, that's everything settled. We understand each other," Karen finished, her tones switching to precision from that maddenly teasing manner. "And there will be a cell spin tomorrow so there'd better not be anything left to find." "No miss," they chorused.  
"Sweet dreams, everyone." 


	79. Part Seventy Nine

Part Seventy-Nine  
  
Yvonne smiled faintly when she looked at her calendar, to see that it was April 1st. It didn't hurt her any that this day was one where happy families would play harmless tricks on each other. The day had not meant a great deal in her past when Charlie was around. It would simply never have occurred to her, or anyone else, to play even a mild harmless trick on him. That would have threatened his sense of dignity and self-importance and on the rare occasions when that happened for any unrelated reason, he could and did hit back in a very dangerous and uncontrolled fashion. Humour to Charlie Atkins was always directed at someone else, invariably someone weaker, in a form where there was an underlying element of cruelty.  
  
What was more cheering today was a walk round the garden now that the snowdrops were pushing their delicate white flowers through the rain blasted lawn. The buds on the trees and the pink apple blossom told her of the cyclical renewal of life which, who knows, she might be a part of. Her own life was picking up a little, or at least that large part that Lauren and Denny occupied in her heart. At least she didn't have to face the darkness in her room each bedtime worrying what either of her two or both of them might be doing. At least, there isn't any bastard screw who might be making their lives a misery. It meant that she had the mental time and space to consider her own life, just where she stood.  
  
In that accepting frame of mind, she picked up the phone at about the eighth ring just when the consciousness of it fought through her meditations. The call was from Lauren.  
  
"Hi Mum, it's me," Came Lauren's totally unnecessary slurred introduction pitched deliberately softly, obviously intending not to be overheard. The sounds of laughter in the background could only have come from Denny who was acting as lookout of sorts.  
  
"And are you quite sure that Karen has only cut your weekly spends for the one week. I hope you weren't as stoned when you talked to her as you are right now? I can almost smell the stuff down the bleeding phone," Yvonne finally finished cross-examining her daughter, extracting what she needed to know from the rambling story that followed her first greeting.  
"Dead sure," Denny's voice cut in from behind Lauren. "She was cool about the whole thing." "Gina was cool, too. We're the good girls around here and today doesn't count as its April fool's day. It was the screws who planted Monopoly money on Bodybag with a little help from the Julies." Yvonne shook her head in incomprehension at the meandering story that was coming at her from down the phone.  
"In any case, we were told to not leave any traces of any stuff for tomorrow so we've been getting rid of the cookies in one go. It's not my fault that these are going straight to my head." When Lauren had rapidly run through that story, Yvonne laughed heartily until she could hear the rapid sound of the pips.  
"Gotta go, mum. Give my love to Cassie, Roisin and the kids. Love you, mum." "Yeah love you, mum," echoed Denny till silence shut off the conversation. Lauren and Denny could sneak back to their cell while Yvonne grinned and searched for her house keys and car keys to set off for Cassie and Roisin's thinking affectionately of what she thought of as two naughty schoolgirls.  
  
To Cassie's and Roisin's children, she was the warm hearted, incredibly maternal woman who spent all her undivided attention on them and with an inexhaustible supply of new jokes that they knew nobody else at school knew. They felt particularly safe with her while she was around and went to bed, happy and content.  
  
The woman who crept down the staircase changed into that other woman who had recently slept with John, and had been in love with Karen. She shook her head to dismiss these thoughts and slumped back in the armchair, put her feet up and gratefully accepted the drink that was poured out for her.  
  
"You two are lucky to have each other," Yvonne said in an admiring tone. "You look so good together." This remark came out of nowhere in the middle of a general chit chat. Cassie was nestling against Roisin with that inner smile of satisfaction and content which wasn't just that of the end of a hard day. Roisin's arm was wrapped round her shoulders and that glowing look on her face told of someone who was loved. Yvonne's generous side wished them well from what she remembered of what they had gone through in Larkhall, as their lives were anything but idyllic. They deserved their good fortune but a tiny voice inside her could not help but be aware of what was missing in her own life.  
"How is life treating you these days?" Roisin asked in an apparently casual tone of voice while Cassie flicked a lock of hair out of her face with that habitual gesture of hers.  
"Not so bad. Denny was going through a rough patch recently but I saw her in Larkhall and Lauren and me between us straightened her out. There's nothing at Larkhall that I have to worry about, what with……" Yvonne stopped dead at that point as she knew that she was on the verge of talking of the new governing Governor of Larkhall. "What's the matter, Yvonne?" Roisin asked gently. She knew enough that there was something troubling her but it would be another matter to get her to talk.  
"Nothing, really. Things in my life are looking up now I know that Lauren will be out in less than a year if she plays her cards right. Even at my age, a mum's job never ceases, eh? I've got you two as good mates and all the rest of the gang that was in court out there somewhere." Yvonne tacked a smile in place on her face as she made a conscious effort to revive her spirits while Roisin looked on a little dubiously but maintained a tactful silence. "I was going to tell you about something that my Lauren just told me on the phone. She, Denny and the Julies cooked up some cannabis cookies and as an April fool's joke, slipped a couple each to Karen and Gina Rossi, you remember her from the trial. "Hey, Cassie's face broke into a wide grin. "That's a good one. Why didn't we think of it?" "And you think, Cassie Tyler, that Fenner, Grayling and Bodybag would have seen the funny side of that one? Things must be getting better at Larkhall as there was a lot that went on then that wasn't a joke." Cassie mentally sat bolt upright at Roisin's perceptive remark. That said it all. "So I take it that they weren't banged up for that?" Roisin pursued.  
The expected reply from Yvonne's gift for storytelling did not materialise. She was staring into the distance as her attention was grabbed by something inside her that was bothering her.  
"Eh, what were you saying?" As Roisin repeated her question, Yvonne was taken back to the here and now and finished the story and went on to raise general laughter about the story of the monopoly money. A small part of her was mulling over the sweetness of the night that she spent with John and that, day by day, it was rapidly receding into the past, all but the memory of it.  
"You haven't said more about Karen than you can possibly avoid," She gently interposed.  
"There's nothing much to tell," Came the short answer.  
"Meaning that you haven't seen much of her?" "That's about it. She's bound to be even busier in her life than she used to be. She's got her life and I've got mine." "And that answers everything. You've only been half here all evening. Just trust us to say what's bothering you. You'll have to spit it out. You know how persistent I can be. That's quite bad enough for you without Roisin here as well." With a sigh, Yvonne gave way to the inevitable as she took in the grin on Cassie's face which softened the pill. For the first time this evening, she looked properly into their eyes and saw their expression of real concern for her.  
"I'm a silly cow about Karen, I know. I can't argue or fight anything that went down with us that split us up after Fenner was killed. I know that I'll stay friends with Karen whatever. If anything happened to me, she'd be there for me somehow and I'd be the same for her….." Roisin and Cassie studied Yvonne as she pushed out the words from inside her. Automatically, she fumbled for a cigarette and blew the smoke out as she gained time to think. They kept a supportive silence as she paused, knowing very well that the slightest suggestion of crowding her would not help her.  
"I slept with the judge, John, John Deed. He's a good man." Yvonne abruptly lunged into what she had to say, clumsily fumbling for the name of the man who she knew as the best male lover that she had known but the others had only seen as the august, if wise and kindly presence on his judgement throne in court. They did not ask any more questions of Yvonne about the judge, hearing him being given this very rare compliment. "Will that come between you and Karen?" Roisin said softly, gently coming to the point.  
"It's more complicated than that. She slept with John once, at a time when he was having a relationship with Jo Mills, the same Jo Mills who moved heaven and earth to get Lauren's stretch in prison knocked down from life to a year. I'm scared to mess up something that's already bloody complicated when I owe Jo bigtime for what she did for Lauren." "Was anything holding him back that night?" "Nor more than there was for me," Yvonne answered with brutal honesty.  
"Jesus, I didn't think that a judge's love life could be so complicated," Cassie said slightly in jest, shaking her head. Her mind went back to the man who had sent her down, who was a dried up old man with nothing to sustain him but his robes of office. She added hurriedly in case she had put her foot in it in the classic way that only she could do. "I mean, everything is out of your hands between all of them. You're not close enough to them where it matters. In the last resort, whatever happens between then, will happen no matter what you say or do. Nobody need know, not Karen, not George and not Jo if you don't say anything." Yvonne let out a huge cloud of smoke mixed with relief. That was what she had last said to John but it was nice to hear someone else say it. She didn't say anything but the way she nodded her head forcibly and the visible way that she relaxed into the armchair told her how tense she had been without her fully knowing it. "So if you happen to see Karen around sometime as a friend, there are no problems are there," Roisin said gently.  
"No, there ain't," Yvonne reflected as she gained her freedom.  
"So have you any more April Fool's jokes you've heard from Lauren. She doesn't do things by halves, does she," Cassie prompted.  
A wicked smile split her face as the full humour of the stunt that was pulled on Bodybag flowed over her. This one was rich.  
"The Julies got some of the screws to play a joke on Bodybag. This one is rich, I'm telling you….." Cassie and Roisin were all attention as they listened to the woman who told the most priceless funny stories and was at last in the mood to find it funny as well. 


	80. Part Eighty

A/N: Betaed by Jen.  
  
Part Eighty  
  
On the morning of Saturday April the ninth, George couldn't settle to doing anything. They were having the first rehearsal for 'The Creation' that afternoon, which meant that she was about to discover whether or not she really could sing in front of that many people. In search of a venue, a member of the bar counsel, who clearly had nothing better to do with his time, had approached several vicars, with the possibility of using their churches. The only one to be remotely positive about the idea of lending a group of barristers the use of his church hall to rehearse in, plus his actual church for the eventual performance, had been the Reverend Henry Mills. George had been delighted when her father informed her of this, telling him that she already knew his wife, Barbara. Her father had wanted to know just how she knew this particular vicar's wife, but George hadn't been very forthcoming. She knew that her father wouldn't be exactly enthusiastic about her having made the acquaintance of an ex-con. George was looking forward to seeing Barbara again, Barbara being one of those people who could fit in anywhere and with anyone. Her father had told her that in the absence of anyone volunteering to play the harpsichord, Barbara had agreed to play for them. There were still a few gaps here and there, but all the significant parts had either been filled or partially filled. So, now here they were, about to see if they all had the makings of vaguely decent players and singers. George still didn't know who was playing Adam, and both her father and John were staying extremely quiet on the matter. But George didn't let this concern her. George's biggest fear, was sharing one of her most personal assets, with the people she usually only came into contact with on a professional basis. But she couldn't back out of it now. She fretted away the time, until she was due to pick up her father, by tidying up an already spotless house, by warming her voice up with any music other than classical, and by doing anything that would stop her wanting a cigarette. She had been trying, and in fact she had cut down considerably since John had persuaded her to play Eve, but that didn't mean her craving for Nicotine was any less insistent.  
  
As Joe Channing got into his daughter's car, he could see that George was incredibly tense. "Would you like me to drive?" He asked, thinking that a nervous George wasn't something that should really be behind the wheel of a car. "No," She said curtly. "At least if I'm driving, I won't be tempted to smoke." "I don't know what you're so worried about," Joe said, as they drove away. "You're going to put everyone to shame." "I'm not the person I was thirty years ago, Daddy, and that means that I'm certainly not the singer I was thirty years ago. So please will you remember that. You might be wishing that you'd never had this ridiculous idea in the first place." "I'll be proud of you, whatever happens," Joe said quietly. George drove in silence, lost in her own thoughts of what was turning into sheer terror. Joe watched her with concern, knowing that as soon as she did sing, George would forget all this nonsense and simply get on with it. When they reached a long stretch of traffic waiting for the light to change, Joe reached for George's handbag, which was on the floor by his feet. Retrieving her packet of cigarettes and a lighter, he lit her one. As she took a hand off the wheel and gratefully reached for it, she said with a smile, "John will kill you." "Deed doesn't have to know," Joe said gruffly, knowing how strong the craving for Nicotine could be at times of stress. As George took a long, satisfying drag, blowing the smoke and flicking the ash out of the window, she gently inched the car forward, until the lights finally turned green.  
  
When they arrived, George's exclamation of, "Oh, how pretty," perfectly described the setting. This church might only have been half an hour from the centre of the city, but everywhere was fresh with the emerging flowers of spring, the trees in the enormous wood opposite the church hall, thick with blossom. There was the church itself, with the church hall, where they were to practice, at the opposite end of the churchyard. Several cars were already assembled around the hall, and George had difficulty finding somewhere to park. When they went inside, they found that about half the people they were expecting had already arrived. Seeing Barbara standing with the man whom she'd questioned so ruthlessly in the Merriman/Atkins trial, who must be Barbara's husband, she walked over to them. "Barbara, good to see you. I bet you're wondering what you've let yourself in for." "I'm certainly looking forward to seeing what you make of Eve," Barbara said with a smile. "Have you been told who your Adam is yet?" "No, and both John and my ever loving father here, are insisting on keeping me in the dark." "Well, all I'll tell you is that we both know him." George's eyebrows rose. Not for the life of her could she come up with anyone whom both she and Barbara knew. "This is my husband, Henry, though I do believe you've met on a previous occasion." As George held out a hand to shake Henry's, she briefly wondered just how many times that blasted Merriman/Atkins trial was set to embarrass her. "I think that trial is going to haunt me for ever more," She said, not entirely knowing how to deal with someone she'd previously cross-examined for such an unworthy cause. "Please, let it be forgotten," Henry replied, giving her a gentle smile. "And this is my father, Sir Joseph Channing, who will be conducting us, for his sins." As Joe and Henry shook hands, George moved away to mingle with some of the others she knew, using any amount of small talk, to keep her mind off the approaching time when she would have to show them what she was supposedly made of. When she saw John arrive, she kept a slightly predatory eye on him, having also seen the arrival of Sir Ian and, to her astonishment, Lady Francesca Rochester, one of John's old and far more dangerous concubines. But when she saw Grayling appear through the door, she stared in shock. Walking straight over to her, Neil held out a hand. "Allow me to introduce myself as your leading man." "You're playing Adam?" George asked, her eyes widening in half surprise and half disbelief. "I certainly am. It's going to be interesting, working together, don't you think?" "You?" George asked again, unsure of just who was having a joke at her expense. Then Barbara's words came back to her. Yes, both she and Barbara did know Grayling. "But I thought you were..." Realising in an instant what she was about to say, Neil held up a hand to stop her in her tracks. Then, out of the side of his mouth so that no one would see, he said very quietly, "In company such as this, I'm just as straight as they think you are. Is that clear?" Feeling a blush spread to her cheeks at the enormous indiscretion she'd almost made, she said, "Yes, of course, I apologise. It was just a shock, that's all." "Didn't anyone tell you?" He asked with a smile. "No, neither John, nor my father, who will be conducting us by the way, felt the need to put me in the picture. I think it was their idea of a surprise." "Pleasant, or unpleasant?" He teased, looking forward to working with her immensely. "That remains to be seen," She quipped back. "I think it's going to be far more fun than I previously thought, though. The Judge who's singing the tenor, he's a frightful bore, and his wife, the terribly fierce old hag standing over there," She gestured to where Vera Everard was standing with Monty, "Had designs on playing Eve herself." "You barristers really do know how to bitch, don't you," Neil said with a grin. "How else do you think we climb the professional ladder?" George responded. "If not by pushing others off each rung as we pass."  
  
When John arrived, and after speaking to Barbara and Henry, he observed as Neil Grayling arrived and brought George up to speed on who was to play Adam. Even from where he stood, he could clearly see that George had said something she shouldn't, and that Neil's reply had embarrassed her. He would have made a move to intervene, but they seemed to immediately return to polite conversation verging on friendly banter. As he withdrew his gaze from George, he caught sight of Francesca Rochester, purposefully making her way over to him. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been protesting her innocence in the soft porn empire she'd been running with her cousin. She'd turned on the tears, trying to convince him that she was only doing it because she was scared of her cousin. She was the type of woman, who could look like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth one minute, and nail a man to the spot with her predatory, hypnotising smirk the next. If John had been in the habit of blushing, then his face might have taken on a reddish tint at the memory of how he'd screwed her in chambers. He didn't usually like such vulgarities in his vocabulary, but that's exactly what it had been. He could remember it as if it were yesterday. The way he'd used one arm to scatter papers, pens and all other possessions from the top of his desk, and with the other, pushed her down on it, removing her underwear and undoing his flies in an instant. The fact that he'd been caught doing this on the security camera had only increased any embarrassment he might have felt. "John, this is a nice surprise." Her voice was just the same as it had been then, the soft, though not overly cultured tones, sliding over his senses just as her hands had once done. "For you, or for me?" He asked, not willing to give her even the slightest hint of any reconciliation. "For both of us, I hope." "I doubt your husband would see it like that," John replied, keeping his tone even, though nevertheless cutting. "That was all a very long time ago, John," She said gently. "I had hoped we could all be friends." "After the stunt you pulled on me, you must be joking," John said icily, his words immediately killing any hopes she'd had of a bit of fun from him. "I want absolutely nothing to do with you. Is that clear? I wonder at Ian's common sense in bringing you here." "Ian has learnt the art of forgiveness," She said petulantly. "Only because he doesn't want to forfeit a large inheritance," John replied cruelly. "That's the only reason he's stayed with you, and you know it." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Karen approaching him. "Now if you'll excuse me, there's someone far more beautiful and far more genuine in her intentions for me to see." Francesca watched him as he strolled purposefully away, regretting the loss of this man who'd just for a while, made her feel so alive.  
  
When he came up to Karen, he immediately put his arms round her and kissed her cheek. "Not that I wouldn't have done this anyway," He said in response to her look of surprise. "But I need to convince someone I'm otherwise involved." Karen laughed. "I might have known that something like this would drag too many of your old conquests out of the woodwork. Who is she?" "Do you remember me telling you about Francesca Rochester?" He said, gesturing to where Francesca had returned to Ian's side. "Oh, is she the woman who had a liking for a cousin and soft porn?" "That's her, one of the most evil little minxes I've ever had the displeasure of knowing." They were then approached by Neil and George. "Did you know about this?" George said to Karen as a form of greeting, to which Karen couldn't help smiling. "Of course I did, but the Deed here asked me not to tell you." "Typical," George replied, giving John a looked that combined a glare with the hint of a smile, showing him that she didn't mind in the least. "I didn't expect to see you here, Karen," Neil put in, glancing down at the viola leaning against her leg. "I was persuaded to join in, as I'm sure were you. Have you seen Barbara?" "Yes, and I take it that most people here aren't aware of her previous association with us." "No, and I think she would appreciate it staying that way." Then, looking closely at George, she added, "You're not nervous, are you?" "Of course I bloody am," George said tartly. "From what I heard two weeks ago, you will be absolutely fine." "And you're no use, you're biased." As John and Neil were currently screening both her and George from the rest of the room, Karen took the opportunity to briefly lay a hand against George's cheek. It didn't go unnoticed by either John or Neil, that George leaned ever so slightly into Karen's touch, showing that she needed that reassurance. At this point, various people began setting out chairs and music stands, and getting out their instruments. "I'm just going to get some fresh air," George said, wanting a moment of down time before they began. As she made a quick exit through a side door, John said, "I'll see if she's all right." When he'd gone, Neil said, "Is she good?" Karen smiled softly. "She's brilliant, but terrified of failing." They were then approached by someone who Karen thought she knew, but couldn't place. "Nikki told me you'd just been made Governing Governor," She said. "Congratulations." It was the soft, slightly northern accented voice that reminded Karen of who she was. "Thank you," She said, and turning to Neil added, "This is Clare Walker. What do you play?" She asked, looking back at Claire's face. "The flute, and you?" "The viola. Neil here's singing Adam." "Neil Grayling," He said, holding out a hand to shake hers. "Pleased to meet you."  
  
As George stood outside, stubbornly trying to resist the urge to have a cigarette, John joined her. "You don't need to be quite so frightened of this, you know," He said gently, putting his arms round her. "I'm not," She insisted unconvincingly. "I'm just not looking forward to it, that's all." "You don't have to do it, if you really don't want to," He said, knowing that this would have the desired effect. "Daddy would kill me," She said. "Besides, as ridiculous as it sounds, I suppose I want to prove myself wrong." "That's more like it," He said, leaning forward to kiss her. "You've been smoking," He said, detaching his lips from hers and staring at her accusingly. "Blame Daddy," She said succinctly. "He lit one for me on the way here, and I couldn't exactly say no, now could I." "You Channings are as bad as each other," He grumbled, and then saw Jo walking towards them. "I couldn't find anywhere to park," She said when she reached them. Still keeping one arm round George, John leant forward to kiss Jo. "Now you've got two kinds of lipstick on you," George said with a laugh. "Oh, well, at least it might keep Lady Rochester at bay," John said philosophically. "Oh, is she here?" Jo asked, not relishing meeting this woman any more than John had. "Oh, yes, and I can see that she's going to cause trouble if she possibly can." As they heard people beginning to tune up, they walked back in. But as John moved to pick up his violin, and Jo and George went to find their places, John was accosted by Sir Ian. "Do you have a moment?" He asked, quickly drawing John aside. "I saw you talking to my wife earlier." "Her doing, not mine," John assured him. "And I would appreciate it if you would attempt to keep her under control whilst she's here." "And I would appreciate you not having anything to do with her, after last time," Sir Ian replied, not immediately taking any notice of John's words. "Believe me, Ian, having any contact with your wife is the last thing I want to do. After what she nearly did to me, I wouldn't touch your wife with a barge pole." Then, leaving Sir Ian mouthing fruitlessly to himself, John stalked away.  
  
In his infinite wisdom, Joe Channing had taken it upon himself to assign players to particular pairings, in order to avoid any petty, adolescent squabbling on the day itself. He knew only too well that if any group of people were likely to argue about everything, it was a group of barristers. After all, hadn't he raised one of his own, and therefore had experience of such ridiculous behaviour? This did, however, only really apply to the string section, the woodwind and brass being few enough that they could sort themselves out. The simplest way to achieve this, had been to write everyone's names on detachable post it notes, which could be removed from the scores, leaving no lasting damage. Once the chairs and music stands had been set out, he went round, putting the scores out, one to a stand. When Jo realised that she would be sitting in the second desk of cellos, next to Brian Cantwell of all people, she inwardly groaned. Was this Joe Channing's idea of a joke? As she sat down with her cello, and Brian took his seat on her right, they exchanged assessing glances. "I see you've assumed that I will be turning the pages," Was his opening comment. "Well, as I am infinitely better looking than you," Jo replied confidently. "I naturally assumed that I would be sitting nearer to the audience." "You tell him, Jo," Came an approving response from Michael Nivin, who was sitting on Karen's right, in the corresponding desk of violas. Then, turning to Karen, he said, "Forgive me, but you don't look like a barrister." Karen smiled. "No, I'm a prison Governor. I got roped into this by John, John Deed." "Ah, yes, he always has had a level of persuasion that far outweighs the rest of us put together." Karen laughed. "I used to have the often fruitless task of trying to keep him in line, when I was the senior Judge in chambers." "Not a job I'd recommend to anyone," Karen said with a grin, thinking that this man must have had his hands full. "Being the resider, or keeping John from disgracing himself and the judiciary?" "Oh, the second, without a doubt."  
  
So that everyone would be able to see the conductor, the woodwind, brass and timps had been arranged on the raised blocks that the local school used, whenever they held concerts here. Joe Channing was also raised, looking down on what he would almost come to regard as his flock, the group of recalcitrant Prima donnas he would eventually come to be proud of. All he had to do to get their attention was to raise his baton, at which they all fell silent. The three soloists, George, Legover and Grayling, were sitting on chairs in a row, with their backs to the orchestra, for the moment all hoping that Joe wouldn't require them immediately. "Now, I have absolutely no idea of the musical skill of most of you," He began, "So, we'll start at the very beginning, and see what happens. Chaos, is what the introductory piece is called, and chaos is what I suspect it will turn out to be."  
  
As he raised his baton for the down beat, bows were lifted and breaths taken. The first chord definitely wasn't entirely together, but as they gradually became used to Joe's slightly wavering movements, they all began to relax. George was enchanted as she listened, smiling when she picked out a wrong note from one instrument or another, following the score to keep her mind off the ever approaching moment, when she would have to join them. She listened with pride as John's violin rose and fell just behind her, bringing back some brief, happy memories of when they'd been married, and she would often hear him practice on a regular basis. She also found herself picking out the cellos, of which Jo was one, and the violas, to which Karen belonged. Sir Ian's clarinet, Neumann Mason-Alan's trumpet, and the flutes, one of which belonged to the very pretty barrister who Karen had said had defended Nikki. When they eventually drew to the end of the final chord of Chaos, there was a slightly stunned silence. They really did have a chance of pulling this off! The three on the front row broke into applause, finally beginning to see that this mad idea really was possible.  
  
"Not bad, for a first attempt," Was Joe Channing's critical assessment. "Though the ensemble effect left a lot to be desired. Still, I suppose that will come with practice. All I intend to do today, is to give you all a taste of what we need to accomplish, and to allow each and every one of you, to discover what is required of you, with regards to improvement and practice. Now, I suggest we give one of our soloists something to do. Would one of you like to volunteer?" Both George and Monty stayed absolutely quiet. After a moment's silence, Neil stood up. "In the absence of any other response, I may as well take the first plunge." There was a slight titter from the orchestra, most of them not knowing this stranger in their midst. Joe turned to face him. "Well done," Joe said approvingly. "A soloist with some spirit, that's a very good attitude to have. Do you have a particular piece you would like to attempt?" "How about number seven?" Neil suggested, number seven being the one that Karen had played part of when she'd auditioned. "Oh, thank you very much," Several of the violists grumbled, Karen included. A broad smile spread over Joe's face. "Yes, good idea, give all these string players something to think about, separate the wheat from the chaff." As Neil stood, and opened his score, George gave him a smile of encouragement, forever grateful to him for not having made her take the first jump.  
  
As the cellos thundered, the violas swirled, and the first and second violins swept back and forth, the feeling of 'Rolling In Foaming Billows' was brought right into their midst. The flutes provided the illusion of the wild seabirds, and the other wind instruments the steady roar of the waves. But when Neil began to sing, both Karen and Barbara almost stopped playing. They had both known Grayling for some time, though Karen substantially better, and neither would ever have suspected that he had such a talent.  
  
"Rolling in foaming billows, uplifted, roars the boisterous sea."  
  
His voice seemed to swing with the cellos and battle in counterpoint with the violins, his deep, strong vibrato, captivating everyone. When the gale began to pass, and the tide begin to calm down, his roar decreased, the lyrical washing to and fro of the flutes, interspersed with his softer, finishing lines. As he sang the words, "Through silent vales, the limpid brook," the orchestra provided the feeling of the storm finally spent, leaving nothing but the gentle lapping of the waves against the shore.  
  
There was a short silence when the piece came to an end, followed by an all mighty applause. Neil was incredibly touched by the faith they all clearly had in him. Joe turned to face him. "You were an unknown quantity before today, but I am pleased to say that you are shaping up to the challenge admirably. Now, I think it's about time that my lovely daughter showed you all what she's made of." George could have died, the colour suffusing her cheeks in humiliation. As she got to her feet, John only had to lean slightly to his right, in order to give her hand a quick squeeze. George was immensely grateful to him, his automatic show of affection giving her the courage she needed. "Are you all up to 'With Verdure Clad'?" She asked, sounding far more confident than she really felt. Joe smiled in fond remembrance. "I remember when you sang that at school," He said, turning to the correct page in the score and raising his baton. As George listened to the few introductory bars, the strings and Sir Ian's clarinet beginning the very slow 6-8 that gave the impression of a waltz, she took a deep breath, and opened her mouth.  
  
"With verdure clad, the fields appear, delightful to the ravish'd sense, By flowers sweet and gay, enhanced is the charming sight, enhanced is the charming sight."  
  
As George began, everyone who wasn't playing, immediately put down their scores and listened, her voice capturing every ear. Karen momentarily stopped bowing, the purity in George's voice making her utterly incapable of doing anything but listen. Michael Nivin, becoming aware that she wasn't playing, quickly glanced at her, seeing a look of such pride and wonder on her face that it made him smile. Joe Channing's baton had faltered, the exquisite quality of his daughter's voice, taking him back to that school concert when she was eighteen, when as far as he knew, she was entirely happy. He picked up the beat again soon enough, but nobody missed the succession of emotions that played across his face as she sang. As her voice rose and fell, the cellos, violas and second violins kept the beat gently swinging, with the first violins and the clarinet providing a contrasting counterpoint melody that delicately enhanced the words. When George reached the words, "With copious fruit, th'expanded boughs are hung," Her voice seemed to open up even more, her lungs and throat expanding with the words. But it was with the words, "In leafy arches, twine the shady groves," That Jo felt a shiver run down her spine. It was almost a physical feeling, causing her to gasp at the realisation that she had tears in her eyes. But as the strings moved into several bars of quavers, temporarily taking the six quaver rhythm that actually denoted the time signature, Jo recovered herself and prayed that Brian, in his infinite lack of tact, wouldn't have noticed her little moment of feeling. As George ran daintily through the various repetitions of, "Here fragrant herbs their odours shed; here shoots the healing plant," Clare's flute and Ian's clarinet, took it in turns to accompany her, their own little melodies appearing to hold a conversation. But as she lingered on the penultimate, "Healing plant," the orchestra briefly rested, allowing the pure echo of her voice to hover over the room, making every one of them wonder if her voice might just crack one of the windows.  
  
As she eventually sat down to a second outbreak of applause, John leaned over to kiss her cheek. "Well done," he said into her ear, feeling the blush of pride on her face. Joe didn't know what to say. He was so proud of his daughter, briefly wishing that her mother could have been here to see this. Wholly unable to express his feelings on the matter, he felt it better to carry straight on. "Right, to finish off, I would like to attempt the trio, 'Most Beautiful Appear', because we haven't yet heard anything from you, Monty, and as your wife was so insistent of your talent, I am sure we are all looking forward to seeing proof of it. Now, whilst I know this is not going to be a very welcome suggestion, I think it would be beneficial to all, to carry straight on, and attempt 'The Lord is great' as well." "Daddy, no, you can't," Protested George, knowing only too well just how difficult this particular one was for all concerned. "And why not?" Joe demanded, looking down at his daughter. "Well, it's... It's..." "It's the hardest thing any of you will ever be required to perform," Joe finished for her. "Which is why, without much warning, I am pushing you to the very limits of your capability. If we are going to make a success of this, and after all this organisation I absolutely refuse to fail, you must be made aware of precisely what will be demanded of you in the coming weeks. So, we will begin with the trio, and carry straight onto the celebration of the fourth day."  
  
As George listened to the introductory bars, she became aware, perhaps for the first time, of Lawrence James and Francesca Rochester's oboes, making her wonder at the justice of two such spineless individuals, being given anything resembling a creative talent. After what she'd just sung, George's own phrases came easily to her, leaving her slightly gob smacked when Monty began. She'd never heard him sing, and, though he was trying a little too hard, she could find no fault with his voice. But it was when they all began competing with each other that the fun really began. If they weren't weaving in and out of each other, they were forming complete chords, their voices soaring and dying, gently bringing in the celebration that was to follow.  
  
In the slight pause between the trio and the piece that came next, George, along with both Monty and Neil, prayed that she could attempt to carry this off. They had no chorus with them today, which meant that a significant part of this piece would be missing, leaving the three soloists right out in the open, every wrong note available for all to hear.  
  
As soon as she began, George felt as though she was on a collision course, the words and the notes almost running away with her, Neil and Monty doing their own thing, and with the first violins carrying away a melody of their own. The lack of a chorus was noticeable, though not entirely unwelcome, meaning that at least volume wasn't a problem for any of the soloists. As George rose to the top B flat, she felt that at any moment, she would be flying. All three of them had moments where they almost came unstuck, but all of them just about managed to keep it together till the end. All the way through, John had been aware of George's tension, her body almost like a coiled spring, ready at the merest provocation to spiral entirely out of control. He had been pleasantly surprised at the voice that emitted from Legover, not having previously thought the man had it in him. With all three soloists yelling their guts out, wind players blowing till they thought their lungs would burst, and string players plucking for their lives, the piece finally reached it's close, the timps and the strings providing the final two resonating chords. Yes, there had been fluffed notes from all concerned, and there had been areas of severe strain, both on instruments and their players' ears, but this was the most difficult piece they would ever have to play, and albeit flounderingly, they had done it, proving once and for all that they were all, each and every one of them, well and truly up to the job. 


	81. Part Eighty One

A/N: Betaed by Jen.  
  
Part Eighty-One  
  
After the rehearsal, George drove her father back to her house, and proceeded to cook him dinner. She didn't often come out and say it, and never to the man himself, but she loved her father more than anyone else in the world, and she loved spending some real, quality time with him and just him. When her mother had died, when George was ten, Joe hadn't really known how to deal with his daughter, his wife having done most of the bringing up of George until then. Almost overnight, Joe had been plunged in to the feeling of freefall, having to attempt to deal with his own feelings on his wife's death, and to keep everything as normal as possible for George. He could remember, the way her large, frightened, blue eyes had stared at him as he'd told her, that her mother had been killed in a car crash. She hadn't cried, but had just kept staring at him, at first unwilling to believe that her mother wouldn't ever be coming back. Joe had done his best to pick up the pieces, and all in all, he supposed he hadn't made a bad job of it. George had sunk deep into herself at the time, saying only the bare minimum, and moving round the house like a ghost. Joe had been very worried about her, not knowing how to give her back the vibrant nature she'd once had. But gradually, she had emerged from it, as he had himself, but she'd been older somehow, far older than her nearly eleven years. So, he'd sent her to boarding school, because he wanted her to have a good education, and because she had wanted to go. He could remember picking her up at the end of the first term. She'd looked happier, the shadow of her mother's death not as prominent behind her eyes as it had been.  
  
When they were eating the meal she'd prepared, Joe thought it was time to say what he hadn't said earlier. "I was proud of you today," He said, taking a sip of red wine. George put down her fork and looked at him. "I know it sounds stupid, but I was so scared of not living up to both yours and John's expectation of me." "Yes, I know, but you had no need to be. It brought back a lot of memories for me." "Thirty one years ago I sung Eve," George said contemplatively. "God, that makes me feel old." "I can't believe you'll be fifty next year," He said, clearly teasing her. "Daddy!" She protested through a mouthful of chicken. Then, once she'd swallowed it added, "I'd rather not think about that. I'm not even forty nine yet." "Your birthday's only a couple of months away," Joe replied, thoroughly enjoying his daughter's discomfort. "We'll have to do something special next year." "Don't even think about it," George said firmly. "I intend to stay forty nine for as long as possible." Joe laughed, and then became serious. "Your mother said that when she was twenty nine." "You still miss her, don't you," George said gently, knowing just how lonely her father felt sometimes, though he never said so directly. "Every single day," He said, laying down his own cutlery, his appetite having suddenly diminished. "When you were stood there today, singing your heart out, I kept wishing that your mother had been here to see it, and do you know why? Because you sounded so happy." "Did I?" George was surprised. "Yes, very. You've been happier than I've seen you for years, for quite some time now, and it almost shined out of you when you were singing today." "I am happy," she said, not quite knowing how to explain it to him. "I'll assume that Deed has something to do with it," Joe said cynically. "And would it be such a problem if he did?" George asked guardedly. "Well, just be careful. Admittedly, he must be doing something right to make you look as happy and contented as you have been recently." "You could say that," George said with a smirk, getting him back for teasing her about her age by slightly embarrassing him. "I don't want to know," Joe said firmly. "But just remember how he treated you when you were married." "Daddy, that wasn't just his fault, you know," George said fairly. "We both had a part to play in that little disaster. But it's different now. I can't explain how, it just is." "You do know that he's probably still having something of an on off affair with Jo Mills? And quite what his relationship is with that prison governor, Karen, I think her name is, I don't want to contemplate." "Daddy, John definitely isn't sleeping with Karen, I can promise you that," George said with a smile. "And I know about Jo. You don't have to worry about me, really." "George, I'm your father, and it is therefore my job to worry about you." "I know," She said, briefly touching his hand. "But I'm happy with what I have with John." "That's all right then," He said affectionately. "But if he ever dares hurt you again, he'll have to find a job somewhere where I can't find him."  
  
A good while later, when George had driven her father home, she decided on an impulse to drop in and see John. She felt on a bit of a high from the afternoon's rehearsal, and didn't want to go home to an empty house. Karen was spending the evening catching up on paperwork, so she was out of bounds. Anyway, George knew that tonight, hard, vigorous, very male company was what she wanted. Pulling up outside the judges' digs, she didn't notice Jo's car in the carpark, or she might have driven away again. Walking through the front door, she waved to the doorman who was on the phone, receiving a nod and a smile in return. Mr. Johnson knew George Channing, and knew exactly who she was here to see. As she walked up the stairs and down the long, carpeted corridor, her body tensed in anticipation. She desperately wanted to make love to him like mad, as furious with passion as that last song they'd done this afternoon. Feeling her mouth go dry with the thought, she knocked on the door to John's rooms. When he bade her to enter, she opened the door, a sultry, sexy smile on her face in readiness.  
  
When George walked through the door, the first thing she saw was John, sitting on a very new-looking sofa, with his arms round Jo, both looking as though she'd disturbed what was turning into a very passionate scene. John smiled when he saw her. "Hello," He said, actually sounding pleased to see her. "I wasn't expecting to see you this evening." "Would you rather I go?" George asked, feeling very uncomfortable at intruding. "Of course not," He said, holding out a hand to her. "Come and sit down." "But you..." She stopped, not knowing how to phrase what they'd clearly been in the process of doing. "George, sit down," Jo said firmly, smiling at her embarrassment. Shutting the door behind her, George moved over to the sofa, sitting down on John's other side. "Do you want a drink?" John asked, turning her face towards him. "No thank you," She said, kissing him quickly because of Jo's presence. "I had several glasses of wine with Daddy, and I've got to drive home." "So, how do you think it went this afternoon?" Jo asked, trying to put her at her ease. "Neil Grayling was a surprise," George said, looking meaningfully at John. "Quite why you didn't tell me about him, I've no idea. He's very good though." "Says she," Said Jo with a warm smile. "You certainly opened a few eyes." "I thought I was going to come unstuck in that last one we did," George replied, blushing slightly at Jo's compliment. "Yes," John laughed. "You were wound up so tight, I thought you were going to take off." "That was Daddy's fault for not giving us any warning," George said in disgust. "He was right, though," John said fairly. "Better to show everyone just how far they'll have to go now, rather than springing it on them later." "Oh, yes, and one thing he did tell me, was that he won't be able to be there for the rehearsal in two weeks' time. So, he's asked me to conduct." She said this so innocently, that John was immediately on the alert. "Oh, heaven help us," John said dryly. "You'll make mincemeat of everyone." "Hmm, well, you'll just have to behave then, won't you," George said with a secretive little smile. "Now this, I definitely can't wait to see," Jo said with a laugh. "I'm rather looking forward to having power over so many people at once," George said gleefully. "I bet you are," John said in resigned acceptance. Then, fixing his penetrating gaze on her, he added, "You always did enjoy being in control." George couldn't prevent a tiny gasp leaving her lips, John's actual meaning all too clear. With his arm around her waist, he gently drew her towards him. When their lips met, this time exploring each other's mouths caressingly and lingeringly, George felt the flame reignite deep inside her. Shifting her gaze slightly, George looked straight into Jo's eyes, taking in her soft admiration of what they were doing. When she eventually moved her face away from his, she glanced over at Jo. Jo was smiling at her softly, showing that she didn't in the least mind seeing them do this. As if to affirm how much he loved both of them, John turned his attention to Jo, kissing her in the soft and gentle way he'd kissed George. It touched her to see how beautiful they looked, so complete that she began to think she oughtn't to stay. "You look so beautiful together," She said, unable to stop herself. "No more than you do," Jo said, detaching her lips from John's and giving George her full attention. "I shouldn't really be here," George said, now really feeling as though she was intruding. "Just relax," John said, moving his hand up to touch her cheek. "I have no problem with you being here, George," Jo told her. "And I'm sure John doesn't either." "Are you sure?" George asked, not wanting to take them away from other things they might prefer to be doing. "Yes," John and Jo said together, making her smile.  
  
John was in his element, sat on his very comfortable new sofa, with an arm round the waist of each of his favourite women, listening to some soft music and occasionally talking. He was perfectly content to listen to Jo and George deconstructing the rehearsal, their voices floating over him as the music had done that afternoon. He would gently kiss one or the other of them at intermittent intervals, their different tastes intermingling to turn him on immensely. It was almost child's play to move both his hands slightly upwards from where they currently were, to begin very gently teasing at the under sides of Jo's right breast and George's left. He felt both of them inwardly react to his touch, but neither of them gave any outward sign of their response, simply carrying on talking as if nothing had happened. But as he continued touching them, they both fell silent, the soft, sultry music filling the gap with its incredibly erotic charge. He could feel their nipples hardening under his fingers, and knew that George would be the first one to break the silence. "John, stop it," She said after a while, his touch becoming more than she could stand. "Oh, he's doing that to you too, is he?" Jo asked, her voice taking on a deeper, huskier quality, which George supposed it always did when Jo was aroused. "Why?" John asked. "You can't possibly tell me you don't like it." "It's not that," George said, a blush of sheer embarrassment staining her cheeks. "I like it too much," She added eventually, refusing to look in Jo's direction. "So," John said, trying to calm her down and failing spectacularly. "If an orgasm is what you want, stay and I'll give you one. More than one, if you're lucky." George was mortified. "John, we shouldn't even be having this conversation," She said, moving away from him but remaining seated on the sofa. "Why not?" He persisted. "Jo's in exactly the same position as you are. So, why don't you both stay, and make one of my dreams come true? You know I've always wanted to spend the night with both of you." George recoiled in shock, immediately getting up from the sofa and walking away from him, turning round to stare at him once there was a significant distance between them. "No," She said, quietly but firmly. They could both see the combination of sincere arousal, guilty embarrassment, and total confusion in her face. "Oh, George, don't look like that," John said, sounding a little exasperated. "It was only a suggestion." "And it's one I wish you hadn't made," George said bitterly, feeling the prickling of tears behind her eyelids. "I think I should go." As she turned to the door, pulling it open and closing it quietly though firmly behind her, John made a move to get up and follow her. "Let her go," Jo said quietly, experiencing an enormous amount of feeling for George. "What on earth's got into her?" He said, wholly unwilling to examine his own part in George's feelings. "You mustn't play with her, John, it isn't fair," Jo said reprovingly, though with a certain amount of gentleness in her tone. "What are you talking about?" John demanded. "She loved the idea just as much as I did. You could see it in her face." "Yes," Jo clarified. "Which is precisely why you shouldn't dangle something in front of her that isn't going to happen. I could have told you before you suggested it, that she would find the idea somewhat attractive, but that doesn't mean that you can play with her feelings, just because you fancied having two women at your disposal. George deserves better than that. I couldn't care less what you might suggest in that way, because I know I wouldn't even consider it. But it's different for George."  
  
When George got in the car, she roared out of the carpark of the digs, wanting to put as much distance between her and John as possible. Tears of utter humiliation were running down her cheeks. She knew she would have jumped at the chance of sleeping with both John and Jo, and she knew that they had seen that in her too. When she arrived home, she went straight to bed, almost wanting to hide from her total embarrassment. But lying there, in the dark, under the duvet, she couldn't quite escape the thought of what it might have been like. Would Jo's body be similar to Karen's? Would Jo's mouth be as soft and pliable as Karen's? How would she taste? What would she feel like? Thoroughly unable to settle, she slid her hands down over her body, teasing at her already erect nipples, one hand slipping between her slightly spread legs. She had to relieve her frustration somehow, she just had to. As she touched herself so familiarly, she couldn't get away from the mental picture of John and Jo kissing, of John's hand delicately moving over Jo's breast in the way it had on hers. Did Jo's nipples harden as hers had? Did Jo feel the pulse jumping between her legs in anticipation, just as she had? As her hand sped up, she held onto this picture, seeing John and Jo together right to the end, making her feel utterly humiliated, intensely satisfied, and extremely confused all in one go. 


	82. Part Eighty Two

A/N: Words quoted from "Foolish Games" by Jewel  
  
Part Eighty-Two  
  
Helen picked up the very bulky file out of her rather overcrowded desk and opened it with a feeling of weariness. The brown manila folder contained a whole sheaf of interview details, the most recent of them hers but others going backwards in time right back to the creased hand-written first pages. Jesus, this was half a life which was stolen away from this woman, step by self inflicted step from when she first dabbled in the drug scene. There was a pile of doctor's reports stretching back fifteen years or more and the usual assortment of medical records stretch going back further to an age of innocence. Unlike the prisoner's files that used to pass through her hands, there was no escape, no release, no freedom outside the prison walls. It was her interviewing the people she dealt with from day to day and writing up the reports and not the prison officers who used to work for her.  
  
One she had conscientiously scoured through the file, it was evident that this woman had built high security fences round herself leaving no exit, all the more secure because of the woman's high intelligence. This last quality was obvious, despite the damage that years of addiction had done to her. If she was that intelligent, she ought to have had the sense not to have landed herself in her present predicament. She knew that such logic had nothing to do with life's chances of a man or woman of this type. Despite all this, she was a survivor despite the naïve vulnerable manner she used to protect herself with. There was a couple of hospital reports due to admissions for overdosing and the one attempted suicide many years back. She teetered on the edge of disaster miraculously without falling off the edge.  
Her name was Alison, mother of three children. From the picture she proudly showed her, they all inherited her looks, carefully brushed hair, some air of quality about them and that same thin aquiline nose and slightly arched eyebrows. That was the mark of her hereditary that she had passed down to them along with who knows what personality traits.  
  
She sighed to herself as the very polite, inaudible knock on the door announced her arrival, ten minutes late. "Come in, Alison," Helen's firm tones greeted her cheerily.  
Instantly, she took in her physical presence, slim, five foot six with long blond hair, short black jacket and black trousers and bangles round her wrists. She was carrying her trademark very large handbag, which she knew to be stuffed with an ill-assorted jumble of personal belongings. Her makeup was almost over elaborate to present the appearance she wanted to make on the world and to conceal the many lines on her face. At her age of late thirties, you didn't get that many lines so early in life.  
"I'm ever so sorry I'm late, Miss Wade," she started talking in her fairly well educated accent, "I was poorly this morning, you know how I can be some times, and I had a row with my boyfriend and I didn't notice the time till late. I got a lift from a friend of ours………." Helen listened politely as this woman rattled away. Things had happened to her that diverted her away from what she protested many times over from what she really wanted to do. She had a real problem of looking her in the eye, which was a quirk of hers.  
"We were talking last week about the choices that all of us make in our lives. I know that you say that you still find periods when you can't get out of bed in the mornings, as your methadone prescription is set too low." "……Oh yes, if it isn't too much trouble. I'm really struggling on the amount of medicine that I'm on," Began Alison in a very hesitant fashion, daring Helen to be brutal with her in denying her request. Helen picked up on the choice of word to describe the drug that Alison was dependent on but did not let herself be gently drawn into the obvious trap. "…….but you have to look at the choices you have to make in your life. You know, Alison, that increasing your prescription will only put you further away from the goal you said that you had been aiming for when I first met you." Alison's heart sank at the perceived rejection. In her mind, how could she tell this woman that her position started off from an entirely phony basis when she had first talked to her, that she had been buying Phiceptone tablets to boost her prescription? She said nothing but Helen felt that very loud inaudible something that was trying to make her feel guilty in denying her something that would, after all, make her happy. She spoke as softly and as gently as she could even though she knew that these words felt to an addict that they were as blows from a fist. She smilingly and gently brushed aside that hidden but very real request by every addict that she had come across in her professional life. Tough love, even in an entirely and strictly professional form, required her to resist her and all her experience also taught her that all drug addicts pulled that stunt in some shape or form somewhere along the line. "……you have to look at the choices that you have in your life when you are well. You can do it, Alison. On your file, you've got a stack of O Levels, A levels and one time you were studying for a B Ed teaching degree. You did that, no one else…." Alison looked disconsolate at the well-meaning words from this woman, somebody whose life chances had favoured her as her own had run against her. She might have been sitting in Helen's chair. What dragged her self esteem down was what everything that she might have been but wasn't. It was her choice in seeking out the more interesting disreputable man around, when she first got pregnant in the middle of studying for her degree. Being led into becoming "queen of the drug scene" was an easier option that she slid into and it was only later when she discovered that while he was "fashionably sensitive" he was also "too cool to care" as the song had it except that, unlike the author, she had somehow stuck with that man despite all the many dramas and temporary separations. She might have written Jewel's song "Foolish games" for her. She might have written a book about her life if she had the chance if she weren't stuck in a council house, the only one in the respectable street, where the few neighbours that were around looked down their noses at her.  
"How about your kids, Alison?" Helen's kind smile and those words conjured up the one thing that Alison could enthuse about and made the deadness in her eyes flicker back into life.  
"My youngest daughter Rachel is doing marvellously at school and she's already becoming a good cook at home. She understands when sometimes mummy is poorly…." Helen let Alison chatter on, missing nothing as to the euphemisms of her lifestyle that she was coming out with. It was not unknown in her experience for children to take over the running of the house and becoming mini adults to the still childish grown ups. The signs were here already in a small way. On the other hand, it was clear that her love for her children was absolutely genuine. Whether that love would be good for them was another matter. She gave her time to talk about the one positive thing in her life that she clung desperately to.  
In Helen's mind, she reflected on the fact that if Rachel Hicks and Zandra Plackett had lived and got out of prison and brought up their children, they might well be in the situation that Alison is in now. How easy it had seemed long ago when she had talked passionately to Zandra that she would help her get her baby back when she got out of prison. This part of her job made Helen feel that she worked off every facet of her psychology degree and that being Wing Governor of Larkhall was, in this one respect, comparatively easy.  
"So why did the latest drugs test show positive for amphetamine?" Alison's face hardly moved a muscle in reply to Helen's gentle question before the story came out in a roundabout fashion. Helen had to concentrate hard to glean the essentials of the story as opposed to the rationalisations and frequent shifts in her style of conversation. By some unaccountable chance, a friend of hers called Steve had turned up with his guitar. The children all loved him and his outgoing talkative fashion raised all their spirits.  
"Come on, Alison. Let's share this whizz. It's really pure stuff and it will put a smile on your face." At that one moment, falling off the wagon wasn't a conscious, deliberate act but a reaching out to whatever was automatically was to hand in one blind, compulsive trance-like action.  
"So what was going through your mind when he offered you the stuff?" Helen pursued.  
Only the fidgeting of her hands revealed her discomfort at such a question. She was deeply ashamed of what she had done the very next day and did not want to revisit that experience.  
"………only that if I didn't, I would have felt that I would be imposing my misery on everyone else and that would have been selfish. I'd done that all day with my children after an argument with Greg, my partner, first thing…….." Her account of what had done had deeply exposed how she had felt, like exposing raw wounds, inviting Helen's sympathy with every syllable. The problem was that, once you accepted the basic premise, which may only be thirty degrees away from reality, everything else followed in a kind of skewed logic. The basic problem was that she felt that she was a prisoner of her situations and perpetuated them in an endless cycle. Yet how different would a serial philanderer have described that moment when he happened to be in the wrong bar at the wrong time, when some nameless woman had appeared offering that same fatal temptation. He, too, needed to find that same dysfunctional way to feed his own inner emptiness.  
"How would you sum up what happened now you look back on it?" The other woman's mouth twisted slightly in self-contempt and then an attempt to push it away, to distance herself from it.  
"Just as a tragic set of circumstances that happened to me. If I had felt better that day, it might not have happened." "Is it the way you really want me to look at it?" "Just as something I'm really, really sorry for…….I was up all night and lay in bed the next day. I had to tell the children that I couldn't take them to the pictures as I'd promised them. They understood." I bet they did, thought Helen a little cynically. This woman doesn't see that her eldest children are on the edge of their teens and won't be so understanding forever. She can hear the bomb ticking but, the way she talks about her own feelings of inadequacy, will blank out her own children will be feeling. A part of it was to recoil from what deep down, she knows is the truth. Yet she does love them, in that earth mother way of hers. That was obvious from the one holiday snapshot she had seen of three tiny children wrapped up in her arms on a golden beach and blue water in the background. "We were talking last week that you were going to sign up for an assertiveness course. You were very enthusiastic about it and spoke a lot about what it could do for you." "Oh," came the surprised reply as she looked away from Helen and paused for a second.  
"I thought you were going to arrange it for me. I got it fixed in my mind that you were going to write to me and I kept wondering why I hadn't heard anything about it." Helen refrained from comment. She could guess the extraordinary amount of planning what supplementing her drug intake from doing favours for friends that everything else fell by the wayside. She knew from interviewing her friend Steve who was one of those lonely single men who needed to latch onto Alison, to do favours for her in return for which, she would help him out from time to time. That was the common euphemism amongst drug circles for selling some of her prescription. "The idea was for you to take a positive step for yourself in fixing up the place on the class by yourself. It has to come from you, you must understand." They fell into a discussion about what the idea of the course meant to her. Last time, she sounded utterly convinced and was very eloquent to follow up the ideas which Helen had floated at her. In fact, her perceptiveness had both surprised and pleased Helen who permitted herself the luxury of thinking that, at long last, she was beginning to turn the corner in her life. This time, Helen felt let down by the not very convincing imitation of what Helen had discussed with her. The words came out fluently enough but she sounded as if on automatic pilot. Helen wasn't sure if it was one of her games to defuse what she had done wrong and to play the game Helen wanted her to play. Either way, it didn't ring true.  
"So, you will definitely make the appointment?" "Yes, definitely," Came the pat reply while her eyes swivelled round in all directions.  
The conversation dried up temporarily until Helen took another tack.  
"How lucky do you feel in everything that has happened in your life?" Alison's mouth twitched at the thought.  
"Everything bad seems to happen to me. I seem to attract all the bad luck that there is." Helen turned to the place in her file where she had placed a bookmark. "What about the time nearly four years ago when you were nearly sent down for dealing amphetamine? If that had happened, would your children have been taken into care if there was no one to look after them? You told me once that your mother would have been willing to look after them if you went into a drugs rehabilitation unit but her second husband, your stepfather, would be totally opposed to it." Helen pursued with a marked edge in her tone of voice.  
"I don't know……I had a good solicitor and I had three very young children…." "And…….?" "I suppose my middle class upbringing went in my favour when I took the stand and I suppose I was lucky." "Do you know just how lucky?" "I don't know what you mean?" "I can assure you that a normal woman's prison is highly unlikely to prescribe you anything like the amount of methadone you are being prescribed right now. You would have found it totally different as it is completely cut off from the outside world. You would need all your strength to survive, as it can be very dangerous…." "How do you know?" "I told you, my number one rule is that I don't talk about anything personal in my life. Take it from me, I know what I am talking about. You don't need to know more than accept that what I am saying is the solid, unvarnished truth." Helen's concentrated gaze fixed the wavering attention of the other woman for the longest amount of time that she had been able to pin her down to but she had that sinking feeling that Helen's own direct and very real experience was completely lost on Alison. After all, her life was hardly a bunch of roses and it was patently clear how she was unable to imagine that life could get a lot worse than it is now. Paradoxically, she had teetered her way along that tightrope without the perception of what it was to fall off it.  
"So you'll make the appointment and, next time when I see you in two weeks, you'll tell me how you got on. You really will find it will help you, trust me." Helen's slightly severe expression melted into an encouraging smile as she made one last plea.  
"Yes, Miss Wade, of course I must go ahead and just do it." She spoke with a little more conviction but whether it was enough was anyone's guess. She politely picked up her huge bag and a book fell out of it. It was a grey coloured book called "Trainspotting". It was very creased already and the pages were folded.  
"I like to read by myself when I'm not well." "Hey, that's something I didn't know. I want us to talk about this next time. I'm interested in what you like reading and what it means for you." Helen spoke with real surprise. It was most unusual to find addicts capable of that level of concentration but perhaps it was the shattered remnants of her past life showing through and giving some cause for hope.  
Helen sighed as she watched her go. The woman exasperated her beyond all reason because, if she devoted a fraction of her sense of will and determination to an ordinary life instead of pursuing her addiction, she would advance by leaps and bounds. She Mused on her obvious intelligence, which was massively flawed. If she could display the level of perception that she could sometimes display, she could think and will herself out of her situation with that iron determination with which Helen had battled the crises in her life. But if that really were the case, Alison wouldn't have become an addict, would she and not one with such a colossal habit?  
The next patient was a young man well into the start of his addiction. He caused her more stress than Alison Gregory as she knew his family and this came closer to home. She reached for a cigarette, her own mild form of addiction, and smoked it before she had to press her buzzer and let him in. 


	83. Part Eighty Three

A/N: Betaed by Jen.  
  
Part Eighty-Three  
  
On the Tuesday evening, Karen had all her windows open, letting the fragrant spring air flow through the flat. She was practicing her viola, the slow, rhythmic sweeps of the bow helping to calm her down after a long day in Larkhall. She found this particular pastime relatively relaxing, sometimes playing with just the score, and sometimes trying to play along with the CD she'd got around to buying the other day. It was taking up a good deal of her spare time, but Karen found herself appreciating the fact that being involved with 'The Creation', did make her take some time out from her job, ensuring that not all her evenings were spent slaving over a hot computer. A brief shiver ran over her every time she thought of how pure George's voice had been on Saturday. Karen had been so proud of her, so enchanted to realise that this beautiful, talented, utterly sensational woman was hers, or at least partly hers.  
  
As John drew his car to a stop in Karen's driveway, he could hear the sound of her viola, the sultry, sensual climb and descent of notes, a sound as rich as melted chocolate carried on the air. He stood listening to her for a while before ringing the doorbell, unwilling to disturb such a blissful accompaniment to the birds singing in the trees. When Karen came downstairs to let him in, she looked happy, peaceful, as if her playing had managed to draw out all the badness a day in Larkhall could leave with her. "You're certainly in good sound tonight," He said, kissing her cheek. "I doubt my neighbours will think so," Karen replied, leading the way back upstairs. "Don't you believe it," He insisted. "Your playing reminded me of a rich, red Burgundy, with so much body, that it needs to be taken gently and lingeringly, just like a beautiful woman." Karen grinned. "You're obviously in a good mood, what are you after?" "You're always so suspicious of my motives," John protested, the glint of amusement in his eye. "I wondered if you knew anyone who plays the violin, who might be interested in filling the one remaining slot we have for a second violinist." Pouring them both a glass of white wine, Karen pondered his enquiry. She couldn't immediately think of anyone she knew who could play the violin, apart from John himself. Picking up her address book, she began to flip through its pages, hoping to hit on some inspiration. Halting on the phone number for one, very familiar couple, she smiled. "I didn't think I could, but I might just be able to meet your demands." John smirked at her attempt at flirtation. He and Karen had always been comfortable with harmlessly flirting with each other, both of them knowing that it would never again go any further. Picking up the phone, Karen dialed Cassie and Roisin's number.  
  
When Roisin answered, Karen made some minor small talk, feeling slightly guilty that she hadn't really been in touch with Cassie and Roisin too much recently, thinking that it was about time she started catching up with all her friends, not just the ones associated with George. "Roisin, you play the violin, don't you?" Karen asked, finally getting round to the reason she'd rung. "When I can find five minutes here and there, yes," Roisin answered, wondering what was coming. "Would you be interested in playing second violin in a performance of 'The Creation'?" Roisin stayed silent for a moment, mulling the possibility over. "I don't know if I'm good enough," She said, really not thinking that she was quite up to that sort of standard. "Would you like to find out if you are?" Karen asked persuasively, now really wanting Roisin to take part in this. "Well, yes, I suppose I would, but how?" "Are you busy, right now I mean?" "No, not really. Michael's quite capable of doing his homework without me, And Cassie can do the ironing for a change." Karen smiled. "Do you want to come over, so that our resident leader can decide if you're up to the job?" "What aren't you telling me?" Roisin asked suspiciously. "Nothing bad, I promise," Karen said with a little laugh. "I don't have my violin though, it's in for a service." Putting her hand over the receiver, Karen looked towards John. "Do you have your violin with you?" "Yes, it's in the car. I don't go anywhere without it these days." "Could Roisin borrow it, just to see if she wants to join us?" Then, at John's slight hesitation, she added, "She will be gentle with it, I promise." At John's nod, Karen removed her hand and said, "We have one you can borrow." "You really want me to do this, don't you?" Roisin asked, praying that she could live up to Karen's faith in her. "Only if you want to do it," Karen said soberly. "I haven't played in an orchestra since I was at school," Roisin said wistfully. "Okay, I'll come over, but no promises."  
  
When she arrived, Karen went down to let her in. "Barbara told me quite a lot about this on Sunday," Roisin said in greeting. "I took Michael and Niamh to church, and we got talking about it afterwards." "I thought you were Catholic," Karen said in surprise. "I was, before I met Cassie," Roisin said, following her up the stairs. "But the Catholic Church isn't very welcoming of those who become sexually involved with their own sex. I've been going to Henry's church since Barbara got out and they settled here. Cassie wouldn't be seen dead in one though." When they entered the lounge, Roisin stared at John in surprise. "Now Barbara certainly didn't tell me you held the no doubt coveted position of leader." John moved forward to shake her hand. "For once, my reputation doesn't precede me," He said with a smile. "Babs said that Grayling's singing Adam," Roisin said, turning her gaze on Karen. "Yes, and a very good one he's going to make," Karen replied with a smile. "He was really quite a surprise." Spying John's violin on the table, which he'd fetched from the car before her arrival, Roisin asked, "So, what do you want me to cut my teeth on?" John picked up Karen's copy of the score that she'd been practicing from, and handed it to her. "Take your pick," He said, gently lifting his violin from it's case, running his hand lovingly along the strings, and feeling a sense of brief betrayal that he was letting another play his most prized possession. Flipping through the score, Roisin selected something that neither looked too difficult, nor too easy. She wanted to show what she could do, without making a complete fool of herself. Turning to the page she wanted, she propped the score on Karen's music stand. When John carefully handed her his violin, Roisin took it with all the delicate control, of one who knew how to properly cherish a magnificent object. "That's a beautiful instrument you have there," She said, sliding it under her chin, and fitting her left hand around its neck. When John handed her the stunningly crafted bow, Roisin took a moment or two to warm up, getting herself used to the sound and feel of someone else's treasure. She could smell the lingering aroma of John's aftershave, from where the violin must regularly come into contact with his neck.  
  
John stood by her shoulder, watching as her bow slid confidently over the strings of his instrument, creating, to his amazement, an entirely different sound to that he usually made. It wasn't better, it wasn't substandard, it was just different. It quivered slightly, the hint of vibrato barely perceptible beneath the surface notes. John turned pages for her whenever necessary, leaving her hands completely free to manipulate string and bow. After giving her a moment to settle down, Karen lifted her viola and joined her, providing a slightly disconnected feeling, with the two most understated string parts, suddenly taking all the limelight. After almost half of the aria Roisin had chosen, John held up a hand to stop them. "Would you like to join us?" He asked, looking Roisin right in the eye. "Yes, I would," She said, feeling the tingling of anticipation flowing through her body. "Then we'll be very pleased to have you," John said with a smile, thinking that his day had just got an awful lot better. "Thank you," Roisin said, handing his violin back to him. "It's a very long time since I got involved with something like this."  
  
A little while later when John left, Karen walked out to his car with him. "Keep your hands off her, John," She said quietly, as he slid behind the wheel. "You're talking as though I had intentions of doing the opposite," He said carefully. "I saw that smile, when you asked her if she wanted to join us," Karen said knowingly. "I'm just asking you not to go there, that's all." "And you have my word, that I won't," John said deliberately. "And we both know just how fickle your word can be," Karen reminded him, turning to walk back inside before he could contradict her.  
  
Once back upstairs, she poured Roisin a glass of wine and refilled her own. "I think I'm going to enjoy this," Roisin said, putting down the score and accepting the glass. "If the first rehearsal was anything to go by," Karen said, lighting a cigarette. "You definitely will." "I probably shouldn't say it," Roisin said self-deprecatingly. "But I think it might do me good to do something that doesn't involve Cassie." "Is everything all right with you two?" Karen asked in concern. "Oh, everything's fine, couldn't be better. Well, apart from Lauren being in prison for the next few months. But I sometimes think we do too much that involves each other, if that makes any sense." "They say a change is as good as a rest," Karen said, taking a long drag. "I love Cass to bits," Roisin insisted, lighting a cigarette of her own. "But I know that doing something apart from her won't do either of us any harm." "I'm sorry I haven't been in touch a lot lately," Karen said regretfully. "How is the job?" Roisin asked, knowing how day to day occurrences could take over one's entire life. "It's great, well, most of it. But sometimes I find that I've barely got time to catch up with the ironing, never mind spend time with friends. Even George has to battle through the paperwork to spend some time with me these days." "How's it going with her?" "When I see her, it's wonderful, couldn't possibly be better." "And what's she like as Eve? Babs did tell me that much." "She's incredible, sings like an angel." "Oh, and that wouldn't be a touch of bias in there by any chance, now would it?" Roisin said with a smirk. "Possibly," Karen admitted. "But she is perfect as Eve." "We saw Yvonne the other day," Roisin said carefully, knowing she had to introduce this topic at some point. "How is she?" Karen asked, just as carefully. "She misses you," Roisin said simply. "I know," Karen said regretfully. "And you don't know just how much I wish there was something I could do about that." "Sweetheart, I didn't say it to make you feel guilty," Roisin said gently. "That's just how it is. She's not angry with you for moving on, for getting on with your life and finding someone new, she just misses you, and though she didn't actually say it, I think she'd like to see you." "Suggestion received and acknowledged," Karen replied, thinking that some time in the next week or two, see Yvonne she must, and see Yvonne she would. She knew she'd neglected everyone but those under her immediate concern over the last few weeks, but that was no excuse. She needed to start reassessing her priorities, putting some of her good intentions into practice, rather than simply using them to pave the proverbial road to hell. 


	84. Part Eighty Four

Part Eighty-Four  
  
Roisin couldn't believe what had happened to her. Only that day, she had done her day to day job at the local school which saw her as respectably anonymous as any other woman of her age. She had picked up the phone while she had just finished sewing a button on Niamh's school blouse and had been transported out to Karen's flat as if by magic carpet. Someone looking a lot like her had seen her when she had picked up John's violin and had coaxed sounds out of it that was better than she knew that she could play. There was something in her that could be very nervous of situations and yet when push came to shove, she could rise to the occasion. She knew that she was going to be part of something new in her life, as new in its way as the way she had first laid eyes on Cassie Tyler in that special way that took her by surprise as much as anything. She knew also that the many demands on her life hadn't smothered that love of music, which had held her in its thrall from way back when. On her way home, the practical side of her had started working out the implications of the commitment that she had made to Karen in a romantic artistic passionate declaration to life itself. Or so it seemed to Roisin as she had inwardly listened to herself.  
Of course, it would cut into her spare time and that latent anxiety in her worried if she would be able to do it proper justice along with everything else in her life. Most of all, she would need to talk with Cassie and the children.  
By the time she had returned, the children were safely tucked up into bed and Cassie was reading a magazine with the television turned down low.  
"So who's this tall dark stranger who's spirited you away?" Cassie's lighthearted joke was totally relaxed judging from the way she stood up and kissed her.  
"Nearly right, Cassie, only she was fair haired and her name is Karen. I've been invited to play second violin in an orchestra in a performance of "The Creation," Roisin answered with a brilliant smile and a breathless rush of words.  
This went over Cassie's head. "You mean, babe, that Karen had a crystal ball, thought to herself, we're a violinist short and figured that you fit the bill and can play this gig with them." "Something like that, sweetheart." "So who's the leader of the gang?" Cassie enquired in her best flippant manner. In reality, she was taking a leaf out of the Book of Maturity, which she had done a crash course on since she and Roisin had started living together. She needed to find out more information to get her head round a novel situation and so asking questions in a non-threatening manner seemed the best tack.  
"John Deed, the judge you know." "Sounds right." "He's first violinist and is in charge of the orchestra. Karen was there and she played viola with me." Roisin hesitated for a second and Cassie figured that she needed to be sat down and to talk when she was feeling at her most physically relaxed. She ran her hand gently along Roisin's arm.  
"You pour us a drink each, we'll cuddle up on the sofa and you talk while I listen." With a huge feeling of relief, Roisin lay back and cuddled close to Cassie and carried on at a more leisurely pace.  
"You really, really want to do this, babes?" She asked gently.  
"I really, really want to do this. You've heard me play occasionally on a Sunday when both the children are sleeping at their friends house and we have time to ourselves when we have finally got out of bed." "Don't I know," Cassie said smugly when she recalled that a house without children made for more passionate lovemaking than usual. It was later on in the day that Roisin felt the desire to transform that feeling of blissful contentment into a different form. The music wasn't Cassie's cup of tea if she had heard it on the radio but, somehow heard in the sanctuary of their house, it was starting to grow on her. It made Roisin happy and that was the main thing.  
"So who else is in the band. I mean tell us all the hot gossip," Cassie teased.  
"Mr. Grayling is in it. He's going to play the part of Adam." "Grayling?" chorussed Cassie in utter surprise and incredulity.  
"The part of Adam is that of the male bass singer," Explained Roisin. "He is taking one of the three main singing parts and very demanding it is too, from what I remember. Karen spoke very highly of him." "We knew he had one hidden side to his personality when he was at Larkhall and he seemed heartless, pretty useless and having a strange choice in boyfriends. Ah well, there's no accounting for people," Cassie concluded, coming out with one of her mother's proverbs that she had always despised as totally mindless and typical grown up rubbish.  
"It sounds really promising, Cassie. If you want an idea of what it is going to be like, I've always got the CD of the performance if you want to borrow it." "Maybe, Roisin," Cassie played for time, her insatiable curiosity competing for a type of music which didn't do anything for her. She had her image to live up to, and that was very worrying.  
"But I'll go and see you perform. Me and the kids." Roisin beamed at her. This was a very generous offer from Cassie which she had offered lightly but which Roisin knew was absolutely genuine and could be utterly depended on. She would put her weight into encouraging the children to see them when Michael was at an age when he was starting to get self conscious at being around either one of his parents or both in front of his friends. It was so different when she had to contend with Aiden's pig headed, unreasoning refusal to back her up.  
"So what about the judge? You'll be working with him quite a bit, I guess." "To some extent, Cassie. However, he won't be coaching me one to one on every little detail. Believe you me, I wouldn't have been taken on if they thought I was a beginner. He's got the rest of the orchestra to look after, I imagine. I'll know more when I go to the first proper rehearsal. He was very kind and helpful without suffocating me. I hate anyone crowding me while I'm playing." "So what does it involve, Roash?" Cassie said, slightly relieved. From her detached viewpoint, the man seemed to be an attractive older guy for those that that liked that kind. "It will mean some rehearsals, possibly quite a few. I'll have to find out more. It might mean that you will have to do the ironing once in a while." "You can't mean that, Roash. I hate ironing. I get all the crease marks going all wonky. The kids will only moan at me," Complained Cassie in that wheedling, childlike tone of voice. Roisin burst into laughter at the expression on her face. While they had always shared the jobs round the house pretty equally, ironing was something Cassie had always balked at, declaring she was hopeless at it.  
"Well, now's the time to learn, Cassie Tyler," she declared laughingly. Spotting out of the corner of her eye a pile of freshly washed clothes, which she had picked out to iron that very night and would have done if she hadn't had the phone call. Everything in the house was fine and the children were peacefully in bed. She had managed to clear up, the first time one of the children was sick and now she could manage this one.  
Sighing, Cassie followed her destiny, painfully aware that her obcenely domesticated mother was looking over her shoulder. She had grown up in rebellion as the party girl, clothes strewn over the floor and proud of her ignorance at sewing and cooking. There were dry cleaners and eating out places around town in her life as a single woman. She might as well make her own bloody choice and learn to do it right, much as she had learnt a lot these last few years. It was not much to help her girlfriend pursue her dreams and Roisin wasn't going to look elsewhere than her. She was confident that she was the dream lover for a woman not to worry about her. Narcissism wasn't such a deadly sin after all if it kept jealousy at bay. 


	85. Part Eighty Five

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part Eighty-Five

On the Wednesday morning, Karen went into work with a feeling of determination and hidden zeal. Reassessing her priorities would be her one resolution for the new financial year. Well, it was only the middle of April, so she wouldn't be too late in starting. The important thing on her list for today, was a meeting with Denny, Gina as her Wing Governor, and Dominic as her personal officer. They would be discussing the possibility of Denny going to visit Shell. Karen would want to know everything that had happened over the last couple of weeks that had included Denny, plus any explanations, excuses, or protests of innocence from Denny herself. If all had gone reasonably well, Karen would be making it abundantly clear to Denny, just how exemplary she expected Denny's behaviour to remain over the next month. Counting on Denny behaving for a longer period of time than this would be completely pointless. Any inmate could really only deal with small increments of time, their days being so long and tedious, that an event more than a few weeks away could seem to be years in the distance. As Karen began planning everything she would say to Denny later that morning, it dawned on her that Denny's impending visit to Shell, might provide Karen with a perfectly innocuous reason for talking to Yvonne. She wanted to see how Yvonne was holding up, and discussing something as plausible as either Denny's or Lauren's progress provided her with the ideal excuse.

At eleven o'clock that morning, Gina appeared in her office, accompanied by Denny and Dominic. One philosophy that Karen was very keen to implement, was the involvement of prisoners in the decisions that were being made about them. This would eventually span from possible transfers, (except when any ghosting might be necessary), to raise in status or promotion to red band, and possibly even as far as reassigning an inmate's security category. So, as the decision to allow Denny to visit Shell would have a direct impact on Denny, it surely meant that Denny herself should be involved in the discussion. It had long been Karen's experience that if an inmate were made to feel in as much control as possible, they were far more likely to co-operate. "So, Denny, how's things?" Karen began, once she'd arranged for her secretary to bring them some coffee, a luxury that was yet another new thing to be accorded a prisoner in a meeting with her number one. "Same as usual, Miss," Denny replied, wanting to be as positive as possible, but knowing that Karen wouldn't believe any bullshit. "So, no lasting effects from April Fools day, then?" Denny couldn't quite meet Karen's eyes. "No, Miss. What about you?" "You'd have been down the block, all four of you, if there had been," Karen replied firmly. "And do you realise, that your, admittedly brilliantly thought out escapade, could have resulted in you not being allowed to visit Shell?" "Shit!" Denny said in heart felt self-recrimination. "I didn't think about that." "And can you give me a satisfactory reason why I shouldn't now tell you, that your highly unusual request will be given a very firm no?" "It weren't only me who did that," Denny protested in offended dignity. "No, I know that," Karen said fairly. "But at the moment, it is only you who is asking for a particularly special privilege." "So, is that it then?" Denny asked miserably. "No," Karen told her, finally relenting. "But I wanted you to understand what the possible consequences could have been. I am not the sort of governing governor, who is going to object to a very successful practical joke once in a while, though I would appreciate it if the next one managed to stay on the right side of the law." Denny couldn't help smiling. "Other than that, and the little mishap in February," Put in Gina. "Denny's pretty much kept her nose clean for quite a long time." "That is something you should be quite clear on," Dominic elaborated. "I knew Denny in the old days, when fighting, bullying and drug dealing were every day occurrences. The Denny sitting here now, doesn't bear any resemblance to the Denny of a few years ago." Denny blushed under his compliment. "I'm pleased to hear it," Karen said, still not showing her hand. "But I need some proof that you're not going to ever even think of sliding back into your old ways. I'm putting myself on the line for you here, Denny, and if you screw up, it'll be my head on the block as well as yours. No doubt you can remember the red tape we had to go through, in order for you to have your inter-prison visit with Shaz," She added a lot more gently. "So, you'll appreciate that this is going to take a lot more organising, especially considering the fact that you and Shell aren't even involved." "I ain't just doing this for me, Miss," Denny said sincerely. "I know Shell, and I know she'll be going mad in that place, if she ain't gone that way already. I've got something to get out for now, when I never thought I would have again, not after Shaz. I guess I just want Shell to have something to get out of there for, even if it is only to come back here." Karen was touched by Denny's little speech, knowing how much it must have cost her to say it. "I have talked to Shell's psychiatrist, and you'll be pleased to know that he agrees with you," Karen said with a wry smile. "He is all in favour of you going to see her, so it's just area who I have to convince." "You mean Grayling?" Denny asked succinctly. "Yes, and if I know Mr. Grayling, he may want to talk to you about this too. Seeing as we're both in relatively new jobs, neither of us are going to take any risks that this might be the wrong thing to do. However, while I am pleading your cause with whoever necessary, I want a few guarantees from you. For the next month, I don't want one, single, bad report about you, not one. That's no fighting, no winding up Mrs. Hollandby, no stealing, and definitely no drugs. You've done well on the frequent testing programme so far, and you're going to stay on it for the time being. Any more dope-laced cookies, for example, and you can forget it." "I'll do my best, Miss. I promise, I'll be good." Karen could hear the clear intention to attempt to do so in Denny's voice, and simply hoped for both their sakes that Denny could fulfill her side of the bargain.

A little while later, when all business involving Denny had been discussed, Karen rang down to G wing for someone to escort Denny back, so that she could continue talking to Gina and Dominic about other inmates. But when she'd closed the door behind Denny, and was in the process of lighting another cigarette, Dominic regarded her shrewdly. "You're thinking of bringing Shell back here, aren't you," He said, not sounding all that enthusiastic about it. "I haven't decided. Why?" "Because that would be the worst thing you could ever do, for Larkhall, for your career prospects, and definitely for us officers. You know I never side with Sylvia, but I would be in absolute agreement with her on this." Karen watched him thoughtfully. She liked Dominic, because he was honest, hard-working, and because if he had something to say, he came out and said it, instead of chuntering behind her back as the likes of Di and Sylvia always did. "Let's get two things straight, shall we?" Karen eventually replied, trying to keep any anger out of her voice, but maintaining an exterior with the texture of diamond. "First, for it to even be considered to allow Shell Dockley to come back here, she would have to make a vast improvement, both in her mental stability and her offending behaviour. Second, area, in particular Grayling, would have my guts for garters if I even suggested something so maverick and unprecedented. I have only been in the job five minutes, Dominic, and any decision I make with regards to the future of any inmate in my care, will be reviewed carefully and thoroughly, and taking into account the thoughts and feelings of every person involved, including any relevant officers. Do I make myself clear?" "I know you, Karen," Dominic persisted. "And I know how guilty you felt about everything Fenner did to Shell, including getting her sectioned and shipped out, not to mention having her baby taken away from her." Karen couldn't believe she was hearing this. "Dominic, this conversation is closed," She said firmly, a slight flush staining her cheeks, because she knew he was absolutely right. "Gina, you've got to back me up on this," Dominic insisted, finally remember that his immediate superior was in the room, and unwilling to let the rat escape from his terrier-like jaws. "Oy, you fight your own bloody battles," Gina replied, seeing that Dominic had clearly touched a nerve. "Just be careful, that's all," Dominic finished a little lamely. "Thank you for the sentiment," Karen said bitterly. "Dominic, go back to the wing," Gina said, sounding perfectly calm though clearly inviting no argument. Knowing when he was beaten, Dominic got up and left. When he'd gone, Gina watched Karen as she furiously ground her cigarette out in the ashtray. "Is he right?" She asked. "Is that what you've got on the cards?" "Would it be such a bad thing if I did?" Karen replied, sending the question back to Gina. "Depends on your motives, and how successful you think we'd be at containing and rehabilitating someone like her." "And what would your immediate reaction be if I said I was considering it as a long term goal?" "I know Dockley more by repute than by experience," Gina said fairly. "I wasn't here long before she and Denny escaped, and I wasn't here when she got caught in Amsterdam. So, I haven't got all that much to go on really." "You're definitely turning into real Wing Governor material, you know," Karen said with a smile, neatly changing the subject. "You're developing the knack for sincere tact and diplomacy, something I never thought I would come to see in you." 


	86. Part Eighty Six

Part Eighty-Six  
  
"Well, daddy, if I'm conducting the orchestra, then they had jolly well better behave themselves," George exclaimed very emphatically. She had a glint in her eye that was not altogether mischievous. Joe knew this look of old and nearly spluttered a mouthful of tea, which he had just drunk from the fine porcelain china cup. This was a tradition which George observed as he was well known to scorn the ghastly modern habit of drinking out of mugs, and what was worse, coffee instead of a decent cup of tea.  
He mumbled under his breath "That's what I was afraid of." "What was that you just said, daddy?" Came George's bright reply, etching its climb up and down the musical scale. She chose to simulate temporary deafness to amuse herself at her long-suffering father's expense.  
"I've a bill that hasn't been paid," Lied Joe with an ingratiating smile gesturing vaguely in mid air. He wasn't at his home but George's which made his words sound especially lame.  
George let that go with a mischievous smile on her face, anticipating that delicious feeling of rightful control. It helped to spice up her day.  
"Thinking it over carefully," coughed Joe nervously, "perhaps you ought to ease yourself in gradually with a small scale rehearsal to find your feet, so to speak." "Excellent," George's cool smile of approval reassured and surprised him. He had anticipated a battle, the attempt of the nearly irresistible force meeting the immovable object head on, and one besides with an unfortunately and expensively acquired education in English. "What do you have in mind?" "Well, er," improvised Joe, thinking fast on his feet, "It would be helpful for you to work with a string section of, let me say, two violins, a viola and a cello. This will reproduce on a small scale what you will find conducting the full orchestra."  
"Would that be John, Karen, Jo and Roisin?" pursued George in a leisurely fashion.  
"I was thinking something along those lines." "Hmmm, I think I could whip them into shape," She grinned, her voice drawling meditatively and with relish.  
  
George reached for her tiny cordless phone and pressed a sequence of buttons in a leisurely way to conceal her eagerness to get the show on the road.  
  
John was listening to the CD of Haydn's "Creation" for inspiration and was mentally there in the music in his place as first violinist when the insistent phone call that must have lasted twenty seconds finally broke through his intense concentration. His first stray thought had been that he had had a singularly inept performance foisted on him where some wretched musician had been allowed to play that same horrendous repetitive figure which disturbed the balance and the serene unity of the famous composer's musical genius. Whoever was phoning must be very determined, he had rightly thought and he was to be proved right. "John darling, I need you to come over and help me out with a little project. Nothing too demanding, as long as you behave yourself." George couldn't resist that little dig at the end where the tone of her voice arched up and down the scales with her usual articulation. She smiled with satisfaction as she heard the audible wince from the other end of the phone. This was not quite the fairly light hearted verbal sparring which the last year or so had seen develop between them as they had got closer. In turn, John hesitated before inviting George to enlighten him as to her cryptic invitation.  
  
"So what other victims are you intending leading to the slaughter?" he eventually enquired as his idiosyncratic sense of duty was engaged.  
"Nonsense, John, I shall radiate charm and expertise. To answer your question, Jo, Karen and Roisin have agreed to come along for the ride." John didn't pursue the matter further and, after signing off, reached for his beloved Stradivarius and placed it in his grey soft-top convertible and drove to Jo's flat to help manhandle her bulkier instrument into the back seat. In turn, Karen set off in her MG sports car without her very full brief case. For all of them, it was a change for them to be without their usual tools of their trade. Temporarily the instruments of another calling accompanied them and removed them from their day to day existence.  
  
Roisin found herself in George's front hall at the same time as Karen appeared.  
"Roisin, my father's here," George's unusually low pitched voice and slightly raised eyebrows greeted her.  
Instantly, Roisin got the message. She had spent the last year or more in the company of Cassie and had got to the point that company of women with women had seemed the natural order of existence of what went on all around them. These words were a wake up call to the fact that in other households, other worlds, that this was not so.  
"I must say hello to him, George," Roisin answered in her best style of polite, drawing room conversation that she knew how to assume if need be. Joe Channing appeared in the near distance through the open door to the sitting room. He was eager to ensure that everyone had turned up on time and was evidently pleased that everyone was punctual.  
"I'll come with you, Roisin," Karen kindly offered. In the rapid concourse of greetings and of people moving in different directions, John joined the two women and accompanied them to talk to Joe in the sitting room. He had been fussing with the layout of the music stands to arrange them to his satisfaction. He had discreetly stolen back some of his authority which he had let George temporarily usurp.  
  
In the meantime, George flushed with embarrassment as Jo appeared last of all through her front door from behind her bulky cello. She gestured to her to go into the kitchen while the others went into the sitting room, which had been transformed into a music studio. She was determined to talk to Jo and sort out the matter that had been whirling round in her thoughts since she saw her. Her debut performance as conductor was an additional reason for her to want to settle her mind. George's rapid walking pace was a reflection of her agitated frame of mind as she outpaced Jo to the kitchen.  
"Calm down, George," came Jo's immensely comforting soothing tones as she shut the door behind them. "You don't have to worry about the immature and adolescent games that John was playing with both of us last time I saw you." "What do you mean?" came George's defensive reply as she was by no means sure exactly what it was that Jo had guessed about herself, not John. She was afraid that Jo was skating over implications that were obvious to her just to be nice to her and that it wasn't somehow real. The prospect with John had maddeningly teased her with what was all too attractive even though it was impossible. Whatever must Jo really think of her?  
Jo immediately saw that she had rather jumped the gun and that what she saw her words outstrip the meanings, which she was trying to get over. She had telescoped her spoken train of thought and she ought to change tack and take matters more slowly.  
"What I mean is, that it was perfectly obvious how you felt about the prospect that we should spend the night with John. I wanted to let you know that what you felt about the idea didn't worry me." "You mean it?" came George's near identical question, decisively rearranged.  
"Why should it?" Came the utterly calm matterof-fact reply. "It's sweet of you to be worried for me, George. My problem with John was that he couldn't see how everyone felt about his idea or else chose not to think about it. Sometimes, John isn't good at understanding and responding to delicacy of feeling.  
"Oh, that's John all right." "What I really meant to say was that I perfectly understood why you walked out of the situation. It was the wisest thing you could have done in the circumstances. Am I right?" George was speechless as her mind was racing to come up to speed with those incredibly vital sentences. It was immeasurably comforting to hear Jo validate her own feelings "We're good friends now. A long time ago, we've got past the point of playing games with each other." "To tell you the truth, I felt utterly pathetic and stupid," George confessed frankly as Jo's alternative reality of that event started to become real to her.  
"There's no need to feel bad about it. Everyone has choices. That's something that I learned years ago and has always stayed with me."  
George was amazed to hear Jo talk so freely and openly about herself with no sense of embarrassment. However she knew that Jo envied her in being supposedly a better lover than she thought she was, there was something in Jo's style that she had never put her finger on till today which caused her to admire her in turn.  
  
"Is there time to sneak a quick cigarette on the terrace before we start? This is my one relapse before I have to go back on the waggon." George questioned, even though it was her house. The laughably solitary manifestation of John's puritan side of his personality imposed itself everywhere even if he wasn't in the room.  
"If it will help you, George, then yes," Jo grinned.  
George gave Jo a quick affectionate hug and they strolled out onto the patio.  
"Come on, George. We must make a start," boomed Joe, looking at his watch, and he opened the way to what was now the music room. George and Jo had sneaked back unobtrusively while conversation was in full flow. Roisin felt a little shy and had hung back reticently in the general conversation which had relaxed them into the right frame of mind. Despite recent practice and her own desire to play, she could not help worrying now the time came to performing in a larger, more formal setting than before. Next step, the Albert Hall, her fears told her. "You don't need to worry, Roisin," John murmured kindly, sensing her visible nerves. "It's my card that has been marked." "George will be very kind to you. She'll be keeping a stern eye on John." added Jo, smiling as she sensed that discreet backup support would help.  
"Just what I want," John sighed in response.  
"Everyone comfortable?" George enquired as a formality, picking up her baton. "We'll take it from number 22." Jo's loose fitting trouser suit enabled her to cradle the cello comfortably, and use the spike to position it comfortably. In turn, Karen was equally at home with her smaller viola. Even fairly casually dressed in trousers and open white shirt, John conveyed that ostentatious air of showmanship while Roisin nervously wedged her violin against her chin, anxious to be ready yet to follow and hide behind John's lead. In front of them, George stood poised as she assumed her position, her arm outstretched and her baton in her hand. She hesitated for a second as she drew into herself all the powers of concentration and the decisive downstroke of her baton cued in her orchestra.  
  
Suddenly out of nowhere, the preliminary sketch of the full orchestral feel of smooth banks of the string section filled the air. Roisin admired it as a miraculous ensemble even as much as the smooth sweep of her bow described added to the flowing tones. With one eye on the sheet music, she surely tuned herself in to the music and all her remaining doubts were dissolved away by the power of the music. This was, after all, the ultimate promise fulfilled of all those years ago when she had spent so many Wednesday afternoons dutifully mastering the ability to translate all the crotchets and quavers from the written page and coax the sounds from her left fingers pressed down on the fretboard and the bow that her right hand coaxed lightly from those four nylon strings. It made up for the sneaking envy she had felt of all her friends who were out there playing. This was the payoff from all the hours she had seemingly sacrificed. To one side of her, the sonorous, flexible sound of Jo's cello provided that rock solid steadiness, that necessary foundation to the quartet that she and the other members of the orchestra knew from that other life they all led. Midway between them, Karen's viola discreetly stayed in the background and securely held the space safe in that distance between high and low. George's sure ear picked every detail out in stereo sound as her baton described the music, which she was surely in the middle of. Her ear picked out the assemblage of sounds and how they interacted against each other. Even at a moment of utter concentration, she could not help notice John's studiously earnest manner and the unobtrusive way that he subtly led the intertwining lead in their musical journey. Together, they found their way triumphantly home as they came to a rest in that breathing space which all of them knew would be in that charted spot in that marked place in that orchestral score.  
  
"Can we have another try at that piece. There was something in there that was not quite right. Besides." She smiled disarmingly, "It would do me good to thoroughly rehearse being your stand in conductor in rehearsals while daddy is away and the critics would be out to snipe at me." With a good grace, the members of the orchestra turned the pages back to the beginning and launched into the piece, more certain this time of the twists and turns that the music demanded of them. They all felt more confident in their playing, in the musical understanding between them that they rode the piece triumphantly to its conclusion. Somehow they had all recharged themselves which a lazy Sunday would normally have done the same by taking it easy.  
  
"That was splendid," Joe's voice boomed out as the piece drew to a close. "I do believe that everyone is making more of an effort than I dreamed was possible." "You mean, Joe, that when you see us in our everyday clothes, it's hard to conceive that we are all capable of another identity," John dryly cut in.  
"Something like that, John," Joe smiled that rare smile at him. Even in that way, something was starting to change.  
The spirits between them were flowing over of good fellowship and Roisin now found that she was drawn out of herself and her natural sociability to the fore.  
"Surely George's house looks just quite like Yvonne's, don't you think?" John had been laughing away to some witticism tossed out by Karen, feeling at his most relaxed when this attractive dark haired Irishwoman lobbed this very dangerous googly right when he was least expecting it. It gave him that feeling of being at a school cricket match when one split second thought of action lay between him and, metaphorically, his stumps splayed out in all direction as his defences lay wide open. Ever since that period, he had known how to cover up and his instincts remained sure and certain over time. "I think you must be mistaken, Roisin. If I remember rightly, I have never been to Yvonne's house or had cause to go there, thoroughly admirable woman though she is." John's blue eyes looked at Roisin in a fixed stare while his voice was low pitched.  
"My apologies, John. I must have made a mistake….." Roisin felt immediately uncomfortable and was immensely grateful that the chatter of conversation around her covered up for her. She grasped urgently for a swift change of conversation, a ploy which she had found useful on more than one occasion with her children.  
"This has been the first time that I have played in anything like an orchestra and certainly with another violin player who is so obviously talented." Immediately John smiled, almost visibly purring like a cat that has been tickled under his ear. "A well played violin, is a treat from the gods," She elaborated.  
Despite the lateness of the day, John dug deep into the ancient recesses of his memory as the connection with his childhood hero, Sherlock Holmes, came to him out of nowhere. Despite the way that his memory had been taxed over the years by the necessity of his calling, those stories had been irrevocably laid down in his childhood memories forever and could be recalled at any minute. "I could swear that you know where those words come from," He exclaimed. He was genuinely surprised as he had always supposed that Sherlock Holmes enthusiasts were invariably male. It was extraordinary that Roisin obviously knew this line.  
"Sherlock Holmes, "A study in Scarlett," Explained Roisin. "My son Michael is reading "A Study in Scarlet" in school and both Cassie and I make it our practice to keep up with whatever our children are reading. I like the story for its own sake and I can still remember the way that Sherlock Holmes explained what had led him to identify Jefferson Hope, though my heart went out to him for why he had killed the man for what had happened to his poor dear departed fiancee……but I like it for the detection work of Sherlock Holmes himself." Roisin had struck the right note. While there was obviously a strong romantic streak in her, she had read the stories for entirely the right reasons. He was a purist in such matters. It enabled Roisin and John to get into a spirited discussion on parenting on which they had a lot in common.  
"John, can we have a moment?" George politely asked. She felt utterly relaxed and centred after the performance and felt that she could handle anything, which Jo's kindly intervention had helped immeasurably.  
"He's all yours," Roisin said with a gracious smile. The whole day was a real novelty for her, what with the realisation of her musical dreams and a conversation with an attractive man who was a real charmer.  
"Is this something I should be afraid of?" he enquired in a rather too elaborate manner as he took in the smiles on both Jo's and George's faces. There were, he reflected, certain disadvantages personal to him now that Jo and George got on so well.  
"George and I were having a little heart to heart," began Jo in her silkiest tones. "And we really ought to be all friends and behave like friends." "Quite," Came his guarded reply.  
"And you really didn't behave like one when George came round last week, as she had the perfect right to expect of you. It isn't a good idea to make a proposition of us all spending the night together, when you should have known that would have made George feel uncomfortable, not that it was any problem for me, being fairly broad minded." "Well, that's frank," John temporised.  
"John, darling, you know that I know you of old, even older than Jo does, and that is your first gambit in dodging any issue. You have, I recall, ten more strategies I can think of off the top of my head," George's amused tones broke in. In reality, her humour was skin deep.  
"Look here, whatever I may have done wrong, this is hardly the place for debating it, not with your father around," John said in a slightly agitated fashion, seeing that his cover was blown.  
"Poor darling," George's casual drawl turned this gambit back on itself. "Are you worried that daddy will come out and horsewhip you for your caddish behaviour?" "Yes I am as a matter of fact. All right, I promise to behave myself better in future. Will that satisfy you?" A silence hung on the air as John's plea hung in the balance.  
"All right, I really am sorry. Now can we please be friends?" "You looked really worried. If we are to share your affections, John, then please make it easy for us as well," Jo asked softly, ever the diplomat.  
John looked at the two women. If only his life were as simple in settling down with the one woman who would satisfy him. He had both a fear and a liking for the fact that this would never be. He was forced to listen to the justice of the case put before him and he had to admit that he had made an error of judgement. In turn, both Jo and George realised that this was as much of an apology as they were ever going to extract out of this impossible man and that they really couldn't resist John's plea.  
"I think we should go through and relax after all we've achieved between us," Jo's soft measured tones diplomatically eased the situation in the same way that her cello playing had been rock bottom reliable. In this, they were all agreed to savour the leisure moments of a lazy Sunday afternoon. 


	87. Part Eighty Seven

A/N: Betaed by Jen, and definitely rated 18.)

Part Eighty-Seven

When both Roisin and Joe Channing had gone, the four of them settled themselves down in the lounge to watch a film on TV, the sudden spring rain making anything else impossible. "I like Roisin," John said as he and Jo lay comfortably back on the sofa. "She's fun." "And happily ensconced with a woman and two children," George replied knowingly, her and Karen snuggling up in the enormous armchair that had secretly always been George's favourite piece of furniture. "You're so suspicious of my motives," John quipped back, tucking his arm under Jo as they lay along the sofa facing the TV. "And do you blame me?" George asked, ever the one to have the last word. As the film began, and as they all began to relax, George thought that she couldn't possibly be happier. Here she was, leaning comfortably up against Karen, each with an arm around the other, spending an afternoon with three of the most special people in her life, and feeling wholly at ease with who she was. In the company of John and Jo, it didn't matter that she was sexually involved with one of her own sex. If either of them saw her show any sign of affection for Karen, that didn't matter either. With John, Jo and Karen around her, she could allow herself to be the woman she wanted to be, and could abandon the half-false persona it was necessary for her to maintain, both with her contemporaries and with her father. But having been in Karen's company all afternoon, and not having been able to touch or to kiss her because of the presence of her father, George was already visibly frustrated. Karen could feel the tension in George's body, the need to express herself clearly humming along her nerves. "You look like you could come at the merest provocation," Karen said into George's ear, about three quarters of an hour into the film. "And you saying things like that is making it worse," She said through almost gritted teeth. "Why so aroused?" "Because I haven't been able to be this close to you for hours." Having her right arm round George, Karen realised that if she moved her hand slightly upwards, she could drive George even more insane than she already was. When George felt Karen's hand moving on her right breast, she just managed to stifle a gasp. "You are so naughty," George said in a deep, sotto voce drawl. Karen laughed huskily, which was the first thing to draw John's attention to them. "You like it though, don't you?" She said, grazing a thumb over George's hard and erect nipple. "What about?" George said, dropping her arm down over Karen's wandering hand and gesturing to John and Jo. "Oh, they're perfectly happy," Karen said knowingly, still keeping her voice quiet enough not to reach either Jo's or John's ears. Looking over at them, George saw that John and Jo were taking as much notice of the film on TV as she and Karen were. They were kissing, gently and lingeringly, looking more beautiful than anything George thought she had ever seen. "Don't they look enchanting?" She said softly, turning her lips to Karen's. Had her mouth not been otherwise engaged, Karen would have responded that yes, they did.

It hadn't taken Jo and John long to turn their attention from the film to each other, their physical closeness making any other consideration unimportant. But when John heard Karen's low, husky laugh, he glanced over at them to see that they were also not paying attention to what was happening on the screen. With one eye on Karen and George, he kept kissing Jo, the soft familiarity of her lips making him fully relax. It had intrigued him at first to see Karen and George together. He could remember the first time he saw them kiss. He'd held a sort of fascination for what they did together, coupled with a desire not to know too much, in case George ended up preferring women to men. He'd been a little uncomfortable with seeing them show affection for each other in the beginning, and he'd had to force himself to get used to it. George was naturally a very loving person when she was happy, he could remember that all too well from the days when they were married. So it shouldn't really have surprised him that she would be like this with Karen. But that hadn't prevented his territorial hackles from rising the first few times he witnessed such a display of affection. He knew he was being ridiculous, because George was clearly happy with what she was doing. He'd at first thought he'd hidden his feelings quite well, but George had seen right through him, as no doubt had Jo and Karen. She'd been lovely about it when she'd eventually raised the subject, wanting to know why it upset him so much. He hadn't known what to tell her, except that it was taking him a while to get used to the situation. George had been sat snugly on his lap at the time, as if to further enhance the fact that she did still want him and that she always would. All she'd really said on the subject was that she loved him, and for him never to forget that.

But now here he was, lying on the sofa with Jo in his arms, gently kissing her, and with his wandering eye fixed on Karen and George. When she shifted her position slightly, John could see that George was clearly aroused, but trying to hide it because of his and Jo's presence. If he swiveled his gaze slightly, he could just make out Karen's hand, which was definitely moving on George's right breast. "What are you looking at?" Asked Jo with a smirk. "As if I didn't know." "Nothing," John said, forcing himself to stop watching Karen and George. When he began giving Jo what Karen had moments earlier been doing to George, she made an incredibly erotic little noise, deep in her throat so as to remain as quiet as possible. But John couldn't quite prevent his attention returning to Karen and George, his hands attempting to mimic what they were doing. But Karen had taken note of John's appraisal of their position. Detaching her lips from George's, she said quietly, "I think we've got an audience." Taking a swift, discreet glance at the two on the sofa, George smirked. "Well then," She said seductively. "Perhaps it's time we really gave them something to look at." "You're quite a little exhibitionist at heart, aren't you?" Karen said grinning wickedly. "I'll put on a show for anyone," George drawled in an undertone. "If they ask nicely, that is."

Jo was well aware that John's attention kept straying back to what Karen and George were doing, and was surprised to find that it faintly excited her. She had occasionally wondered about what they did together, and she'd decided that this was perfectly natural. But to actually be a witness to it was an entirely different matter. She knew that John had often wondered about Karen and George, about what they did together, and she couldn't really blame him for that. He knew George's body better than anyone, and having once slept with Karen, knew a good deal about hers as well. Putting these facts together, Jo could quite understand John's curiosity about them. But what of her own? She could remember that night back in early March, when she'd been on the phone to George, unknowingly interrupting what they'd been doing before she rang. George had maintained a masterly act of hiding her reactions to what Karen was doing to her, but had eventually been forced to make some utterly feeble excuse to get rid of Jo. When Jo had realised, a little while later, just why George had sounded quite so distracted and inattentive, she'd blushed and laughed both in the same moment. But now here she was, lying on the sofa, being kissed and fondled by John, in the same room as Karen and George, who were clearly doing the same. If she squinted slightly, she could just see George, with the lasciviousness she usually associated with John, sliding her hand up underneath the simple black top Karen was wearing. When the outline of George's hand moving on Karen's breast became clearly visible, in spite of the supposed concealment of Karen's top, Jo gasped. Taking a quick glance at John, Jo saw that he'd seen this too, which was perhaps why he was now doing the same to her, unbuttoning her blouse, and sliding his hand under the lace of her bra, to trace the curve of her finest assets. But when John momentarily removed his gaze from Karen and George to focus on Jo, he saw with a shock, that she was just as intent on watching the other two as he was. "I didn't know you went in for voyeurism," He said very quietly between kisses. "Neither did I," Jo said dryly, not caring for the moment what he might think of her. What she was seeing in front of her was far too fascinating.

When George's keen ears picked up the sound of Jo's gasp of sheer arousal, she smirked. "I think someone might be enjoying the show a little more than she thinks she should," She said softly into Karen's ear. "I think we should test the waters, don't you?" "Oh, don't tease," Karen replied quietly, with only a hint of admonishment in her tone. "Why not, it's fun," George persisted. "I suppose you might inadvertently introduce her to an avenue of pleasure she hasn't so far explored," Karen said contemplatively. Fixing her eyes on Jo's wide open, totally enthralled ones, George took Karen's hand, and led it to the buttons of her cream silk blouse. Jo's eyes widened fractionally more as Karen began undoing the buttons, gradually exposing George's small, pointed breasts encased in a cream lace bra. Jo could see George's pupils dilating with lust, as Karen's skilful hand coaxed her nipple to full hardness, but George still held her gaze. Her look was almost challenging, testing Jo, as if wanting to see just how far Jo wanted her to go. Being the first to lower her eyes, Jo switched her gaze to George's open blouse, to Karen's still wandering hand, and to George's clearly erect nipple, just visible between Karen's long, slender fingers.

"John," Jo said after a while. "Let's go home." "Why?" He asked between kisses, thinking he already knew. "Because I'm not an exhibitionist," Jo said with a smile. "And I need to take this further." "Then your wish," John said silkily, "Is undoubtedly my command." As they untangled themselves and rose from the sofa, Jo hurriedly tried to do up the buttons on her blouse. "You two off somewhere?" George asked in a drowsy, self-satisfied voice. "Yes," John said as they passed the armchair where Karen and George were ensconced. "Jo," George said, the laughter dancing in her eyes. "Your blouse is fastened crooked." "At least mine is done up," Jo responded with a smirk, glancing down at George's cleavage, still on display for all to see.

When they'd gone, Karen and George began furthering their pursuit of passion in earnest. "You really enjoyed that, didn't you?" Karen said, as they moved of one mind towards the stairs, undoing buttons, and casting clothes aside as they went. "I found the prospect of a mini orgy, really rather tempting," George replied, in a low, husky drawl that turned Karen's arousal up to maximum. "John might have been up for it," Karen said with a knowing smile. "But I'm not sure about Jo." "Oh, trust me, all Jo needs is a push in the right direction, and a lot of encouragement. She was as turned on by our little display as John was." "You do like showing off, don't you?" Karen said, swiftly unhooking George's bra and dropping it on the landing. "If you've got it, flaunt it," George replied succinctly. "Absolutely right," Karen drawled, as their hands moved over each other's skin. With a practiced flick, the duvet was thrown aside as they fell on the bed. "Do you have any idea how much I've wanted you all afternoon?" George asked between kisses. "Judging by just how gloriously wet you are," Karen responded, slipping a hand between George's legs. "I'm surprised you haven't resorted to internal combustion." "It's all your fault," George said with a delightfully wicked little laugh. "Oh, really," Karen said knowingly. "I think it's just your insatiable greed for sexual satisfaction." "And is there anything wrong in that?" "Nothing at all," Karen assured her, as George moved out of Karen's arms, fully intent on kissing her way luxuriously down Karen's body. "Turn round," Karen said with sudden inspiration, and when George realised what she was suggesting, she did so with alacrity. Lying on their sides, lips and tongues engaged in silkily manipulating each other's clits, one might have thought that any vocal expression would have been impossible. But when Karen gently hummed, providing George with an incredible feeling of vibration, George let out a cry of abandon and almost lost her concentration. When hands were also introduced to increase and prolong their climb towards pleasure's peak, their breathing quickened, George thinking that she might just burst from all the feelings flooding her mind. Karen was always quieter than George when she came, but George's slightly strangled sound of appreciation seemed to be enough for both of them. Karen had previously wondered on occasions if this was because George was a singer, and so used to opening her throat and exercising her vocal cords, that it was second nature to her to do it at the point of orgasm. When they lay afterwards, close together with their faces only slightly apart, George waited for her breathing to return to normal. "I haven't done that since I was married," She said eventually, the post-coital grin stretching from ear to ear. "Mmm," Karen said, stretching luxuriously. "It's not something I've done for quite some time, and never with a woman." This pleased George immensely, and made her feel a lot less like an extremely gauche schoolgirl, doing everything for the first time. "You're beautiful," Karen found herself saying, the afterglow always making her say exactly what was in her mind. George put her arms round her and kissed her, both of them tasting herself on the other's lips. "You're not so bad yourself, you know," George said fondly. "I haven't been this happy for a long time." "Not even with John?" Karen persisted, giving voice to her one main insecurity where George was concerned. "That's different," George replied, touched that Karen was revealing one of her innermost worries to her. "I will always love John, because he's utterly complex, sexually my equal, and most of all, because he understands me. But being with you, it's incredible. You've unleashed a part of me I'd forgotten I had, bringing out in me a part of my soul I banished after Charlie was born. I know that sounds unbearably soppy, but that's how it is." Karen was stunned. Never, in her entire life, not in all the relationships, brief or otherwise, that she'd had with anyone, had she heard something so beautiful. Touched by Karen's total speechlessness, George strove to qualify what she'd said. "I don't think you've been appreciated anywhere near enough throughout your life," She said, kissing her gently. "So maybe it's about time you were."

When John pulled hurriedly to a stop in Jo's driveway, they were out of the car and inside the house in a matter of seconds. "You're certainly a surprise," John said, as they moved of one mind down the hall to Jo's bedroom. "Don't make fun of me, John," Jo said almost desperately, as they began furiously removing each other's clothes. "I'm not," He said between kisses. "I haven't seen you this fired up for a long time, that's all." Hands wandered at will when they met under the duvet, John discovering that her nipples were already as hard as bullets. Jo badly wanted him deep inside her, but she wasn't sure she could last long enough to make it worth his while. But John made the decision for her. He knew Jo was close, and he could easily wait. Making love with Jo was always wonderful, and he knew he could never get enough of it, but he was always a little aware of her holding something back from him. It was as if a part of her was telling her she shouldn't be doing it, as if a part of her was remaining slightly distant from her body's sexual gratification. But not so today. She had obviously found the sight and maybe the thought of George and Karen together extremely erotic, something neither he nor her had expected. When he slipped his hand between her legs, the tantalising combination of heat and wetness that greeted him, told him just how exciting she'd found the idea of Karen and George together. Her breathing quickened as he slid three fingers inside her, and moved his thumb back and forth over her clit. "You wouldn't have minded staying to see more of that, would you?" He said, briefly detaching his lips from hers. "That's not such a bad thing, is it?" She asked between gasps, knowing she would regret this admission later. "Oh, it's extremely bad," He said, his voice turning her on even more. "But not in the way you mean." She'd never admit it, especially not to him, but she occasionally loved it when he talked to her like this. It somehow made him abandon the moral high ground he inhabited in the rest of his life. John knew she liked him doing this. Jo had always found it difficult to tell him what she liked and what she wanted, but that didn't usually prevent him from working it out. "How would you feel," He said slowly, not quite sure how she would react to this. "If it were George doing this to you?" He said this as he continued moving his hand between her legs. "Too weird, even for you, John," She said, almost laughing at his question. "Besides," She clarified, "It'll never happen." As his hand increased its speed, her breathing quickened, her gasps becoming more and more frantic. "John, please," She begged, her desire for orgasm almost consuming her. She squeezed his fingers hard as she came, the force of her internal grip almost crushing them.

As she lay in his arms afterwards, her breathing gradually returning to normal, Jo knew that there had been something different about that time. Just for once, she had really let herself go, allowed herself to give in totally to her sexual desires. John knew this too, and was determined, while she was letting her guard down, to give her as much enjoyment from it as possible. "What do you think they're doing right now?" He asked, once he realised that he had her attention again. "If we'd stayed, you could have found out," She said with a smile. "Hey, what's all this I could have found out? You were just as curious as I was, if not more so." Jo began to laugh softly. "I know I'm going to regret every word I'm saying when I look back on it tomorrow, so I may as well enjoy it while it lasts." "Why should you, regret it later?" "Because that's usually how it works with things said or done in the heat of the moment." "It's really very rare that you are so open with me," He said seriously. "I wish you were like this more often." "Oh, no," She said with a theatrical shudder. "You'd discover far too much about me if I did that." "I like what I've discovered so far," He said, his eyes meeting hers in an utterly lovestruck gaze, that just for once revealed his true level of feeling for her. "Besides," he added, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You're not about to tell me that you like being tied up as well, are you?" Jo laughed. "No, I'm not. Why, who does?" "George, sometimes." Jo's fond exclamation of, "Typical," Made John smile. "Returning to your earlier question," She said, gazing at him challengingly. "Why don't you tell me what you think they're up to?" He was forced to admit that she had him over a barrel there. "Showing you would be far better for both of us," He replied, kissing her, and therefore cutting off any comment on his avoidance of actually saying it. As he kissed his way down her body, she knew exactly what was coming, and began wondering if Karen and George really did that to each other. As his tongue probed her entrance, and then swept over and around her clit, Jo remembered Karen's remark of two weeks ago. George, with her charming inability to think before she spoke, had said to John that she wasn't going down on her own, and Karen had remarked that she'd never heard George complain. As John continued giving her this delightfully sumptuous delicacy, she couldn't quite escape the vision of George doing that to Karen. What did it taste like, she wondered, and was it really possible for a woman to enjoy doing that to another? Her second orgasm, when it came, was even more powerful than the first, the picture of George and Karen accompanying her to the end. She cried out as she came, the feelings John was inducing in her, coupled with the image behind her eyes, serving to break down any barrier she had left. John didn't know what she was thinking about; at least she hoped he didn't, so it wasn't as if she was hurting anyone. If that was the case, then getting some pleasure out of the thought couldn't possibly be wrong, could it?

When he moved back to lie beside her, John could see that she was utterly relaxed. Her gaze was momentarily far away from him, dwelling on some inner fantasy. When she eventually focused her eyes on him, he was smiling softly at her. "This might be a stupid question," She said drowsily. "But precisely why do you enjoy doing that so much?" John laughed softly, remembering the occasion when he'd shown George why he did. Falling back on his philosophy of actions speak louder than words, he leant forward and kissed her, knowing that the taste of her was definitely still on his lips. "Different," Was her immediate response. "Ask George," John said succinctly. "She seems to like it." "Oh, she told you that, did she?" Jo asked knowingly. "She might have done." "John," Jo said slowly, not quite meeting his eyes. "Do you think it's terrible of me, to have found the sight and thought of them so, exciting?" She had to search for the right word. "No, of course not," John said softly. "You found the sight of George and Karen kissing and touching erotic, because it's something you'd never witnessed before. So you've found something else that you find sexy. Why should that be terrible?" "I don't know. I suppose I just feel a bit stupid, that's all." "Don't," He insisted, kissing her long and hard. "I love you, exactly the way you are, and I always will. You had absolutely no idea that you would find what they were doing such a turn on. I thought I probably would, but I didn't know you would. I'm glad you did, because it showed you how to really let your guard down with me. Do you remember when you once told me that all you'd ever wanted was to be overwhelmed, even though that was the one thing you feared?" "Yes, I think so." "So, today, in a sense, you have been overwhelmed. If not by love, then by sexual arousal, which I'm told is the next best thing." "I love you," She said, kissing him again, and this time, wanting to make him lower his guard, to make him lose control. As he fondled her breasts, she began stroking his cock, wanting to at last be one with him. When he slid inside her, she wrapped her arms and legs around him, as if desperate to keep him with her, never to let him go from her life. As he thrust himself deep into her, he buried his face in her neck, breathing in the smell of her perfume, combined with a slight aroma of cigarette smoke from her hair. He loved his Jo, every fibre of her being, every nuance of her voice, and every little quirk of her soul. It didn't matter to him that she appeared to find the idea of two women together attractive, because this was his Jo, and she couldn't ever do anything that would stop him from loving her. He held her to him, feeling the softness of her breasts against his well-muscled chest, and the slimness of her back and shoulders under his hands. When they simultaneously soared over the edge to completion, Jo briefly thought that she would like to die like this, held safe in John's arms, and being taken to heaven and back in a moment. But as they lay afterwards, their breathing returning to normal and the sweat glistening on their skin, Jo reflected that she wanted to stay very much alive. For all his faults, John loved her, needed her, and in some instances worshipped her. She didn't need to fantasise about other women, she had him. What more could a woman want? 


	88. Part Eighty Eight

A/N: "No fear, no hate, no pain, no broken hearts" by the Eurythmics

Part Eighty-Eight

Sometimes, Shell felt as if she were floating in the blank whiteness of the huge room that she was in. Of course, the eight neon strip lights geometrically lined up along the length of the ceiling shone down from their fixed, no pain, no………

She turned the music off in her head that the batty woman was singing on the radio that someone was playing. Annie something from the Eurythmics it was, that mad woman told her when she complained about the row. She could passively watch the world move past her open eyelids and look at her as she shuffled along with a blank expression on her stupid face. At that moment, Shell had no past that she could remember clearly. Her future was going to be the same as the present, which was flat, featureless and held he. Annie something from the Eurythmics it was, that mad woman told her when she complained about the row. She could passively watch the world move past her open eyelids and look at her as she shuffled along with a blank expression on her stupid face. At that moment, Shell had no past that she could remember clearly. Her future was going to be the same as the present, which was flat, featureless and held her in a vice-like grip with that cotton wool feeling. At least, that was just after they had fed her the drugs, which kept her placid and stopped her getting worked up about things.

That was what the doctor had ordered, a few days after she first came here. He could see from the admission notes that when Michelle Dockley was admitted she was in a highly disturbed yet virtually catatonic state from the moment when a prison officer on either side of her helped her to move like a puppet into the enclosed world of Ashmore. Her reactions of dissociation from the world were obvious from what the referral notes described in flat tones the enormity of her actions in trying to kill her own baby. Guilt affected people that way, to varying degrees, he reflected.  
Miss Taylor was one of the nice ones even if she was a screw. She must be as she pressed those buttons that silently opened that door and locked it after her. She found that out in the early days when she had made a rush for the door to pull it open and escape for a reason she couldn't properly remember. The frigging nurse stood there without moving while she made a fool of herself, yelling and screeching away and the door was bloody stuck and didn't move an inch. That was when she figured out that this dump was different. Where she was at her last place, they used to slam the doors shut and she could hear the bolts shut tight on her. She knew then when she was being banged up.  
"You're all right, Shell." "Yes, thank you, miss," Shell's best little girl voice answered with that blank smile. It was what they expected of her. That was what patients were expected to say but the only thing the frigging nurse never told you was when she was going to get out. This was a hospital like nothing she had seen before. She thought she could remember having one, two children, poor little mites and that hospital was different. She couldn't work out how she ever came to lose them….  
Her limbs were free and she knew she could walk if she could get off her bed and she could walk anywhere she wanted to go but she didn't feel quite like it, not right now. All but a small knotted thought deep in the bottom of her mind, so far down that she couldn't work out how deep it was in her confused mind and sometimes she forgot that it was ever there in the first place.  
"Well, you keep going on that way. You need to keep up your spirits." Miss Taylor meant well.  
Most of the other women were all right, once she made allowances and she got to know them. Sometimes, she spoke to them and got an answer that didn't quite make sense though she, too, had her off days. She supposed that this was why they were there. If they were all right, and then they wouldn't be here, would they?  
One day drifted past just like another, in the endless brightness till they put her to bed and turned the lights out. It was good that someone was in control round here….  
Then, in the afternoon, she got the chance to watch the telly, just the way she had always seen it with a crowd of other girls around her. She could never remember a time when she had her own telly and could watch what she wanted though she could vaguely remember frightening the other girls into giving her what she wanted.  
A few newspapers came into her world from out there. One gave her the biggest shock of Her life that she was capable of feeling. It was a man's face in a prison officer's uniform right across the front page of "The Sun." 'Prison Officer Found Dead in Epping Forest.' It said. She knew that face. It belonged to that vague time before she came here but he was not vague, nor were the feelings of rage and anger and something else. It was hard edged, like his eyes, like the shape of his nose and just like his fists. She could remember that….  
"You surely felt some feelings for this man when you first read the headlines?" That soft voice of the shrink insinuated that day. "Yeah, mostly hatred," Shell sneered. "And I'm glad he is dead." "You speak of him as if he wasn't human, capable of feeling emotions, either good or bad but just as some kind of object. Surely he must have been very scared just before he was killed," The voice reasoned at her.  
"Sure he was scared. He must have thought to himself, what am I doing lost in Epping Forest. I must be a right spazza. I mean that's a stupid place to go." The woman flinched at the brutal inhuman force of this remark and brought the counselling session to a fairly quick conclusion and later lit a cigarette before writing up her report in the voluminous file… 'Michelle Dockley is becoming superficially socialised as to the regime at Ashmore and has learnt to accept the reality of her situation. She has underlying dysfunctional personality traits, which need long term cognitive therapy. On the one hand, she can assume the appearance of remorse for the consequences of her past actions when they arise in discussion. Whenever I have pursued the matter further, it is only a matter of time before a real distance opens up between the supposed object of her feelings and her emotional reaction to it. A cold, inexpressive reaction emerges where there is a disturbing lack of conscience. This was conspicuously present when I engaged her in discussion about the fate of a former prison officer, the late James Fenner. Apparently, her relationship, within the natural confines of the appropriate behaviour between prisoner and prison officer, lasted over a number of years and was stable. Miss Dockley's current medication suppresses and masks this schism in her personality which is, at root, born of a negative attitude to men whom she regards as self seeking and rejecting and her only version of a relationship is based, to her thinking, of exploiting to save herself from being exploited.  
The cognitive therapy up till now has, at best contained the situation. ……" Most of all, she wondered as her cigarette smouldered away between her forefinger and second finger, just why a woman like her who had just given birth to a baby had chosen to attempt to smother it. The case notes made mention over a number of months of her unusually positive feelings of anticipation of becoming a mother again and yet this sudden reversal in attitude was unexplained by the facts. She could not help but feel grateful for the prompt intervention of Mr Fenner and Mr Hedges. That silly bitch asked too many questions for her good, she scowled. It was all the fault of that bastard Fenner and Hedges who had dragged her away from her baby and had killed something inside of her, as if someone had stuck a knife into her. It wasn't her fault this time, wasn't her fault as she remembered.. Like she said, do the crime and do the time. She always used to be dead straight up about things like that. As if she wanted to talk about Jim bloody Fenner.  
She had to laugh when she looked at the front page of the Sun with all the trial details. Funny the way things had turned out that that spazzified daughter of Atkins had done him in. She remembered glaring at the smaller headline photo of Fenner and that it ought to sort of dissolve its way out of her mind now that he was dead and buried. He was gone after all, wasn't he, and all the other bastard men in her life should be well away. They were no longer there to haunt her dreams anymore like they used to.

Her anger came back from her past to haunt her present when she came to think of Atkins. She had hated her for the way that she muscled her way in on her patch. She was top dog up till then and got all the attention like the way that she had come back from Amsterdam and the first time in her life without asking for it, all eyes were on her. That was the way she liked it, being on stage like she used to in that club in Amsterdam. She remembered them now. She liked it when she was dressed up in that leather costume and cracked her whip. All the sad punters who liked that sort of thing fawned in front of her almost waiting to be whipped. That was what she liked best. It made for a change in her life.  
"Stupid cow," she muttered under her breath. "She doesn't know what the frigging hell went on." She lay down for a while and let her thoughts drift away into nothingness into bleak, bitter dreams as she brooded. It was icy cold where she lived and she let noone into her world. "There's a letter for you, Shell," Miss Taylor's voice came out of nowhere. "It came in the second post." Shell took in the clean white envelope and the neat handwriting, which looked like Miss Bett's script. Funny that she came back to her mind as if she were a long time underwater and had suddenly come up to the surface to the real world. She used to do that for real in that time that someone else lived when she and Denny were on the run. The sea beat down on her bare skin and she could hear the gentle lapping of tiny waves along the yacht.

"………..You might find it amusing that your old friend Denny played a couple of practical jokes at Larkhall that certainly livened up the place. She substituted some Monopoly money in Mrs Hollamby's purse and I understand that the first time that she discovered it was when she went to buy a drink at the prison Social Club. Not content with that, she and accomplices who you might guess, made up some cookies that were spiced with cannabis. Miss Rossi and I foolishly accepted their free gift and it took us a little while for us to discover why we felt very relaxed all of a sudden. I hope that where you are for one day in the year that those in charge go a little bit easy on you and that you are being looked after properly…" She could hear the words spoken in that tone of voice that even she couldn't forget, however doped up she felt. She tried to remember what Miss Betts looked like but her mind started to go cloudy again. While she read the rest of her letter, her last words to Miss Betts came back to her.  
"You have got to get me out of this place, miss. I shouldn't be here….and I'm sorry for some of the things I done," she remembered herself saying.  
"If I ever can, I will, Shell. But it won't be easy." That melodious voice answered flatly with no false promises. She hated big promises only to be let down. "So there's hope, yeah?" "That's the best I can do, Shell," So she resolved to herself, there and then that somehow that was what she should do. She should hope. Why the hell hadn't she thought of that before? Up till then, she had let life take her where it wanted to take her. Suddenly, there came another voice that came from a past life. It was Denny's voice this time. Everything in her mind which was replayed to her seemed like some film that she was watching on telly. She could see the two of them, all got up in false wigs and smart clothes headed out to Spain.They had had a riot out in Spain, living out on that yacht, all blue shy, sunbathing and living the life of millionaires. That was really living. They lay out on the deck, a glass of Sangria within reach from which they could drink whenever they wanted. Making porno films with Denny was easy money for those sad bastards and, besides, it wasn't acting. It all passed in a riotous blur like one big party and she wished she could remember it. That was like the best bits of her life. The other Shell Dockley did it and she had trouble remembering the next day.

Something happened to take her back to Larkhall, she wasn't sure what. Her memory wasn't very good these days for facts and figures, only feelings. She could remember and she was back with Denny again and it was like the old days for a bit. She remembered most clearly her tiny baby she cradled in her arms and all her love with her went out to that little mite. Tears started running down her face for the first time since she had been banged up there. It wasn't right that a mother should be separated from her baby, all the good books said that but right was getting her nowhere. 


	89. Part Eighty Nine

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part Eighty-Nine

On the Thursday, after the Sunday afternoon that had almost turned into a foursome, Karen met Yvonne for lunch, in one of the winebars not frequented by Larkhall's officers. Yvonne was coming in to visit Denny that afternoon, so she'd been pleased to receive Karen's phone call, suggesting they have lunch beforehand. Karen had said that she wanted to talk to Yvonne about Denny, but Yvonne saw this for the excuse it was, it pleasing her that Karen clearly wanted her company for other than professional reasons.

When Karen arrived, Yvonne was sitting at a corner table, and had already bought them both a scotch. Getting up, she gave Karen a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "How are you?" Yvonne asked, as they sat down. "Incredibly busy," Karen replied with feeling. "So, taking an hour out of the day is more welcome than you might imagine." "No ill effects from my daughter's dodgy cookies the other week?" "Oh, she told you about that, did she," Karen said with a broad smile. "The governing governor being stoned in her first week on the job, I don't know," Yvonne added sternly, though with a distinct twinkle in her eye. "Who else was involved, apart from Lauren, Denny and the Julies, I couldn't possibly tell you, and I wasn't the only one to be inflicted with a certain amount of drug-induced relaxation. Gina came in for her fair share of it as well. I'm amazed they didn't manage to get Sylvia to try one. I suppose if it had been a chocolate finger, they might have had more success." Yvonne laughed. "You heard about what they did with her money?" "Yes, with Dominic's help no less." "I'm sorry, if the dope caused you any hassle," Yvonne said seriously. "Your daughter is quite old enough to apologise for her own misdeeds," Karen said with a fond smile. "And though I wouldn't want her to know this, it was the best practical joke I've seen in a long time."

When they'd ordered lunch, Yvonne lit a cigarette. "So, how's the job really going?" "It's great. I don't have a second to call my own, I've got paperwork coming out of my ears, and area constantly on my back to cut costs. But I love it. I wouldn't alter what I'm doing for the world." "You look and sound happier than I've seen you in a long time," Yvonne said quietly. "I am," Karen said, with as much meaning as Yvonne's observation had held. "And how's it going with George?" "I wasn't sure you'd want to know," Karen said quietly, not meeting Yvonne's gaze. "Hey, of course I do," Yvonne said with feeling, gently turning Karen's face back towards her. "Whether you're happy, or unhappy, and whoever that's with, I want to know." Karen was incredibly touched to hear this. "George, is wonderful," Karen said slowly, almost as if she were testing the waters of Yvonne's wish to know everything. "She's beautiful, she makes me happy, and she doesn't want anything committed or heavy from me, which considering my distinct lack of spare time, is probably a good thing." "I'm glad you're happy, really I am," Yvonne said sincerely. "That means a lot to me," Karen said, briefly touching Yvonne's hand.

When their food had arrived, Karen decided that now might be the time to confirm her suspicion. "So, how was it with John, then?" Yvonne had been about to take a second mouthful of pasta, but she now put her fork down very carefully. "Did he tell you?" She asked, immediately telling Karen what she wanted to know. "No," Karen said, a broad grin spreading over her face. "He didn't need to. You're not the only one adept at interpreting human nature, you know." Yvonne couldn't help smiling. "He refused to look at me a few weeks ago, when George, Jo and I were talking about you. I said that you looked like you'd been seeing, or at least sleeping with someone. The only time that John refuses to meet someone's gaze, is when he's got something to hide." Yvonne suddenly looked worried. "Jo doesn't know, does she?" "No, only me. So, was it worth it?" "About as worth it as it was for you, yeah." "Oh," Karen said, feeling very uncomfortable and not knowing what to say. "Oh, come on," Yvonne said, trying to put Karen at her ease. "It wasn't anything I didn't already highly suspect. Look at it this way, we can compare notes on him now." The expression on Yvonne's face was so cheeky, that Karen laughed. "Which would infuriate him intensely," She finished, wishing John could see them now. "He was the first bloke I'd slept with, since being inside," Yvonne said contemplatively. "And mine since Ritchie," Karen told her, thinking that John had probably had the same effect of brief escapism for them both. "He was incredible," Yvonne said almost wistfully. "Oh, I know," Karen agreed with her. "The kind of bloke you could never get quite enough of, if given the opportunity." "What exactly," Yvonne asked slowly, pausing to take another mouthful of pasta. "Is his relationship with George?" "Ah, I was wondering when you would ask," Karen replied, wondering just what Yvonne's reaction would be to the situation. "John, in his infinitely bloody minded male arrogance, is sleeping with both Jo and George, with both their knowledge and their agreement and, where George is concerned, with mine as well. I do know just how weird it sounds, but it really does work." "So, that's why nothing heavy between you and her suits both of you." "Yes. I haven't got the time or the emotional energy for a committed relationship, and though John and George have been divorced for over fifteen years, they've neither of them stopped loving the other." "He's a very lucky man," Yvonne said ruefully. "Doesn't know he's born if you ask me."

When they'd finished eating, Yvonne brought up the subject of just one of her errant daughters. "Denny tells me you're fixing it for her to go and see Dockley. When I last spoke to you about it, you said it was only a possibility." "Any more cannabis cookies, and it'll stay a possibility," Karen said firmly, lighting a cigarette. "But yes, I am putting it into place, or at least trying to. I've given Denny specific instruction to exhibit impeccable behaviour for the next month. That was last week, so she's doing well so far. What do you think about her going to see Shell?" "I'm not sure I entirely agree with it," Yvonne said carefully. "But she's an inmate in your care, so I'll assume you know best." "I'm open to persuasion, on any side of the argument, Yvonne. You probably know Denny better than any of us." "I just don't want Denny slipping back into her old ways, that's all." "And you think that Shell might have that effect on her?" "I think it's a possibility. Just, when you're making the final decision, please try to take that into consideration." "I will," Karen said seriously. "I'll do everything in my power to look after Lauren and Denny. I owe you that much, at least." 


	90. Part Ninety

Part Ninety

Once again, Yvonne found herself walking through the gates of Larkhall Prison. The number of times she had visited on either Denny's behalf or Lauren's behalf felt as if she were becoming a prison visitor with semi official status. The prison bars that had resolutely held her in captivity were now there waiting for a prison officer to let her through as a matter of course either coming or going. With one notable exception, every screw that she saw had that relaxed attitude with no trace of that inner watchfulness that used to make them tense, with pent up aggressiveness ready to snap the handcuffs on her should anything kick off without warning. Of course, the sole exception was Bodybag who would never leave it out. She had that slow Witter dogged persistence like a brain dead English bulldog with one fixed idea in her mind that would never change. She made more work for herself and that fixed scowl she gave her was as much as she dare do with Karen around.  
Denny greeted her with a big hug and that huge grin from ear to ear which was her basically affectionate nature shining through now it was safe to be that way. They chatted inconsequentially for a brief minute while Yvonne edged her way into the topic that was uppermost on her mind.  
"So you've pinched my idea of slipping Bodybag an 'E' or so I heard from Karen," Yvonne grinned. "She was dead good about that one. We would never have seen any harm come to her or Gina. It was all done in good fun, not like the Monopoly money for Bodybag. Honest, mum." Denny's cheeky grin and raised eyebrows only confirmed what Yvonne had known in a second anyway. Nevertheless, at the risk of repetition, she thought she would say her piece.  
"I know that it was only a harmless joke, Denny. Nevertheless, you've got to know that an awful lot of trust is being placed on you if you get your chance. I know Karen and I know that she's sticking her neck out for you." Immediately, Yvonne regretted what she had said. She had a gut feeling that this idea might be more dodgy than Karen was either making out or thinking. The whole thing had that well meaning feel about it that could blow up in everyone's face. She couldn't put her finger on it and she could hear herself sounding like a nagging anxious mother." "Leave it out. Miss Betts has given me an ear bending before you got to me, only she had more time to do it. You know me, mum. I've slipped a bit at times but I'm a grown up now. I'm not the kid that you had to look after when you were here." True, sighed Yvonne. She walked right into that one.  
"It's gut instinct talking to me, Denny. I've learnt to listen to it and trust it over the years." "Is it because it's Shell. I know that you two never got on," Denny pursued, looking straight into Yvonne's eyes. "You give it to me straight up." "Straight up," Yvonne repeated automatically as her mind whizzed back to the past. She had always despised that two-faced tart that would sell out her mates for favours from Fenner if she had the chance. She had talked to Nikki who had told her of the days when nobody had believed her in any rows and she got slapped down while Shell walked away Scot-free. Yvonne was a woman with a very simple litmus test where anyone was concerned. She either trusted them or she didn't. She could smell double-dealing and a bent anyone, not just a screw. And yet, she had loathed to the bottom of her soul what had happened to Shell as an abomination against nature that a mother could have been separated from her baby. For ages, Hedges fawned his way up to her for no good reason, promising the earth when what that meant was that he was guilty as sin. Despite the worst she thought of Shell, she gave him the brush off time after time till he got the message. Eventually, in those thirty seconds while her eyes were wide open, she grasped for the solid. "I disliked and distrusted her for the way she behaved. You know that she was way too close to Fenner and she was always out for her own interest." "Your Miss Betts lived with Fenner, remember?" came Denny's razor sharp reply.  
"Yeah," Yvonne was forced to admit. "She used to be another one like me that went for the bastards. I got married to Charlie, remember, but you don't have to stay the same way as when you started out in life. Growing up ain't the sort of thing you stop doing when you're twenty one and have the key to the door." Yvonne's slow deliberate reply shook Denny in turn. She had let it go right out of her mind how resolutely straight that Yvonne used to be, in fact married for a number of years. She started to feel confused, uneasy.  
"Key to the door? What's that." "An old wives' tale. The sort of crap Bodybag's always coming out with." Denny wore that classically puzzled expression on her face that always made Yvonne smile affectionately. Gradually the corrugated frown of baffled concentration cleared as the penny dropped.  
"So what about shell?" Yvonne had cleared her thoughts and she could see a clear passage through the obstacle course. "I would not have wished it on my worst enemy to get shipped out to Ashmore, the way it happened to Shell. I've got to be honest, she's pulled enough strokes in her time but that was way, way worse than anything she's ever done. You know what I feel about mothers and children, Denny, and that baby should have lived with Shell. I'll give her that much that from what you told me, she would have been a good mother." "So what's with all this slagging off Shell a minute or two ago." "Just that Dockley is not all bad. I'm being fair to her." Denny paused for a few seconds while she let it sink in. She was confused as in listening to Yvonne, everything was black or white. Yvonne either loved or hated and there wasn't a middle course of greys. She had absorbed this as naturally as mother's milk and it was this, which had sorted out the collection of jumbled ideas and fucked up experiences, which had played havoc with her feelings. She had spent so many years drifting, rudderless, while pretending to be hard and tough. She had taken out her own bad experiences on weaker women around her and the pain that she had inflicted on them happened to block out her own. She had always been searching for someone smarter, quicker thinking, more attractive to tell her what to do and that one woman for ages had been Shell. There was that devil may care manner about her that had first attracted her and Shell had been the woman whom she had first slept with on the occasions that Shell wasn't sneaking off with that wanker Fenner.  
"I know that the two of you were close and I wouldn't stop you even if I wanted to," Yvonne continued, her voice husky with choked emotions. "But you've got to keep your feet on the ground." "What do you mean?" Denny asked in a more composed tone of voice. Yvonne had grabbed her attention and was listening. It was always that when Yvonne reasoned with her that what had been confusing her made sense. It was what had first drawn her to Yvonne as well as her great sense of humour.  
"It's just that if or when you see Dockley, you'd better prepare yourself for anything. You've not seen her for two years if my memory's right. You don't know and I don't know what that place is like and the woman you knew may have changed." "You're trying to put me off her but you're just being sneaky about it," Denny shouted in a voice that echoed round the visiting room. There was mingled fear and anger in her voice and her facial expression.  
"Anything wrong, Yvonne?" Dominic enquired politely.  
"It's all right, Mr. McAllister Any problem and I'll give you a shout," Yvonne answered in as calm and as level a tone of voice as she could summon up. He nodded back at her, trusting her judgement.  
"All right, Denny. Maybe I'm talking bollocks and maybe things are all right but I'd be a bad mother if I let you go into something, telling you that everything's all sweetness and light when maybe it isn't. You think it over and maybe if Karen does get you the OK, she'll tell you how things are. All I'm telling you, is that you cannot think that the Shell Dockley that those bastards shipped out will be the woman you'll maybe see. Just think on it and be realistic." The words that Yvonne had been urging on Denny finally sank home. It helped Yvonne to talk as she needed to thread her own thoughts together properly and drag out her own thoughts and fears out into the open and give them shape.  
"Go on." "I know that you care for Dockley…….." "Why do you call her Dockley and not Shell?" Denny flared with the last little outburst.  
"'Cos that's what I've always called her," Yvonne promptly retorted.  
Denny shut up and let Yvonne continue in her own time.  
"I know that you want to see her and you want to make sure she's being looked after, and you're feeling guilty that you've put her out of your mind for a long time. You're feeling better now and you feel that you're up to seeing her." "I know I am." "You will be if you stick to Karen's agreement. She'll be less soft on you in holding you to your agreement to keep your nose clean and that's saying something." For the first time for what seemed ages, Denny grinned slightly at Yvonne's touch of humour. She had that sureness of touch in knowing when and how to lightening things up.  
"You're really telling me all this stuff for my sake?" "Don't I always?" Yvonne's incredibly tender voice soothed Denny in those few syllables which was the most solid rock hard guarantee that she could ever get out of life.  
"I'm afraid, time's up everyone," Dominic said in his considerate way as he explained to everyone that visiting time was over. Bodybag's stentorian tones made no such apology as she hectored everyone as to every little detail as to what the visitors should do as she enjoyed bossing about those whom she regarded as an inferior species.  
Impulsively, Denny reached forward to hug Yvonne closely to herself as if she would never let her go. That warmth between them would never die and Denny knew it.

Yvonne seemed to float back to her car. That was one good deed for the day and, however tense it was, confirmed to her a feeling of self worth. Whatever her doubts as to what lay in store for her in her life, there was one gift she could point out to herself which thank God had not deserted her. 


	91. Part Ninety One

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part Ninety-One

On the Saturday lunchtime, George began getting into the right frame of mind for the coming rehearsal that afternoon. She had already selected the pieces she intended them to work on, and was now thumbing through the score, leaving no stone unturned. Changes in key, time signature and tempo, she vowed to learn them all by heart. She wasn't fool enough to think she could conduct without a score, but she didn't want to have to rely on it. She wanted to do her father proud, even though he wouldn't be there to see it. John would though, and Karen, and Jo, and George found herself eager to impress all of them. Giving her baton one last polish, she switched the CD on for one final time, going through the hardest piece she intended to do that day, the one they'd done last Sunday. The trick with this one was anticipating the switch from 4-4 to 6-8, as it took place in the middle of a bar to provide the anacrusis. Halfway through however, Jo arrived to pick her up.

As there was a distinct lack of parking space around the church hall they used for rehearsals, it had been recommended that as many people travel together as possible. Jo's cello was reclining on the backseat, and George rested her baton on her lap. "Is that yours, or is it your fathers?" Jo asked, as George fastened her seatbelt and they drove away. "It's daddy's spare one." George caressed the tiger wood lovingly. "I'm rather looking forward to this afternoon," She said with an evil grin. "Yeah, well, just go easy on us mere mortals," Jo said with a rueful smile. "Oh, I'll be as gentle as a kitten," George said sweetly, not fooling Jo a bit. "Yes, and kittens have extremely sharp claws." "Then certain people will know not to wind me up, won't they." "Just try not to use this opportunity to settle any old scores," Jo warned seriously. "What, such as Francesca Rochester?" "She's just one of several." "Quite why daddy allowed her to be part of this is beyond me." "There wasn't much he could do to stop her," Jo said fairly. "It doesn't mean I have to be nice to her," George insisted. "I think she's found a fair few of us who have taken that view." "Serves her bloody well right."

When everyone had arrived, and the chairs and music stands had been set out as before, George stepped up onto the makeshift rostrum, provoking more than a few raised eyebrows. "My father cannot be here this weekend, so he has asked me to temporarily take his place. Now, whilst I know this will give most of you just cause for concern, both for your sanity, and the roof of this wonderful hall, I am just as capable as any of you at maintaining a professional facade, even though I may not always do so in court. I see that Sir Monty is also not here, though everyone else appears to be accounted for. You will have noticed that we now have the requisite number of second violins, thanks to Roisin Connor. I ask you all to be nice to her." Barbara gave Roisin an encouraging smile from where she sat in the middle of the string section. George then delighted the male members of the orchestra, by turning round to speak to Grayling. She was perfectly aware of the handful of sly smirks, as they admired her divinely sculptured backview, but she simply ignored it. "I do hope you're up for a lot of singing today," She said to Neil, who privately thought that it wouldn't do the orchestra any harm to come under her cosh. "As long as you give me a break in the middle, I'll be fine. What did you have planned?" "Numbers twenty-two, twenty-three, and depending on how this lot behave themselves," She added in a stage whisper. "We might even have a go at the two love duets." Swinging round to catch the men in mid gawp, she waved her baton to encompass every member of her orchestra. "As you heard, we will be starting with number twenty-two. Now, can anyone tell me what the possible pit fall might be with this?" "We're not at school, for heaven's sake," Sir Ian complained, none too quietly. "No, but if you can't tell me where every one of you might stumble with number twenty-two," George said with a winning smile. "Then you certainly should be." A few people laughed, including John. "The change in time signatures," Clare volunteered. "Thank you," George replied. Then, turning to Ian she added, "It's called abandoning that pride you're so fond of, Ian, you should try it some time." Leaving him in mid bluster, George continued with her explanation. "In bar eighteen of number twenty-two, the time changes from 4-4 to 6-8. The change in time signature, occurs in the middle of the fourth beat of the bar, leaving one quaver to act as the anacrusis, or up beat. You must be ready for this, because I won't be hanging around for any stragglers." As George turned to the correct page in her score, Michael Nivin said to Karen, "I think we're being given an inkling as to what she'd be like, if she ever became a judge." Hearing Karen's low, husky laugh, George glanced over at her, receiving nothing but an innocent smile in return.

As she raised her baton for the downbeat, she glanced back to make sure that Neil was ready. The pure strength of the sound that surrounded her momentarily threw George, though she didn't let it show in her beat. Every person watching her was soon very much aware of one thing, George's beat was clipped, firm, and clear, with not a single trace of the slightly wavering quality that Joe's had possessed. It was immediately evident that George would wait for no man, or woman come to that. She could hear Neil's voice resonating behind her, with the occasional crescendo from the trombones in front, and the continuous chords from the strings all around her. They moved fairly smoothly through the time change, George's baton swooping from four beats to two dotted beats without a flicker. When they reached the section of pizzicato strings, accompanying the lyrical flute melody, George raised her left hand and brought them to a halt. "It is abundantly clear," She said in slightly disgusted tones. "Precisely who has practiced this before, and who hasn't. Clare, you were beautiful, but I cannot say the same for the strings. The whole point about this little section is for the flute to have as little accompaniment as possible. That means that you must, must, must play in time. The plucking needs to happen just before the note is required, for the sound to be heard on the beat itself. Let's try just those few bars again, without Clare, because I want to hear exactly where we have a problem." Raising her baton, she counted in the two bars before the plucking began. Allowing herself to be submerged in their sound, she was able to pick out those who kept to her beat. "Seeing as that was no more successful than before," She said, with a slightly malevolent grin on her face. "Let us try it without John, Roisin, Karen and Jo, as I suspect it is those few who are getting it right." She knew this to be true, as this was the piece they'd practiced on Sunday. Receiving a glower from Brian Cantwell, Jo smirked. That would teach him to think he was better than her, in court or out of it.

George worked, and worked, and worked her string section, until she was thoroughly satisfied. "Finally!" She exclaimed. "Now, let's try this from the top, and without any offbeat plucking, and as long as everyone is agreeable, we will carry straight onto number twenty-three. You do all need to get used to the length of breaks between pieces, and there isn't anything drastically difficult about number twenty-three for you to worry about, or for me to explain." This time, they managed to sail through the awkward sections, with the bassoon being added to the flute on the repetition of the pizzicato phrase. As they progressed smoothly into number twenty-three, the rest of the orchestra joined in, including Sir James Valentine's timps. When Sir James resumed his drumming after a significantly long rest, George again raised her hand to call a halt. "More sound, less noise please, Sir James. This is Haydn, not the fab four." John wasn't the only one to break into a roar of laughter at this remark. George would be signing her career suicide warrant if she wasn't careful. When they tried this piece for the second time, George could see Sir James frowning in ill-concealed hatred of her for embarrassing him. Having dragged her orchestra through these two of Neil's solos, George told him to take a break while they concentrated on the accompaniment for number sixteen, 'On Mighty Pens'. "Oh dear," Drawled Sir James venomously. "Can't Mrs. Channing sing and conduct simultaneously?" "Not this one, no," George replied curtly, not rising to the bait. "Now, the clarinet is supposed to represent the flapping of the bird's wings, and the flute, the bird's call. Everyone else, apart from providing the accompaniment, is trying to portray the backdrop of the air, through which the bird is flying. This is by far the first flute's greatest challenge of this work, so let's give her something to play for." Giving Clare a smile, she raised her baton, counting in the three silent beats before the up beat crotchet.

They played through this piece relatively smoothly, with George occasionally calling out various instructions or corrections on the hoof, not making the entire orchestra stop for every mistake. But after a succession of irritations from Sir Ian, George thought it was high time he was brought down from off his self-made pedestal. "Ian, when you play your introduction to the words, 'his welcome bids to morn the merry lark', you are giving the impression of a bird whose wings can barely be bothered to move. The bird is flying to her mate, with all the urgency of a bitch on heat, not with the lack lustre approach of a witless man, who can't think of a better excuse than the proverbial headache. Do I make myself clear?" As George took in the laughter from both Neil and John, together with most of the women, she noticed the blank expression on Lawrence James's face. It would not do after all, for Mr. James to be laughing at the plight of his immediate superior. Once the laughter had subsided, though with no reply from a smouldering Ian, George said, "Let's try again." Ian did put far more vigour into his phrases this time, though George suspected this was more from blind fury at his humiliation, than any attempt to improve. But when they'd moved onto the accompaniment for one of Monty's solos, this also done without the singer because of his absence, George's eye was continually caught by what Sir Ian and Lawrence James were doing. As the piece they were playing was mainly comprised of strings and a few brass, with both clarinet and oboe being given a break, Sir Ian and Lawrence James, appeared to be passing something between them, keeping it for a moment, and then passing it back. George couldn't be certain from where she stood, but she had a feeling that it was a notebook. So, that was what they were up to, was it? Writing notes instead of listening, like two adolescent schoolboys with nothing better to do. George would have left well alone, except for the evilly insipid grin on Sir Ian's face.

When they reached the end of the piece they'd been playing, George stepped down from the rostrum, walked between the first desk of second violins and the harpsichord, and unceremoniously plucked the notebook out of Sir Ian's hand, before he'd even noticed her presence. When he tried to take it back, she stalked away from him, ending up standing back on the rostrum, in full view of everyone. In response to Sir Ian's fruitless mouthing, she said, "If you are going to persist in doing what I think you were doing, at least have the decency to do it covertly, where I can't see you. Now, seeing as your little foray into adolescence was clearly far more important to you, what you have written must therefore be for public consumption." Then, to Sir Ian and Lawrence James's dismay, she opened the notebook, flicking through its pages, trying to find the choicest remarks to read out loud to all and sundry. "Well, well," She said, after reading for a few moments. "It appears that most of this drivel is aimed at me, which is all to the good. Let me see. Ah yes, 'I wonder where Mrs. Channing gets her fabulous wrist action from.' Why, thank you," She drawled with false gratitude. "I suggest you ask your old friend, the secretary of state for trade about that. I'm sure he'll be only too delighted to tell you. Oh, and here's an interesting one, 'What do you think it will take to make her snap?' Well, you can find out in a minute, can't you?" Then, after reading for a little while longer, she continued with, "'Have a guess at how many women in this orchestra have been to bed with Mr. Justice Deed.' Well now, your wife could go at the top of the list, couldn't she, Sir Ian. Oh, tut, tut," She said, on reading what came next. "'John Deed must have something going for him if Mrs. Mills keeps going back to him.' Well, you can ask your wife about that too, can't you." But when George read what was on the next page, she became absolutely still. The words she was seeing in front of her eyes were causing a combination of reactions in her, hurt, anger, a little confusion, and a desire to protect Jo, from ever finding out what those two of nature's miscreants had written about her. Every eye was on her as she stood there, holding the notebook in her slightly trembling hand. But when she said, "We will all be taking ten minutes break, after which we will be doing the two love duets," They all stared at her. Unwilling to give them any explanation, George stepped down from the rostrum, slipped the notebook into her handbag, and stalked purposefully towards the outside, needing a hit of nicotine more than anything else in the world.

Only one person came to disturb her, Karen. "Are you all right?" She asked, laying a hand on George's shoulder. "No," George replied quietly. "I'm not." "What did they say?" "Trust me," George said acidly. "You really don't want to know." "Was it about Jo?" "Yes, and I'll do everything I can to stop her from finding out what it was. God, I could strangle the pair of them." "You're doing very well today, you know," Karen said kindly, trying to make her feel better. "Well, I've now got to sing and conduct at the same time," George said with a mirthless laugh. "So let's hope I can pull that off as well."

When George returned inside, she walked up to Neil. "Are you ready for this?" She asked him. "It'll be a bit like my marriage," He said ruefully, and at her raised eyebrow added, "Acting in love when I'm clearly not." "Oh, I see," She said, for some reason wanting to know more about this enigma before her. "I'm going to need you to stand where I can see you." As Neil moved to stand between the back desks of the first and second violins, George mounted the rostrum and flipped the pages of her score. When she'd raised a hand for silence, she said, "This may be marked 4-4, but it is so slow, that the triplets give the effect of a waltz. Seeing as this is a love duet, this is particularly appropriate." She counted in one bar's rest, to give them an idea of the speed, adding two softer beats to every actual beat, to mark out the triplets and make the time easier to follow. The strings achieved the waltz effect of the music, being joined by Lawrence James and his oboe. But as she and Neil were about to begin singing, George held up a hand. "Mr. James, would it be too much to ask, for you to play that little phrase all in one breath?" "Of course, Mrs. Channing," Lawrence replied ingratiatingly, clearly trying to make up for his and Sir Ian's earlier misdemeanour. "Imagine you're about to go down on a woman, Mr. James," John said into the silence, causing a ripple of laughter and a brief, thoroughly wicked little smirk from George. This time, she let the music flow, joining Neil in their appreciation of the God who had created them. George could clearly see Neil from where she stood, and attempted to persuade her soul to join with his, to combine their love for music, if not each other. But something felt wrong. She should be singing this with John, not with Neil. She had sung this with John, on Easter Sunday, in her lounge at home. It had felt real then, but now it just felt forced. When they reached the end, George felt disappointed. This was supposed to be wonderful, something to take pleasure in, but it simply left her flat and dejected. "Let's carry straight on," She said, not wishing to dwell on anything to do with that particular piece. "We'll miss out the preceding recit." "Why, is that so that you don't have to say 'Thy will is law to me'?" John asked stonily. "I would be committing heresy to my reputation if I did that," George said, turning to face him, and liking neither the tone of his voice nor the look on his face. "John, don't scowl, it really doesn't suit you." Not having time to wonder what his problem was, she lifted her baton, finding that yes, with a relatively easy piece, she really could detach her hand from her voice, from the rest of her body, so that it kept up its work without faltering. She was able to let herself go a little more with this one, but she still felt that something was missing, something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

'Spouse adore'd, at thy side, purest joys o'erflow the heart; life and all I have, all I have is thine; my reward thy love shall be.'

George put everything she had into those lines, but still it wasn't quite enough, and when their lines began to intertwine, creating the most deliciously decorative counterpoint, she tried to feel that she really was enacting this with a lover. But Neil Grayling wasn't her lover, he was just a man, just a gay man whom she would never be attracted to, and who would most certainly never be attracted to her. They managed to keep up the act, Neil clearly putting far more into it than she did, until they were approaching the end.

'With thee, with thee, is every joy enhanced.'

What a joke, George thought grimly to herself, what a sheer mockery of the love that was supposed to exist between a man and his wife. She and John had been like that once, in those early, golden days, the days before Charlie had come along, forever separating her and John in all but name and association. Even now, even though he still slept with her, still said that he loved and wanted her, even now they hadn't managed to recapture that incessant bliss Haydn had spoken of.

When she lowered her baton for the last time, there was a short silence. "I think we'll leave it there for today," She said, and everyone could hear the dull finality in her tone. As she stepped down from the rostrum and picked up her handbag, Neil approached her. "That didn't go to well, did it?" He said quietly. "No," She said regretfully. "Maybe it'll go better next time." Neil was about to say something further to her, but George felt John's hovering, malevolent presence before she saw him. "I think we need to talk," He said icily. "Now." "John, is this absolutely necessary?" George asked, the irritation evident in her tone. "I was planning to get a little drunk with Jo this evening, wasn't I, Jo," She said as Jo approached them, begging Jo with her eyes to acquiesce and cover for her. "Yes," Jo replied, seeing that George clearly needed her intervention. "Tough," John said abruptly. "Because you and me are going to talk, this evening, tonight, now. Is that clear?" Even George knew not to disobey the rigidity of either his voice or his expression. "I'm sorry, Jo," She said bitterly. "It appears I have an unavoidable appointment with the master here. Do please excuse me." 


	92. Part Ninety Two

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part Ninety-Two

Both John and George maintained a stony silence on the way home, neither wanting the storm to break before they were behind closed doors. They could both feel the tension brewing, the clouds crowding in en masse, ready to burst at the slightest prick. Not one, single word was uttered between them, but George could see his hands gripping the wheel, almost in an attempt not to throttle her. But this was what mystified George. For once in her life, she really didn't know what she'd done. Something had clearly made him blisteringly angry, but she couldn't even begin to wonder what that might be.

As soon as the front door closed behind them, George opened her mouth. "Don't you ever do that to me again," She said icily. "What?" John asked, though knowing exactly what she was talking about. "Summon me to your presence, as if you were still behind the armour of your judge's robes, and could bend and manipulate any recalcitrant barrister to your every whim." If John hadn't been so angry, he might have laughed. "You're priceless," John said in disgust. "I wasn't the one trying to act the part of the next Jane Glover, whilst simultaneously hiding behind the proverbial fig leaf, not to mention turning a blind eye to Ian Rochester's blatant disregard for human decency. I've no idea what he said, or should I say wrote, to make you walk out like that, but if it was about Jo, which I think it was, I want to know." "And what my lord desires, he usually gets," George quipped back, the bite in her tone matching the growing fury in her eyes. "You're not the only one who can protect her from being hurt, you know," She added, hitting home with far more accuracy than a sniper's bullet.

Leaving him in mid gape, she stalked towards her office, retrieving the notebook from her handbag as she went. Her intention was to put the entire thing through the shredder bit by bit, so that John couldn't read the immensely insulting suggestion that had been made about Jo. George was extremely well aware, that if John got his hands on it, he would either verbally or professionally, beat Sir Ian Rochester to a pulp, doing himself substantial harm in the process. "I want to see that," John said from the doorway. "Well, you can't," George replied curtly. "It'll do neither you, nor Jo any good for you to see it." "That's a matter of opinion," He said stonily, moving towards her with all the stealth of a cat, fully intent on cornering its prey at any cost. As he made a swift lightning grab for it, she was too quick for him. She had been anticipating something like this, and her determination to keep it from him, giving her the agility of one of Swan Lake's finest. Holding the offending notebook behind her, she danced out of his reach. If she could only get to her paper shredder, which stood in the far corner, she might just manage to halt him in his quest. If he tried to take it from her, she would always dart away from his grasp, her success making him even more furious than he already was, and all the more intent on achieving his goal. When he eventually cornered her, with her back to her desk, he clamped his arms round her, fixing her left arm to her side. George knew by this that she'd lost. Her left arm was unable to break his hold, and her right was behind her, still trying to keep the book out of his reach. She struggled against his superior strength, but she couldn't fight him off. "Let, me, go," She hissed. "Not a chance," He replied, moving flush against her as she leant back, even now trying to keep it from him.

When he stood at last in triumph, the notebook held aloft in his hand, a remark rose up out of her, that she would regret for the rest of her life. "Well, well," She said, almost flatly. "I never would have thought I would see the day, when you would use your superior, male strength, to take something you wanted by force. A bit like Fenner, when you think about it." She bit furiously down on her tongue, thoroughly unable to believe she'd uttered such a profanity. The only feeling John betrayed was in the brief twitching of his hand, the one that wasn't holding the notebook. Just for an instant, he had been itching to slap her. He knew it, and she knew it. George had seen that blind fury only once before in a man, in her old lover, Neil Haughton. He had blacked George's eye, and she slightly quailed at the thought of John doing the same. But he didn't, John had far more control than the secretary of state for trade. He simply stood, staring at her for a moment, and then walked away, moving to stand near the window. He began flipping through the newly acquired notebook, trying not to dwell on what George had said to him. He bypassed the comments and suggestions that had been written about George, and those that concerned him, some of which she'd read out for all to hear. When he stumbled unexpectedly on the insults they'd aimed at Jo, he knew he'd found what he was looking for. George had gripped the notebook so tightly to rein in her anger, that her nails had left faint impressions on the page.

'Why does Deed stay with Mrs. Mills? We both know he lied through his teeth at her PCC hearing. Though quite why, is beyond me.'

'It's not as if she's anything special, is it.'

'Now, if it were Mrs. Channing, that would be understandable. But Mrs. Mills is about as ordinary as you can get.'

'Perhaps it's not her looks that keep him.'

'Well, her cello playing's got to come from somewhere, though she doesn't strike me as being very good mistress material.'

'Deed obviously thinks so.'

'I wonder if she's as good in bed as she is with her bow.'

'Ask Row Colmore. He's certainly had a taste of that particular forbidden fruit.'

Having read quite enough of this drivel, John dropped the notebook disgustedly back on the desk. "I'll kill him," He said, his voice slightly deeper with the force of his intent. "Which is precisely why I wanted to keep it from you," George said quietly. "I couldn't give a damn what the likes of Ian Rochester might think of me, but Jo would. Why else did you do your utmost to clear her name with the PCC? Jo can't bear her professional reputation to be tarnished, and we both know that you'll do anything within your power, and a lot that isn't, to keep it that way. In your eyes," she continued bitterly. "I can look after or ruin my own, but having followed and encouraged Jo's career from the outset, you feel it your duty to continue to do so. If you do anything about this, you'll be in serious jeopardy of reopening the issue of your relationship with Jo, and the way you both behaved in front of the PCC. You might not have been having an actual affair with her then, but you certainly are now." "Is that a threat?" John asked quietly. "No, you stupid man," George said in sheer exasperation. "I'm just as guilty as Jo is of sleeping with you, more's the pity. I'm just trying to make you realise what a can of worms you would be opening, if you rise to the bait. You saw only the bare minimum of their speculations about you and Jo, and about Jo's skill as a lover, but you don't need to see any more. I didn't want you to see it, because I didn't want it to get you into more trouble than you usually are with those two. But you just wouldn't have it, would you. Why can you never leave well alone?" "And why do you always have to hide things from me that I need to know?" He retorted vehemently. "Need to know, or want to know?" George demanded. "Is there a difference?" "Not in your case, clearly." "And something else I want to know," John questioned silkily. "Is the precise nature of your relationship with Neil Grayling." George simply stared at him. Then it hit her, John was jealous! He was seriously, irrationally jealous of how she'd sung those love duets with Grayling, one being the one they'd sung together on Easter Sunday. "Have you any idea just how ridiculous you sound?" She said, a laugh of utter incredulity in both eyes and voice. "Why, because this time it's you being unfaithful, instead of the other way round?" "John, he's gay," George clarified, unable to restrain her mirth at his ludicrous suggestion. "Oh, how convenient," John said in total disbelief. "It seems to be catching." "Before we get onto that little time bomb," George said acidly, any previous amusement having left her. "You might be enchanted to hear, that I loathed, hated and despised every, single bar of those duets. I've never felt less in love, nor more wooden than I did this afternoon. You weren't the only one who couldn't forget the way we sang it a few weeks ago. If you'd come down off your very high horse of ludicrous conclusions for five minutes, you'd see that I'm finding it incredibly hard to behave as though I'm in love with anyone but you. However, that isn't really the problem, is it, because we both know that there's something far deeper, and far more soul destroying to discuss. You've been waiting three months to have this out with me, and I think that now, might just be the time. So, go on then, finally come out of that self-imposed shell of yours, and tell me what you really think of my relationship with Karen."

"Okay, fine," John said resignedly. "You're right, this particular row has been waiting to happen, because some of the things I said to Karen back in January, probably ought to have been said to you, not her. The first being that I don't understand why you felt it necessary to go back on our arrangement, when it was me who was pressured into sticking to it." "This relationship wasn't my idea," George replied. "It was Jo's, or have you conveniently forgotten that? Yes, I was happy to agree to it, because it meant that I could still have the feeling, if not the actuality, of being loved by you. We both know why you agreed to it, because it meant you could go on loving and sleeping with Jo. Yes, I know you get a vast amount of pleasure from sleeping with me, but let's face it, so did old Lover boy himself, which isn't saying much. Jo originally suggested it, because she knew it was the only way to stop you from straying. Have you never considered, that perhaps I need what I have with Karen, because she is in love with me for myself, not for what she might be accorded by agreeing to stray only with me? You make love to me, and occasionally say you love me, because it allows you to do the one thing you've always wanted, to have a vaguely normal relationship with Jo." "But why Karen? Why a woman?" John persisted, trying not to look too closely at what George had just said to him, for fear that she might actually be right. "Why not a woman?" George responded. "You'd be even more insane with jealousy if it was a man, and you know it." "But why Karen? Couldn't you at least have picked someone I don't know?" "Absolutely not," George said firmly. "The only way to keep you from pursuing her, was to sleep with a woman you'd already been to bed with. Your curiosity streak could rival that of daddy's old Labrador, and I'd have had my work cut out, trying to keep you away from her." "I'm not that bad," John objected vehemently. "Yes, you are," George insisted. "If something with the right variety of equipment stands still, or should I say, lies down long enough, you'll fuck it." John winced at her vulgarity, loathing it when she resorted to such phrases in front of him. "Do you have to talk like that?" He complained. "Why, you're surely not telling me that all those women came into the category of real, actual lovers? I didn't think you used to hang around long enough." "When you've finished tearing strips off my character," John threw back. "You might remember that I have kept to our arrangement for the last eighteen months." He found himself conveniently ignoring the Sunday afternoon he'd spent with Yvonne. George didn't need to know about that. "But in spite of my doing that, agreeing to yours and Jo's one main condition, it's you who has insisted on involving someone else. Why, wasn't I enough for you? Is that it?" "Why, do you think Karen might just be giving me a better time in bed than you do?" George taunted. "Of course not," John scoffed in total self-assured arrogance. "No one will ever give you a better orgasm than me. I'll accept, with good grace I might add that you like to try something different occasionally. It isn't everyone who would submit to your every sexual whim, of wanting to be tied up, or of being treated like a whore, which does perhaps show the other side of the tempting angel you were trying to play on stage this afternoon. At least Jo likes her men fairly normal, fairly run of the mill." "My god, you are so arrogant!" George exclaimed, now really losing her patience with him. "That's what you like, isn't it, to be able to impress Jo with your prowess, your sexual skill. Is that why you wanted to spend the night with the two of us a couple of weeks ago? Did you want to use me to give Jo the time of her life, to show her the beautiful little plaything you'd managed to pick up, in said plaything's final year of university? Because believe me, that's exactly what it felt like. I know only too well how much of your commitment to this relationship is because of Jo, but you don't need to rub it in my face. You complain about my being sexually adventurous, when it was you who taught me half of what I know." "I didn't teach you to fancy women," He said bitterly, finally able to get a word in edgeways. "You really can't stand it, can you," George thrust home venomously. "You really can't bear the fact that sometimes, Karen can arouse me, just by talking to me, or that she has shown me an avenue of pleasure I didn't know existed. That isn't my fault, John, and I am not going to apologise for it. You are either going to have to learn to get used to it, or this relationship, as far as I'm concerned, ends, now." "You can't do that to Jo," He said in horror. "John, I wouldn't do anything in the world to hurt Jo, I never could," George replied, her voice suddenly quiet. "But if you can't learn to accept the person I am, or at least the person I have recently become, then you know where the door is." "What are you saying?" He asked softly. "You heard," She said, unwilling to put up with any more. "Just get out. This conversation is closed for the time being, because I've had quite enough." Walking swiftly passed him, she wrenched open the front door, and waited as a slightly bemused John walked through it. The resounding slam that sent him on his way, reverberated around the house, reminding George that at the end of the day, she was utterly, irrevocably, alone. 


	93. Part Ninety Three

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part Ninety-Three

George stood for a long time after John had left, staring at the front door which she'd just slammed in his face. Then, pulling herself together, she went into the lounge, put on some Tori Amos perpetually borrowed from Karen, and lit a cigarette. The haunting words and melodies, served to take away some of the tension of the passed hours. She hadn't had time to come down from the rehearsal, before she and John had started in on each other. She couldn't believe some of the things they'd said to each other. Angel, or whore, that was how he'd talked about her. Angel, or whore, verbally flogging her with the original literary depictions of the female species. She'd always thought he'd enjoyed her occasional liking for experimentation, but perhaps she'd been wrong. There hadn't been much they hadn't tried at least once, but he'd been as eager for it as she had. Perhaps the only fantasy George hadn't shared with him in those days, was the fact that she wanted to sleep with a woman. Angel, or whore, which one was she? She didn't know, and more to the point, which did John think she was. He was right, she had been acting the part of the tempting angel this afternoon, but it was he who'd asked, even begged her to do it. John had persuaded, cajoled, and definitely manipulated her into playing the part of Eve, yet he clearly couldn't handle her enacting the love duets with Neil. Angel, or whore, angel or whore. Yet, when it came to Karen, he obviously thought her the whore she'd once expressed a wish to play. That had only been a fantasy, something said in a slightly drunken moment, when they'd laughingly opened up as to some of the things they'd like to try. John had admitted to finding the idea of sleeping with two women at the same time very appealing, but this still hadn't encouraged George to be entirely honest with him. John had only discovered her attraction to her own sex, on the night following her imposed visit to Larkhall. Even back then, even when she and Jo were barely being civil to each other, John had found the thought of her and Jo together incredible. Then, two weeks ago, John had suggested, with all the casualness of offering her dinner, that they might spend the night together, all three of them. George had felt enormously turned on by the idea, but at the same time immensely confused. She shouldn't be feeling things like that for Jo, only for Karen. That was why she had left, that and thinking that Jo would be horrified if she suspected the level of George's arousal at the idea. But then Jo had calmly told her a week later, that George's all too evident reaction hadn't bothered her. Then had followed that intensely charged Sunday afternoon, the possibility of a foursome just out of her reach. If Jo and Karen had both been up for it, George knew that she wouldn't have thought twice about it. Angel, or whore, angel, or whore. That was what was confusing her, John had poured a certain amount of scorn on her sexual waywardness, when he would have been just as up for a mini orgy as she would. He really hated the fact that she was in love with Karen, and not Jo, entirely ignoring the fact that Jo would never feel that way about any woman, no matter George's own feelings on the subject. Jo might have been excited by the sight of what George and Karen had been doing last weekend, but George was certain that this was as far as Jo would ever stray in to the world of sapphic pleasures. But all this maddeningly logical introspection wasn't getting her anywhere. After they'd flung so many hurtful words at each other, where did that leave their relationship with Jo? John loved Jo, had loved Jo for years, and would always love Jo, George knew that. She also knew that she, George, couldn't possibly stop being friends with Jo. They'd become so close over the last eighteen months, and George wasn't about to let that go, just because she and John didn't know how to bow down in the face of each other's pride. But she couldn't just kiss and make up with John this time, not unless they both did some very straight talking. She laughed mirthlessly to herself at this, straight being the issue that had brought them here in the first place. Angel, or whore, angel, or whore. Should she give up Karen? Could she give up Karen? Right at this moment, George didn't think she could. Karen was wonderful, gave her as much or as little space as she wanted, not giving a damn about the fact that George couldn't go public about their relationship, and was utterly enchanting in bed. What more could she want? But there came the rub. George did need more, she needed John. Even though he was arrogant, utterly self-assured, ruthlessly manipulative, and a devout believer in his own ability to get what he wanted out of a woman, she needed him. She was being torn, she knew that, one way by John and his insecurities, and the other by Karen, and the fact that George needed what Karen could give her. Reaching out a hand to the phone, she found herself wondering just who she could call. Not Karen, because too much of this argument had been about Karen. Not Jo, because in the grand scheme of relationship ethics, it would be highly unprofessional, to discuss a row with one's man, with said man's other lover. Certainly not daddy because he would just tell her he'd told her so. Who did that leave? No one, or at least no one whom George would feel comfortable discussing this with. Her eyes again strayed to the phone, as she remembered the feeling of united strength that had pervaded the group of supporters at Lauren's trial. They had all welcomed her with ease, making her feel a kind of warmth she'd not felt in a group of women before in her life. The only two who might listen to her out of that little circle of women were Helen and Nikki. But even though George felt a pull, something telling her to lift the phone and talk to someone, to anyone, she simply couldn't do it. Angel, or whore, angel, or whore. If John couldn't make his mind up as to which of these depictions of womanhood she represented, why should anyone else.

As John pulled into the carpark, he decided that all winebars should possess adequate parking space, if only to serve those who had been unceremoniously shown the door. He couldn't believe George had done that to him. Walk out on him, was certainly something she'd done in the past, storming out of the digs like a bat out of hell, their combined fury yapping at her heels. But she had never once thrown him out of her house, verbally or otherwise. That was the difference now, he realised. When they were married, she couldn't kick him out, or at least she wouldn't, not wanting to make their all too frequent rows the substance of public gossip. But that hadn't prevented her from doing it tonight. As he strolled into the bar, and ordered a large glass of red wine, he reflected that this was one of the nastiest rows they'd have in a long time, not having hurled insults as vicious as today's choicest words, at each other since the final, bitter days of their marriage. As he sipped at the heady, earthy wine, he couldn't quite believe what she'd said to him about Fenner. Yes, John was very well aware that he had used his physical strength to take that notebook away from her, but there had undoubtedly been a just cause, to get at the truth of what those imbecilic dolts had been suggesting about his Jo. He had to admit though, that he did understand why George had wanted to keep it from him. John knew he hadn't seen the worst of it, and in one way, he was really rather thankful that he hadn't, but he certainly hadn't deserved what George had said. She had likened him to Fenner of all people, Fenner! How could she have put him in the same category as that vile, odious, evil little cretin, who had made so many people's lives a misery? It was George saying this, which had probably sparked off some of the hurtful things he'd thrown at her later. He knew he'd gone too far, just as she had, but he was no more going to apologise for it than she was, or at least no more than she would have in the old days. He'd known he was going too far, when he'd castigated her for being sexually adventurous, but he hadn't been able to stop himself. He had loved every minute of their sexual experimentation, just as much as she had, the early days of their marriage having been the fondly thought of golden age for him as well as for her. But it still rankled with him that she'd never quite trusted him enough, to tell him about her liking for other women. He supposed it was this that had so inflamed his jealousy when he'd found out about Karen. Yes, he'd known about George's little fantasy before then, but the discovery of Karen as George's new lover, had somehow put all his worst fears into practice. Why couldn't she have fallen for Jo, and Jo for her? Why couldn't his life just be that simple for once. As he handed over the money for a second glass of Burgundy, a woman caught his eye. She was blonde-haired, blue-eyed, and really looked the spitting image of George, or the George he'd first met, at that new year's eve party in her final year of university, when she was just twenty-years-old. God, she'd been beautiful then, not that she wasn't now, but there had been something so striking, so instantly addictive about the way she'd danced, causing every male eye in the room to follow her. He'd sauntered over to her, claiming the next three dances as his, immediately intrigued by her spiky, provocative, and utterly argumentative nature. He'd watched her as she danced with other men, occasionally flashing a smirk at him across the room, as if showing him that she could have any man she wanted. He'd approached her again as she stood at the bar, sipping from a glass of white wine, and when the DJ had played a song especially for all the couples in the room, her hand had slipped into his, and without a word they had moved back onto the dance floor. They'd stood together as Big Ben had chimed, standing under a bunch of mistletoe, that someone had obviously been leaving up until Twelfth Night for maximum advantage. Once begun, they'd kissed on, and on, and on, only eventually coming up for air out of necessity. They'd gone outside, ostensibly so that she could have a cigarette, but with an underlying wish for privacy. They'd sat on an old wooden bench, his arm going round her shoulders to keep her warm. They'd talked for a long time, and kissed for even longer, the crisp, cold air of the early hour of nineteen seventy-seven, not breaking in on their clear attraction to each other. Much later, when John had driven her home, he'd been entirely happy for the first time in his life, to be content with nothing more than a long goodnight kiss from her. He'd taken her out to dinner, less than a week later, and this time he'd made love to her. George had by no means been a virgin, he'd known that the first time he slept with her, but she'd been different somehow, passionately knowing, and enchantingly innocent all at the same time. Where had all that gone, he wondered, looking over at the woman who had caught his attention. Why had all his happiness with George, been replaced with only scorn, bitterness and a deep feeling of regret on both their parts. As he sauntered over to the replica of what his George had once been, it briefly occurred to him that he shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be tempting fate, and putting his, or anyone else's, emotional well-being on the wheel like this. But, what the hell. The odds of either Jo or George finding out about this were a hundred to one, so why shouldn't he have just one, little flutter to ease his despair. 


	94. Part Ninety Four

Part Ninety-Four

Henry had that finely attuned hearing which could pick out the light footsteps of his beloved Barbara as she stepped across the parquet flooring after silently opening the large oak door of the vicarage. He removed his glasses as his tired eyes had had enough of poring over his large family sized Bible for inspiration for future sermons. He felt that it was incumbent upon him to venture beyond the same stale set phrases that he could recite in his sleep.  
�Do you want a cup of tea or some such refreshment after your labours?� Henry enquired with his usual brand of gentlemanliness.  
Babs accepted the cup of tea gratefully after sinking back into her favourite high-backed armchair.  
�And how did you fare with all those high powered barristers?� He asked in enthusiastic tones. The whole event sounded as grand as if he were asked to perform similarly with bishops, bedecked in their red robes.  
Babs smiled wanly but didn�t answer. Immediately, Henry felt guilty for the bad timing of his question, as she had clearly not had a very good time at the rehearsal. They both fell to talking of lighter inconsequential matters and a nice cup of tea restored both their flagging spirits. Henry switched on Radio 4 but pitched it low. It made for a restful Saturday evening.

Babs reflected on how she had come to be in her present situation. She had played the organ on and off during her marriages for years, as something that gave her spiritual release as her quiet brand of Christianity and uplifting music went hand in hand, both as a solace in bad times and as a celebration in good times. Even during her spell at Larkhall, the tiny electric organ in the shabby chapel had kept her hand in. To take up her duties on the church organ was like driving a stately Rolls Royce in comparison with the functional Mini. The huge spreading size of the church organ summoned up the full stateliness of the music as a full-scale portraiture in depth compared with the sketchpad of the little electric organ. However, having dropped into the comfortable routine of playing the familiar well-worn hymns on the church organ she soon found this part of her duties as a vicar�s wife in a rural congregation effortless. Some spark had made her volunteer to play the harpsichord to tackle something more demanding, that she could give herself to. Yet the severe sharp baroque precision of that instrument enthralled her, as did the idea of her taking part in such a grand undertaking. The second rehearsal ought to have been a celebration yet she had mixed emotions, a slightly let down feeling which she couldn�t explain easily. Thank heaven, Henry had the good sense to allow her some space.  
�A penny for your thoughts?� Henry said at last, hours later, his melodious voice breaking in on her meditations.  
�It�s about the rehearsals,� Babs started and then stopped.  
Henry looked with concern at his wife. She was unfailingly polite and courteous unless she was pushed to the point where she could speak her mind. He had found that to his cost early in his first acquaintance with her. He was the very na�ve new vicar of Larkhall and she was�..that very remarkable woman who came to fill that empty space in his heart when his first wife had died. He chose to wait for the moment when Barbara was ready to talk. It would be unchristian to exert any kind of pressure on her, even for the best of motives. He had long learned to examine his own heart for the reasons why he acted or failed to act. It was a life long search as a practising Christian that, with God�s guidance he could become the human being that he aspired to. In his private moments, he did not think by any stretch of imagination that he held life�s answers in his hand, or alternatively, in his knowledge of the scriptures.  
�Don�t worry, Henry. I felt comfortable. I found that my musicianship was at the level expected of me. It is entirely a new experience to play in a full orchestra.� Babs smiled more freely as she heard again in her mind the power of the orchestra all around her. A part of her was inclined to sit back and listen and applaud the others. Everything was magnificent- until the music stopped.  
�It was nice seeing some familiar, reassuring faces. Roisin played the violin of course and Karen the viola and Jo the cello. George was ever so kind to two newcomers to the fold like Roisin and myself��..� Babs chattered brightly as she emphasised the positive side of the rehearsal, as only her sense of charity would permit her. Henry let her chatter on and only decided to intervene when the way that conversation suddenly ground to a halt signalled more complex feelings.  
�There is something wrong, Barbara. I would not normally press you on the matter but I would say that a problem shared is one that is halved.� Babs sighed and removed her glasses, cleaning them automatically on a cloth from her glasses case before she started to talk.  
�It goes back a long way, Henry. I can still remember growing up as a little girl in my home town of Sudbury. It looked like a child�s picture book, straight out of an Enid Blyton story. I can still see the village policeman walking down the street and he seemed enormous. The headmaster at the village school where I went was this august presence. I felt happy, secure and safe in such an ordered world��..� �The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker�.. And, like me, you looked up to those who were in charge,� Murmured Henry as memory took him backwards.  
�Nikki once described me as �Mrs. Middle England.� She was right. The only thing is that deep down, Nikki is a little like that too only she would never admit it,� Reflected Babs warmly. �There�s something about that style in her that I could see a mile away.� She paused for a sip of tea while Henry waited.  
�I never questioned such certainties when I was growing up and my faith in them was every bit as strong as my religious beliefs. I never needed to tell the world about either of them. It was just accepted in the same way as a cooked breakfast and a nice cup of tea was always the only civilised start to the day. I felt that my fate was in safe hands as long as good order ruled. I remember so clearly the school prize day when I won a form prize in English composition and received a book presented by my headmaster. I would do anything to please him. You�ll still find that book in pride of place in the bookcase in the study. It was so easy to make your way effortlessly through life then and for some people it still might be�..Until I was sent to Larkhall.� A sixth sense of knowing Barbara so well had taught Henry that her apparently long detours had its point. He believed that patience was an old fashioned virtue which wasn�t much respected these days in the wide world but it did had its just reward.  
�I bitterly resented that hard hearted judge who sent me to prison. He had not an ounce of Christian charity or understanding and had no right to lecture me the way he did from his throne up on high. Everything I was brought up to believe in left me totally unprepared for what he said. Even to you, Henry, I cannot repeat his words��.� The unexpected force of the long pent up anger overflowed all Babs� emotions in all directions. She had never talked about it to Henry or to anyone else except, not even her diary. It was a hidden wound in her heart, which had suddenly been exposed at that one shocking moment. �You must have felt betrayed, didn�t you? I remember everything that you grew up with to also believe in my life.� Babs nodded, unable to speak at that moment. She dabbed at her eyes with a tiny lace handkerchief. Surprisingly soon, Babs Christian fortitude led her to carry on, initially unsteady in her voice to begin with.  
�Not only had Peter been taken away from me - you know how that feels,� Babs smiled quickly as she sought to make what she felt totally real to her very patient husband. ��.but I lost my freedom when the police came to arrest me one dark evening. If that wasn�t bad enough, I ended up locked up inside a mobile cubicle the size of a rabbit hutch and driven away to God knew where. The full horror of the situation combined with my loss of faith in half of what I had grown up believing in. It brought on the worst claustrophobic attack in my life. After that stupid woman Bodybag had mixed me up with a homicidal maniac, I was locked up in what seemed like a dungeon. I was pumped full of drugs, which knocked me for six by a man in a doctor�s gown. He was the sort of person I would have placed my life unthinkingly in his hands. I had thought that the worst had happened to me. But oh, no.� Babs had gradually built up her tirade from barely articulate grief to a crescendo of full-fledged anger at a deep-seated personal betrayal. It would have made Henry uncomfortable, he reflected, if he had not seen events with his own eyes which had educated him more of life than his past fifty or so years of effortlessly tranquil assumption of his present position in life of vicar in a rural community. Even life�s tragedy of when his first wife had died of cancer had not prepared him for Larkhall.  
�The crowning moment, the turning point in my life, was when I was stupidly worried out of my skin of the thought of sharing a cell with a supposedly notorious lesbian. I turned to the one man in charge who seemed to be that embodiment of male authority, which I had grown up to trust and look up to. I spoke to him in strict confidence.� Babs paused to swallow a mouthful of tea as her voice was getting dry. She sensed when she should push forward and talk and when to pause by sheer instinct. �Yet he immediately broke that trust to exploit a personal grudge in the meanest fashion imaginable. With it, he broke what I thought was my last respect for authority. The woman I shared a cell with was my truest friend and protector. It was Nikki. That prison officer was the late, very unlamented Mr. Fenner.� �This is all very true, Barbara. I don�t quite understand how all this relates to the rehearsal?

�I thought I had lost all respect for authority if it weren�t for Karen, Karen Betts, you know. As you remember, I was finally released and we settled down in this parish where we have been happy. Yet I have not been able to leave it all behind, not when we both were called to the stand over that dreadful affair. You remember when Snowball Merriman and Yvonne�s son conspired to set that bomb off on G Wing and when Fenner was killed. I did see a possible brighter side at that trial when I saw a real judge on the throne and felt, once again, that admiration that I used to feel. I was happy, spending time with all those dear friends from Larkhall from that time which so strangely had resulted from such a personal disaster. Truly, God moves in mysterious ways, his wonders to perform. So I went to the rehearsal, my faith restored. George was standing in as the conductor and she was fine. She obviously knew what she was doing and all she was trying to do was to get the best out of the orchestra.� Henry noticed immediately that Barbara had clearly identified with the perspective of George�s point of view, of assumption of responsibility, of duty, of commitment to the matter in hand. ��..Yet two of the most unspeakable members of the orchestra were the very same men who were at the back of the visitor�s gallery at the court who were clearly of high authority. Yet they were exposed by George for exchanging notes between each other making the sort of personal remarks that only nasty immature schoolboys are capable of. Not content with that, one of them had clearly not practised enough and had to be publicly and rightfully rebuked.� �There is bound to be the occasional bad apple in any organisation. It is, alas, something which one must expect,� Henry replied with far too much a sense of charity and understanding. If they had any differences of opinion, it was on this. �One bad apple, Henry, not a sense of rottenness from those who, after all, I was taught to believe in. Those most guilty are all without exception people of high authority, who go about their daily duty in judgement over other human beings. That�s what worries me, Henry. I wouldn�t trust some of them further than I could throw them. There was an underlying unpleasant atmosphere and an atmosphere of backstabbing. The man who played timpani was clearly playing games with George, enticing her to conduct and sing at the same time and set her up for a fall.� �And did she try?� �She had the sense not to rise to the bait.� �Do you think that there are enough right thinking people so that justice and fair dealing will prevail and above all else, that the rehearsals will bear fruit for the final performance?� Babs smiled faintly. She had not thought of that.  
�I think so. The judge, George. Jo, Karen and Roisin for a start are all on the same side, the right side.� �And will any unpleasantness come your way. That is what I am most concerned about.� Babs shook her head confidently. Her harpsichord parts were most evident in the recitatives when only her harpsichord and the cellos played. The very misleading mildness and unobtrusiveness of her personality left her to blend instinctively into the background and watch. This was a role that came easily to her. Now she came to think about it, it was only when she was alone once when David faced Goliath in the shape of a very spiteful Shell Dockley. Somehow, she summoned up the strength inside herself, to lash out and to throw Dockley across the room and result in her breaking her arm. That was a defining moment in her life when something in her reached out for a quality in her that she never knew that she possessed to take direct physical action. It was so against the grain of her self image of the law abiding citizen but, then again so was procuring cannabis plants from Nikki to alleviate the dying Zandra Plackett�s pain and easing Peter out of his earthly hell of pain to a salvation forever more. It was all in a good cause. Everything she had ever done in her life was always in a good cause. It was just that definitions could be legitimately stretched in directions she had never known of before. It had not taken Yvonne, for one, to take Babs� measure that she was tougher than she thought that she was and would always stand up with the rest of them out of conviction when others would hang back. In both the two major demonstrations at Larkhall, Babs took a surprisingly forceful backup role in the G Wing prisoner�s leadership even if her self-deprecating personality did not give her full credit. �No, I don�t think I will be in the firing line. When I think about it, Henry, if the situation ever arose, I know that I will know what to do even if I can�t see it at present.� �You don�t suppose that it will come out that you were once in prison - and Roisin also?� questioned Henry.  
�Karen would never say anything about that - nor would Neil.� �Neil?� This last aside of Babs went totally past Henry�s understanding.  
�Neil Grayling, the Governing Governor of Larkhall in our time. He is taking the part of Adam and a very fine singer as well. Not only that but he was thoroughly amenable and unassuming. The cellos and I back him on his solo parts. I�m confident that I can hold my own with any one of them.� �So fight the good fight then, Barbara?� Babs grinned for the first time that day. That did sum her up very well.  
�I�m truly sorry, Henry. I did not wish to impose on you. It�s just that there was a lot in my mind that I wanted to get clear now I don�t write a diary these days. I thought that I never needed to.� �We are all God�s creatures, Barbara. You know that those who are placed in authority are not necessarily better human beings than those less fortunate are. I have to restrain my feelings when I hear some of the sentiments expressed by some of the less charitable members of the congregation that they should thank Heaven for what they have in life and not to elevate into a major catastrophe, what is clearly nothing of the sort. When I remember my lime of vicar of Larkhall prison��� he started to say.  
Henry suddenly went red in the face as a coughing bout deprived him of the power of speech. Anxiously, Babs rushed to fetch a glass of water and to pat his back until he recovered. It was so like him to get angry and protective on her behalf, never on his own account.

As Babs relaxed back in her armchair, she smiled fondly at that supremely understanding man who sat so close to her and with whom she was destined to share their autumn years together. What would she do without him, without his wise council? 


	95. Part Ninety Five

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part Ninety-Five

On the Tuesday evening, Karen was trying to wade her way through some overdue paperwork. She'd been in her new job exactly four weeks now, but it felt as though she'd been doing it forever. As well as the inevitable budgets, she had the recruiting of new officers, allocating of inmates, and the serious adjudication's to deal with. On top of all this fairly run of the mill stuff, were the endless circulars from area, containing either promises or refusals of funding, outlines of new policies, or simply requests for information that she really didn't have the time to provide. Juggling G wing's finances had been enough of a struggle, but she now had the joyful task of distributing the money to wherever she considered it might be most profitably used, which would no doubt incur the wrath of whoever didn't receive it. It hadn't been any coincidence that she had been put into the job at the beginning of the new financial year, she reflected grimly to herself. Neil hadn't wanted to go through the endless arguments with wing governors, about why their funding had been cut, in order for the adjacent wing to make desperately needed improvements. She had the accounts for the previous year for every wing spread over the table, the floor between it and the computer, gradually becoming strewn with screwed up pieces of paper holding frantically scrawled calculations. It was interesting, she thought cynically, seeing the monthly financial battle from the other side. PMT might be irritating, but it had nothing on the feeling of having to spread the funding far too thinly, like a scraping of butter over an entire loaf of bread. 

A little after nine, the phone rang. It was George. "Darling, are you busy?" George asked, once they'd got the usual pleasantries out of the way. "Nothing that can't wait," Karen replied, hearing the clear need for company in George's voice. "Do you want to come over?" "Is that all right?" George asked, not wanting to intrude if Karen would rather be doing something else. "Yes, of course. Are you okay?" "Not really," George said, desperately trying to hide the threat of tears. 

As George drove across London to Karen's flat, she wondered if she should really be doing this. She felt incredibly miserable, and wasn't sure if she would be able to maintain even a vague pretense of normality. Her argument with John on the Saturday had knocked her for six, but would Karen really want to hear about it. Maybe all she needed was a cuddle and someone to listen, and let's face it, she thought, anything was worth a try. George had to smile when Karen came to the door. She was wearing jeans and a casual black top that clung to her high, full breasts. Her hair was ruffled and standing on end, as if she'd been running her fingers through it. "I look like I've been dragged through a hedge backwards, don't I," Karen said, seeing George's appraisal. "Actually, it suits you," George said, moving into Karen's arms once they were upstairs. "I quite like the casual and relaxed look." "Casual maybe, but definitely not relaxed. Let's just say, that the funding area sees fit to keep Larkhall on an even keel, leaves a lot to be desired." After they'd kissed each other long and hard, Karen held George at arm's length and scrutinized her. "You look worn out," She said gently. "And you've got ink on your face," George replied, neatly diverting Karen's all too accurate assessment of her. "My pen started leaking all over my latest begging letter to area," Karen replied, glancing down at the ink still on the fingers of her right hand. "Would you like a drink?" She asked, moving towards the kitchen. "Because I think I've definitely earned a large scotch." "Not for me," George said, moving to sit on the sofa, and observing Karen's paper trail that led from dining table to computer. "Why, are you not up to drinking on an empty stomach?" Karen asked, sitting next to George with a very welcome glass in her hand. "Is it that obvious?" "Not to the unaccustomed it wouldn't be," Karen said fairly. "When did you last eat?" "Yesterday, I think." Taking a swig of her scotch, Karen put an arm round George, feeling the tension in her body. "What's happened?" She asked gently. George took a breath to reply, but realised that she didn't know how to go about explaining, that John had all but demanded that she choose between him and Karen. "I had a pretty enormous row with John," She said eventually. "It just got to me more than I thought it would, that's all." "It must have been some row, to make you stop eating again." "It was. We haven't shouted at each other like that since we were married. I feel stupid, because I shouldn't have let it get to me like this, but he always knows which buttons to press to make me feel guilty. You know John, he doesn't do something like that openly. He does it so covertly that you end up feeling that his problem with something is your fault." "Sweetheart, as far as I'm aware," Karen said with a rush of feeling. "You have absolutely nothing to feel guilty about." "I don't think that's quite how John sees it," George said miserably. "Is this about me?" George tried to avoid Karen's all too penetrating gaze, but Karen wouldn't let her. "It didn't start off about you," George admitted finally. "But that's how it ended, with me telling him that if he didn't like the person I am, he knew where the front door was." Karen fought to suppress her anger, knowing that George didn't need to see it. "I thought I had all this out with him back in January," Karen said, clearly exasperated with him. "It wasn't ever going to go away that easily, Karen, you know that." "Yes, I do, but he had absolutely no right to take it out on you." "Why not?" George asked bitterly. "It's me who's done this to him, not you, and not anyone else." "George, you haven't done anything to him. I know he's felt very threatened by you and me, but that is his problem, not yours. John is always trying to prove that he's a fully fledged adult, and thoroughly capable of making his own decisions, so it's about bloody time he started acting like one." George half smiled in spite of herself. "You'd make a very good defense barrister," She said, putting her arms round Karen. "He can't do this to you, George," Karen insisted vehemently. "Yes, he can," George said resignedly. "I know it, and he knows it too. As pathetic as it sounds, he knows I will never be able to live without him. I loathe myself for having to admit it, but it's true, and he knows it's true. The only real problem with it is, that he is perfectly able to take advantage of it from time to time." Karen hated to hear George talking like this. "Do you want to stop seeing me?" Karen asked quietly, slightly astounded at the fear that rose in her at the thought. "No, of course I don't," George protested. "That's the last thing I want. You've got no idea just how much you mean to me, have you. When it began, I thought it was just because I was discovering a new part of me, finding out just how sensational sleeping with a woman really was, but it's not. You've just accepted me for who I am, and you've never tried to change me. You don't know just how special that is to me. I know I'm incredibly complicated, and I know I'm difficult to be with sometimes, but you don't let it get in the way." After gently kissing her, Karen said, "So, what are you going to do about John?" "There's nothing I can do," George said grimly. "Only he can decide what's really important to him. If he ever wants to apologise, that's up to him to do in his own time. I'm not going to push him into it, and I would far rather that nobody else did either," She added knowingly. "Oh, don't worry," Karen replied, having interpreted George's plea. "I'm leaving this in your hands. Any interference from me would only make the situation worse. But that doesn't stop me from wanting to verbally kick him into the middle of next week." 

They sat close together, George feeling more depressed than she had done in a long time, but wholly unable to tell Karen about it. She was so afraid of losing this woman who meant so much to her, that she didn't want to frighten her off. George found her insecurities and inadequacies difficult enough to deal with herself, so anyone else would surely run away screaming. She knew it was stupid, but she couldn't escape the fact that Karen might not want to keep putting up with all the hassle John was currently providing. She wasn't sure she would if she were in Karen's position. But Karen wasn't blind, she knew there was an awful lot George wasn't telling her. She could feel an inner tension, an inner fear, something inside George that was preventing her from really talking about what she was feeling. Karen didn't attempt to get George to eat anything, because she thought this might push George away altogether, but it still worried her. Someone as slightly built as George couldn't afford to lose much weight at the best of times, and Karen privately thought that George remained below an average weight for a woman of her size, even when she was eating normally. All George seemed to want this evening was to be close to someone, for just another's presence to stop her from dwelling too closely on her own thoughts. They didn't talk very much, there not being a need for it. Karen and George could be close together without requiring a constant source of conversation. The soft music Karen had put on the stereo made George gradually begin to relax, making her feel that the warm, safe haven of Karen's arms was where she wanted to stay for the foreseeable future. But at about a quarter past ten, Karen broke into her contemplation. "Come on," She said, briefly touching George's face where it rested against her shoulder. "We've both got to work in the morning." "Can I stay?" George asked with a yawn. "I naturally assumed you would be," Karen said, gently kissing her. Whilst Karen took a shower to remove any last traces of ink, some of which had even managed to get into her hair, George cleaned her teeth and slipped under the thick feather duvet. She listened to the now very familiar sounds of Karen preparing for bed, drifting in and out of a doze as her exhaustion began catching up with her. 

But when Karen's soft, warm body slid in beside her, George woke up to the one thing that might help her feel human again. She wasn't sure if it would work, but she didn't want to go straight to sleep. When Karen held out her arms and George moved into them, their legs entwined, bringing them as close together as was humanly possible. As Karen gently kissed her, an immense need to protect George rose up in her, combined with an urge to utter those three fatally dangerous words, I love you. That would be the biggest mistake she could make. If John was putting pressure on George, then by saying such a thing she would be doing exactly the same. Taking Karen's hand, George led it to her breast, stating more clearly than a thousand words that she wanted Karen to make love to her. As Karen moved her hand over George's soft, silky skin, she realised that George might want this as a form of brief escapism. But even as her nipples began to inevitably react to Karen's skilful touch, George realised that the rest of her wasn't about to follow suit. Karen thought something was a little different about George this time, but she couldn't place exactly what it was. The answer reached her, however, when she gently slipped a hand between George's legs, to discover that she wasn't remotely aroused. At the point when Karen realised that George was as dry as a bone, tears of utter humiliation rose to George's eyes. 

"I'm sorry," George said, finally beginning to lose control of her emotions. Swiftly removing her hand from between George's legs, Karen put her arms round her. "Hey," She said, gently running her hand up and down George's back. "You don't need to be sorry." "I needed this, so much," George said, her frantic gasps almost choking her. "I know," Karen said softly. "I just wanted to feel vaguely human again." "And believe me, George, this isn't the way," Karen said gently. "Then what is?" George demanded desperately, feeling every ounce of restraint slipping through her fingers. Having no answer to this, Karen simply held her, trying to soothe away the painful sobs that were wracking George's body. "Sweetheart, talk to me," Karen said, when George began to calm down. "I'm sorry," George said, reaching for some tissues from the box on the bedside table. "I didn't want you to see me like this." "George, listen to me," Karen cajoled. "You don't have to hide anything from me." "Yes, I do," George insisted, her tears showing no sign of decreasing. "Why do you?" "Because you have absolutely no idea just how unstable I can be sometimes, and I don't want you to know. I scare the hell out of myself with the kind of thoughts I have when I get like this, so god knows what anyone else would think of them." "I might know more about it than you think I do," Karen said quietly. "I think that it's incredibly easy for you to get very depressed, and that the not eating, is sometimes a part of it and that it sometimes isn't." George's whole body jerked at Karen's utterance of the word depressed. "You flinch at the word depressed, just like I do with the word rape." "I hate it," George said vehemently. "I know you do, and I know that you don't want anyone, especially someone as close to you as I'm becoming, to know what you think or how you feel. You really aren't going to frighten me off, you know." "It's just, when it gets really bad, I feel so ashamed of some of the things I end up thinking." "And now you're talking in riddles," Karen said, gently kissing her cheek. "But I know what you mean. I just have no idea how to help you." "I don't expect you to," George said, not wanting Karen to have to feel anything of the sort. "George, wanting to find the best way to help someone through a rough time, that's what people do when they care about each other." "I think I've forgotten what that's like," George said miserably. "John's attitude is that if you can't actually see evidence of a problem, then it doesn't exist. He doesn't understand why I stop eating, so he tries to avoid discussing it. Yet if he ever finds out I'm doing it, all he can think about is making me eat again." George sounded so despondent, that Karen fervently wished she could miraculously take all the pain away. "It's so, so easy to slide back into it again, and so hard to get out. John won't accept that it really is an addiction, but it is. My immediate reaction to anything incredibly stressful is just to stop eating. It's not even a conscious decision half the time, but it's so hard to start eating again. The longer I leave it, the harder it is." "Sweetheart, how long is it really since you last ate?" "Sunday," George replied, refusing to meet Karen's gaze. "Okay," Karen said quietly. "That's not too catastrophic, but as you said, the sooner you start eating again, the easier it will be." "Not tonight, please," George begged. "No, tomorrow will do. But George, please don't lie to me, not even little white ones. I'm not going to be cross with you, not if you tell me the truth." "I'm sorry," George said, for what felt like the hundredth time. "I know, but don't be sorry, just be honest with me. I want to help you, but I can't if you don't talk to me." "You are, by not demanding answers I can't give you." Then, after a moment's silence, she added, "And I loathe trying to make love and not enjoying it." Karen kissed her lingeringly. "It happens," She said. "It really doesn't matter. Yvonne used to say it made her feel like a defective bloke." George laughed. "Yes, it does. I long for the day when John can't do it. That'll be poetic justice, that will." "It happens to everyone occasionally," Karen said matter-of-factly. "Even reprobates like John." "Darling," George said carefully. "I haven't completely frightened you off, have I?" "No," Karen said, bringing them if possible closer together. "And you're never likely to." But as they gradually fell asleep, George couldn't escape the fact that whilst she might be slowly beginning to open up with Karen, it hadn't gone any further to sorting things out with John. If John were ever gone from her life, it would leave a hole far too big to avoid falling into. 

Karen woke several times in the night, her thoughts always resuming their former endeavour, to endlessly tread her fruitless attempts to come up with a satisfactory way for her to help George. Dealing with anorexia and depression, as well as all their associated problems, would have been relatively straightforward had she been approaching it in the guise of nurse or prison officer. But this was George, someone she cared deeply about, someone she thought she might even be growing to love, and any thought of professionalism had gone straight out of the window. George slept restlessly beside her, occasionally murmuring an indecipherable plea, at which time Karen would hold George safe in her arms. When the alarm woke her at six thirty, Karen was dragged from sleep by the realisation that she may just have stumbled on, if not an answer, a possible way forward. Seeing that George was still asleep, Karen slipped out of bed, put on a dressing-gown and went to make herself a cup of tea. 

When George began to surface, Karen was sitting on the side of the bed, gently shaking her shoulder. "What time is it?" George said groggily, turning over to face Karen. "Time to get up," Karen said with a yawn. "Sit up and drink this," She added, holding out a glass. "What is it?" George asked suspiciously, struggling into a sitting position, her tousled hair making her look utterly adorable in Karen's eyes. "Pineapple juice. It's the sweetest thing I had in the fridge. Your blood sugar's probably a bit low after two days of not eating." "Oh, so that's why I feel like staying right here for the rest of my life," George said dully, accepting the glass from Karen and taking an experimental sip. "Oh, god, that really is sweet," She said, screwing up her face in distaste. "Drink all of it," Karen said firmly. "You need the glucose. I'd rather you were getting it in a far more concentrated form, but natural sugar will have to do." Under Karen's steady gaze, George slowly emptied the glass, finally placing it on the bedside table. "There's something I need to ask you," Karen said, taking hold of George's hands. "I'd like your permission to talk to Jo, because I am well aware that there's an awful lot you aren't telling me, that I suspect she does know. I also think that you might find it easier to talk to me, if I already know just how bad it gets. You are incredibly frightened of admitting to what's really going on in here," She said, gently touching George's face. "And I think it would help you enormously not to have that barrier in the first place." "You will, even if I say no, won't you," George said bitterly. "No, not if you don't want me to." "Then I would really rather you didn't," George said a little icily. "I will deal with this in my own time and in my own way, just like I always do." Biting back the assertion that George's way clearly wasn't working, Karen simply said, "Okay, I won't," And getting up from the bed, she went into the bathroom, a long hot shower being the only thing that might properly wake her up. 

As George listened to the shower running, she felt ridiculous. Karen was only trying to help her in the way she knew best, and if George was forced to admit it, she knew Karen's suggestion had been a good one. But it made her cringe to think of Karen and Jo discussing her as though she were some slightly obscure endangered species. But that wasn't really fair, she thought. Karen and Jo both cared a great deal for her, she knew that. If Karen did talk to Jo, then Jo might fill her in as to just how bad it had got last time. At least she, George, wouldn't have to see Karen's immediate reaction to that, which was after all her greatest fear when it came to talking to Karen about all of this. She couldn't tell Karen that when it got really bad, she would often feel like ending it all. That was just unthinkable. It didn't matter that she hadn't ever tried it, or that she probably never would. The fact that she contemplated it on far too much of a regular basis was bad enough. 

When George emerged from her own hot shower, yesterday's clothes making her look far less professional than usual, she found Karen sitting at the table, last night's paper hurricane having miraculously migrated to her briefcase. She was reading the morning's copy of The Guardian, and eating a bowl of cornflakes. Retrieving a yoghurt from the fridge, George sat down opposite her. "I don't mind," She said slowly. "If you talk to Jo." Karen looked up surprised. "Are you sure?" She asked, putting her spoon down and putting a hand over one of George's. "I'm not going to like it," George admitted, entwining her fingers with Karen's. "But you've given me a get out clause that I can't quite ignore. At least this way, I don't have to witness your immediate reaction to finding out just how screwed up I am." "I wish you wouldn't think like that about yourself," Karen said quietly. "You might change your mind after talking to Jo." George's reply might have borne the flippant edge of black humour, but Karen didn't miss the strength of meaning behind it. As they both left a while later, Karen to drive to Larkhall and George to go home for some different clothes before going to work, Karen put out her arms, pulling George close to her. "Promise me to take care of yourself," She said into George's hair. "One thing Jo will tell you," George said with a half smile. "Is that I don't do promises, especially not promises like that." "Well, at least try," Karen said quietly. "And I'm always here, any time." "I know," George replied, the threat of tears evident in her voice. As Karen watched her drive away, she couldn't help but to wonder if she really would see George again, and if she should have let her drive away, as if everything was as perfectly all right as she wished it was. 


	96. Part Ninety Six

Part Ninety-Six

Roisin had had a continual rush at school from one thing to another while the back of her mind was meditating on the crotchets and quavers of her evening�s calling. In all the hurly burly of the day, her mouth smiled at the right times and her lips said the right words. She had rushed off home with the children and she and Cassie had made the evening meal and all the plates and knives were washed and dried. She had done her duty for every conceivable person under the sun and now the rest of the evening was hers.

Roisin carefully took her sheaf of sheet music and selected the particular piece, which she intended to practice. She pinned it to the front of the large fridge freezer, which was the handiest improvised music stand she could find. Strong magnetic counters on each corner tacked it into position for easy sight-reading. The only fly in the ointment was Cassie�s limitations in helping out with the children�s homework. Cassie had gallantly volunteered to stay with the children so that Roisin could practice undisturbed. This was the theory and, well meaning as the other woman was, there was an obvious weakness in this plan which Roisin could spot a mile away.

Dismissing her fears, she trusted to luck, took up her violin and braced it against her chin. She took up her bow and was precisely poised to coax out of her instrument, those precise flowing tones of the opening bars when��.

�Mum, I�m stuck with my algebra. Can you help?� came Michael�s desolate wail.  
How did Nigel Kennedy ever become the most talented violinist of the modern age, Roisin groaned inwardly. Well, first he was a man. That made a big difference. Either he was a bachelor, married only to his artistic muse, or alternatively, his wife was wonderwoman or else they had an excellent battalion of servants on hand. Cassie, bless her, had suffered from a misspent youth. All the consequences of those years of erotic daydreams of her PE teacher when she should have been knuckling down to her school work were coming back to haunt her and, by extension, Roisin. For someone whose mathematical ingenuity had nearly enabled her to get away with scamming the firm that they had both worked for, she had barely scraped her way through Maths �O� level and had imagined that she had promptly turned her back on quadratic equations the moment when she left school. Now that she was called upon to help with the education of two intelligent children whose virtuous application and thirst for knowledge was limitless, she was aware of her limitations. It was all Roisin�s fault for encouraging them to have questioning, inquisitive minds, she said to herself with rueful self-mockery. She wished she had concentrated more on her studies instead of lusting after the girl next door but try telling that to the adolescent headstrong of the Cassie Tyler at the time.  
�Roash, I�ve been trying my best to cover for you but you know that algebra isn�t my best subject,� Cassie said apologetically. Laying down her violin and bow with a sigh, she mentally switched like lightning from the sheet music in her head to the algebraic equations which had been dinned into her memory and which she recalled surprisingly well. Roisin smiled when she popped her head round the living room door and saw Cassie�s apologetic expression and that very unusual look of helplessness and that she had tried her very best and it was now Roisin to the rescue. Thank heaven Roisin had been a dutiful schoolgirl and had always done her homework on time or they would be really struggling.  
She sat herself down with the poor boy and saw at once the point on which he was stuck. She conjured up the correct words with an incredible mental jump to his level of thinking.  
�Will you be all right to carry on from there, Michael?� she asked with a winning smile.  
Niamh watched with amusement from underneath her fringe of dark hair that fell over her eyes while her gaze was fixed on her homework. She was sure that Michael knew more than he let on. After all, if he was bright enough to start reading Sherlock Holmes stories, she could not understand how the relatively simple matter that he asked Mum to help with would perplex him so much. From Michael�s point of view, the schoolwork was beginning to be tougher and homework was taking up more of his spare time. It was easier when he was younger. With a ticking clock in her mind, she managed by a superhuman effort to ease Michael past his particular problem and stayed with him until she was sure that he had understood what she had told him. Cassie could sense the unease in Roisin�s manner and chimed in at the right time.  
�I think that you can let mum go back to the kitchen and carry on with her practising. Are you all right, Niamh?� Cassie enquired of the little girl who had plugged on industriously at her homework. She had the knack of totally switching herself from the world once her concentration was engaged.  
Niamh nodded, pleased that her quiet presence in the background had been noticed.  
�I really must get on with my violin practice or I shall be hopeless at the next rehearsal.� Roisin�s guilt at shutting herself off from the rest of the family and falling behind in her self-imposed task was painfully obvious to Cassie.  
�You take yourself away, babe. I�ll pass you a cup of tea later if you want one.� Roisin gave Cassie that brilliant loving smile that had made Cassie go weak at the knees when Roisin climbed out of her unassuming background photographic frame and she saw her for who she was.  
�Why are you so busy, mum? It�s like you�ve got homework. Grown ups don�t have homework,� Michael asked.  
�It�s a choice that I made after talking it over with you all,� Came Roisin�s defensive reply. "It�s something I need to do to express myself. Any musician will tell you that.� �That sounds fine to me, kids,� Cassie intervened. �I�m not into the music that Roisin plays but if it makes her happy, it�s something she needs to do. You don�t stop learning when you leave school.� The sheer solid weight of maturity said so plainly and simply had the desired effect. Cassie�s total seriousness made the children sit up and take notice.  
�And you are playing with judges and lawyers?� Michael enquired.  
�About right. Most of the barristers from law firms in London, John and another judge, a couple of civil servants, oh yes Babs who used to be at Larkall and Karen who�s still there�..� Cassie smiled inwardly at Roisin�s most interesting description at this point.  
���..And Neil, who also used to be at Larkhall and Jo, the barrister who defended Lauren in court so brilliantly. It�s quite a gathering.� �And they really think that our mum is good enough to play with them?� pursued Michael.  
�I sure am,� Roisin grinned confidently.  
�Right, kids, you�ve got homework to finish off and mum has her violin to practice,� Cassie broke in as the voice of authority. Jesus, if my mum had talked to me that way, I would have flown off the handle. Correction, came the afterthought, she did try to speak that way and I was a complete rebellious brat. �Are you really sure you don�t need any more help and can manage by yourselves, or at a push, with me if you�re absolutely stuck.� Michael looked at Cassie and decided that he could manage after all. Roisin looked round nervously and saw Cassie�s raised eyebrows, silently asking her what are you waiting for.  
�I�ll see you later on when I�m finished.� �You�re only going to the kitchen, mum,� Michael said loudly. Stupid me, that�s perfectly true. Why did I not think of that earlier on?

Roisin took the stage in her mind, or rather went to the fairly tidy kitchen, straightening a tea towel on the way and tidying the salt and pepper pots into their accustomed places. She took up her violin and bow once again and forced her mind to detach itself from �must do�lists and mathematical equations that were threatening to crowd her mind. Now, she straightened the sheet music, which had slipped a bit and took up her violin and bow and took it from the top.

Delicately, she coaxed the soft flowing tranquil stream of notes from her violin and Roisin was immediately lost in her world. This time, on her own, she could explore the music for herself even if it described the merest suggestion of a line drawing without all the width and depth of musical expression to properly colour in all the musical tones. To her mind, she faithfully followed the gentle sweep of the music.

�Mum is good, isn�t she,� Niamh spoke to Cassie from the other room while peace prevailed. Michael and Niamh could shut themselves off into their homework but the gentle melodies from the kitchen was a gentle backdrop to the serenity of the evening.  
�She is, Niamh.� A commonplace remark like that totally understated her admiration for the woman with which she had chosen to share her life. She had heard Roisin play the violin before but her total confidence of purpose was something she had not heard before. Maybe she will enjoy the performance when it takes place. Chances are, none of her old friends will see her head off for Babs� church. After all, she couldn�t think of any of those outrageously out and proud dykes to be Bible bashers as well.

Roisin could see that she was getting near to the bottom of the right hand sheet and there were a few trickier places where she needed to go over them. The only problem was that she didn�t want to stop. She didn�t quite know what to do when��

Suddenly, the hideously atonal repetitive sound of the telephone rang. By some oversight, the cordless phone had been left in the kitchen.  
�I�ll get it,� Yelled Roisin.  
The hideously enthusiastic voice began to read off the script at her and �Good evening, I am calling from Staybrite windows. You have been selected for the chance in the lifetime of having double glazing fitted as part of a special offer for the chance of having your name put into a prize draw being held in your area. First prize is the complete costs of this..." �If you don�t mind. I play for the London Symphony Orchestra. I have an important performance tomorrow night at the Royal Albert Hall and I can�t be interrupted. If I want your services, I�ll look in the phone book and contact you. Now goodnight.� Cassie and the children burst into laughter at the unexpectedly ingenious way that she had sent packing, the increasing profusion of cold calling. Roisin had been increasingly irritated by the way that they had presumed to call her by her Christian name by people who she had not met in her life and then gone on to compound their ignorance of her by asking after Mr. Connor. That feeling building up and this mindless interruption was the last straw.  
�Hey, babe. I�ve never thought of that one. I�ll try that one next time we get a call.� �I thought we were supposed to tell the truth,� Niamh asked inconveniently.  
�I�ll go to church next week and ask the father for forgiveness for my sins. I�m sure he�ll understand,� Roisin answered a little sheepishly at her slight stretching of the facts. It was emotionally true however and in a good cause.  
�You�ll be forgiven anything Roash. I know you so well by now.� The warmth in Cassie�s voice and the look in her eye told Roisin that while her rehearsal wasn�t going that great, she had everything else in her life that she could have wished for. 


	97. Part ninety Seven

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part Ninety-Seven

On the Thursday morning, Karen decided it was time to see if she could talk to Jo. She would have done something about it on the Wednesday, but a steadily growing crisis on H wing had accosted her as soon as she'd gone into work. She'd phoned George on the Wednesday evening, just to see if she was all right. But now it was Thursday, and Karen didn't think things were getting any better. Dialing the number for Jo's office, Karen tried to formulate what she was about to say. If put in the wrong way, this would make her sound either utterly pathetic or completely insane. "Jo, it's Karen," She said, on being greeted by the confident, familiar voice. "This is a nice surprise," Jo said, sounding pleased to hear from her. "I'm not sure you'll think so," Karen said carefully. "It's about George." "I'm listening," Jo replied, not altogether sure of what was coming. Karen didn't strike her as the type who would actively go seeking relationship advice. "She's stopped eating again, and I think I need filling in on a few details in order to help her." "I see," Jo said quietly. "I have a client due in about five minutes," She said, glancing at her watch. "And this is definitely going to take longer than that. How about meeting somewhere for lunch?" "Yes, good idea," Karen said, sounding incredibly relieved that Jo had agreed to help her. After arranging to meet in a small winebar not far from Jo's office, Jo said, "Don't worry, we'll sort her out," And as Karen replaced the receiver, she sent up a prayer to whoever was listening that they could. 

At one o'clock, Karen walked through the door of the bar Jo had suggested, to be greeted by the delicious aroma of garlic and herbs, combined with espresso coffee and cigarette smoke. Jo waved at her from a corner table. "This is nice," Karen said as she sat down opposite Jo. "This is the nearest place to my office where I can smoke, eat, and get a decent scotch if I need one." "If I didn't have to work this afternoon, that would be a wonderful idea." Ordering a pot of coffee and lighting cigarettes, they both searched for a way to begin what was most likely going to be a very difficult conversation. "Tell me what's happened," Jo invited gently, observing Karen's difficulty. "Before I do, you should know that George knows I'm talking to you. I didn't want to do this without her permission. She's had a fairly huge row with John, mostly about me, though I'm told it didn't start like that." "So, that's why he's been avoiding me this week," Jo said in comprehension. "Probably," Karen agreed. "I know very little of what he said to her, but I do know that George has ended up feeling guilty, for not being able to be who he wants her to be. She came to see me on Tuesday night, and that's when some of this came out." "How long have you known about her problem with food?" Jo asked, taking a long drag of her cigarette. "Since the first time we had dinner together." Jo's eyes widened. "Well, that's progress," She said with pride in her voice. "I might be wrong, but I've a feeling she wanted to redress the balance of how many skeletons she knew about of mine. It's funny, but she'll talk about the anorexia, but not about the depression that goes with it." "I'm not really surprised," Jo said quietly. "Having been there intermittently myself over the years, I know how difficult that is." "Just how bad does it get for her, Jo?" Taking a sip of her coffee, Jo attempted to organise her thoughts. "I take it you know why George starves herself, whether intentionally or otherwise?" "I know about Charlie, and I know that it's usually guilt of some form or another that makes her stop eating, though I suspect it's all mixed up with a hefty dose of self-loathing." "That's about the size of it, though pretty much anything can spark it off, if she's depressed to start with. Just after the Merriman/Atkins trial, she seduced John, and yes, believe it or not, he did need persuading. But it wasn't quite the success she thought it would be. I think she wanted it too much, or should I say needed it too much. Not long before this, she'd been given a black eye by her previous lover." "The current secretary of state for trade," Karen filled in. "Yes, I know about him." "Well, I greatly surprised George by letting her shout at me, the morning after that happened. Before then, the thought of me and George even being vaguely civil to each other was almost unheard of." "So, she felt guilty for sleeping with John, because of you," Karen said, beginning to put the pieces together. "Which would have knocked her for six in itself." "Quite. I knew she was losing it, the day we questioned you about Fenner, but I didn't know the full extent of it." "She told me about the day she fainted in court." "Not a very easy day for either of us," Jo replied, remembering the tortuous words she'd coaxed out of George that day. "George does talk, at least an awful lot more than she used to, but it's still not enough. I remember," Jo stopped, the pain evident in her face. "That day she fainted in court, I took her home and she got into bed, having just enough energy to talk, but not enough to do anything else. All she was wearing was a cotton nightie, and she looked so thin. I've never seen anyone so painfully underweight as George was. Her arms were like sticks, and John carried her out of court as if she weighed no more than a child, which I suppose she didn't." "She's not looking all that healthy at the moment," Karen said, beginning to realise just how serious the situation could get if not curtailed. "How is she apart from not eating?" "Not good," Karen said regretfully. "But she'll only tell me so much." "Like John," Jo said gently. "You're that bit too close to her. If I know George, she'll be so scared of frightening you off, that the last thing she'll want to do is to be entirely honest with you. It's no reflection on you, I promise. George is simply terrified of losing the people she cares about. I might be wrong, but I think it stems from losing her mother when she was a child. She and John are really very similar, when it comes to the one thing they will only discuss under duress." "Just how low did she get last time?" Karen asked, thinking that it was time she knew the full extent of how George could be feeling. "Very," Jo said somberly. "But it was like trying to get blood out of a stone, persuading her to admit it. George is a great one for euphemisms, and even when I dragged it out of her, she couldn't quite say how she felt, without trying to diminish the true extent of it." "Was she suicidal?" Karen had been working up to this, and in truth, she didn't know how to phrase it. But when the words simply left her mouth without prior consideration, she knew that the bare, blunt approach had been for the best. "Yes," Jo replied, it hurting her immeasurably, to have to remember George's pitiful description of how she'd felt, on that Sunday in late October. "Has she ever done anything about it?" "Not to my knowledge, no, though that doesn't mean she never would." Lighting another cigarette, Karen tried to buy herself some thinking time. "There is actually a very simple reason why I don't think she ever could go through with it," Jo continued. "You know John almost better than I do these days, so I expect you know how his mother died." "Yes, he did tell me." "The last time George got this bad, she said that she could never do that to John, because of how his mother had died. She said that he'd never forgive her." Karen blew smoke up at the ceiling where countless people had done the same before her. "How do I help her, Jo?" She finally asked. "How do I stop her from sliding back into that downward spiral, that's if she isn't there already." "All you can do," Jo said, putting a gentle hand over the one of Karen's that wasn't holding a cigarette. "Is what you're doing now. George knows she has you, and if she wants to talk to you, she will. But I can't promise that she will. Even though she's aware of your talking to me about this, it won't make it any easier for her. I'll try and talk to her over the weekend. The worst thing you can do is to crowd her, because the more she feels pressured into talking, the less she'll do it. Tell her you're still there for her, but let her come to you. Even if George thinks you know all there is to know, she still won't want to talk about most of what she's feeling. She may be able to with me, because it ultimately doesn't matter what I think of anything she does or says." "I feel useless," Karen said regretfully. "You're not," Jo said gently. "You're doing everything you can for her, and she knows that. John, however, is a very different matter." "Jo, George asked me not to get involved with the row she had with John, and I suspect she would feel the same about you too. She said that if he's going to apologise, he's got to do it when he feels it's right, not when anyone else tells him he should." "She could be in for a long wait," Jo said bitterly. "But okay, for now I'll leave him to his own devices. But whatever happens, I am not letting George get as thin or as depressed as she did eighteen months ago, just because John can't learn to control his pretty pathetic streak of possessive jealousy!" As Karen drove back to Larkhall, Jo's words echoed in her mind. There were clearly so many things both she and Jo would say to John if they could, but for now, George was their immediate concern, not some overgrown adolescent who didn't want to share his most prized possession. 


	98. Part Ninety Eight

Part Ninety-Eight

"So, Larkhall prison is apparently turning over a new leaf. No escapes, no suicides, no explosions. It cannot last, of course?" Alison Warner's cynical words were delivered with a smile that wasn't really a smile.  
"You know, the more I examine the goings on of the group of prisons in my charge, the more that I see that the problems I had were not unique to Larkhall. It is interesting talking directly to a range of Governing Governors as I get the feeling very strongly that their prisons are functioning only as while they keep the hatches well battened down on trouble." Grayling smiled that smile back at her while he capably lobbed her brand of sneaky remark right back at her without being outright confrontational.  
Alison Warner pursed her lips in a disapproving fashion. She should have been warned that the Neil Grayling that was working for her combined the truculent Bolshevik politics of the worst sort of trade union activist like Arthur Scargill with the smoothness of the fictional Sir Humphrey Appleby out of "Yes Minister." The worst of it was that he had such a reputation as a radical innovating moderniser. He had turned out to be a sheep in wolf's clothing.

"I have examined your paper on how to reduce sick absence in the prison service." At that point, Alison Warner paused to let the full effect of her disapproval sink in but Grayling declined to comment which irritated her. "Rather controversial, is it not?" "You found it interesting, I trust?" Grayling asked calmly.  
"The impression that it and you leave is that you've 'gone native,'" Alison Warner explained dismissively.  
"I don't understand. Can you explain what you're getting at." "I mean," snapped Alison Warner. "That you appear to have adopted the point of view of a malcontent barrack room lawyer in the trenches as in the First World War with their petty minded negative criticisms of the grand design of the generals. It was they who had the strategic thinking of understanding that a temporary local reverse was the process of the grand overall design of the blueprint to victory." "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Warner, but exactly which First World War battle had you in mind?" Came the answer in Grayling's most innocent tones.  
Alison Warner's face reddened and she contemptuously flipped open the report and read a section from it.  
"…….my research has found that personnel departments both in the private and public sector, have this fixed unalterable belief that they should seek to divine in statistics a supposed pattern of days of sickness taken on the Friday and the Monday following, and to draw misleading conclusions from this that an element of this sickness is either self induced or fictitious (i.e. bingeing over the weekend or deliberately 'pulling a sickie'). My conclusions are that caution has to be exercised in drawing such conclusions and that it is for the line manager to exercise discretion in handling the situation in being open to all possibilities and, above all, not to prejudge any situation. My definite conclusion is that figures for long term, unavoidable sick absence should be identified separately leaving the raw material of what is left as potential scope for improvement. This is not to deny that there is, inevitably, bound to be a minority of prison officers who do abuse the system," read the report in calm measured tones while the author remembered vividly the frequent absences of Mrs. Hollamby due to 'backache"This minority they can only operate where others are willing to collude to the point of covering up for them. Whether or not it is so is down to the specific 'work culture' at the particular prison or wing. It is for local management to be proactive in handling these issues with proper backup and, if need be, training of the prison governor's concerned. It cannot be denied that there is a worrying trend in overcrowding in prisons and this will inevitably be bound to increase the overall trend of sickness. An especial 'red warning light' and one trend to be closely watched is stress-related sickness. In focussing on these issues, it is of course entirely possible that a self certificate or even doctor's medical certificate will be couched in terms of a more 'socially acceptable' less stigmatised form of illness which may be only a symptom of the underlying cause. It is incumbent upon the Home Office and judiciary to review its sentencing policies in not creating an environment whereby the positive policies on paper for rehabilitating the prisoner is undermined by an inadequacy of staffing in the prison service to give practical effect to these policies.  
I have examined practices in other establishments of setting targets of "acceptable sickness" levels. A figure of 8 days in a year does seem to be a common figure where the prison governor (or line manager as the case may be). This is used as the starting point for initiating dismissal of staff on grounds for inefficiency according to a procedure of successive verbal and written warnings with the ultimate option of eventual dismissal. Even though this has been adopted by a number of organisations, this does not make a case for this to be introduced in the prison service. On the contrary, I reject this out of hand. My reasons for this is that management should not be, or be seen to be, punishing the guilty along with the innocent, being inflexible and unresponsive to the individual situation. Such a policy is inevitably counter productive in masking the symptoms instead of dealing with the root cause." 

"This is an entirely negative paper with no real solutions," Snapped Alison Warner.  
"This is a realistic and practical paper," Counter argued Grayling.  
"I expected a report which recommended the fixed days marker of unacceptable sick absence per year, let us say, eight days in one year. Your reasons for rejecting this are cavalier. Sometimes I wonder whose side you are on." Grayling smiled grimly. This woman had this in mind from the very beginning from her first discussion of the project with him.  
"…….at which point, the prison governor should consider a verbal warning in a purely informal fashion….." "Excuse me, Mrs. Warner, I should draw your attention to the last paragraph but one of my report." Grayling turned over to the next page and indicated the final paragraph. "It is, of course, an increasingly recent tendency for solicitors to engage in "no win, no fee" work of what is loosely called "compensation culture." It is my opinion that the Home Office could lay itself open to lawsuits of this kind, especially where the prison governor has a multitude of duties to perform and where borderline personnel work is not documented as well as it might be. This defect is not uncommon and could be easily exploited in claims for personal damages by the less scrupulous solicitors coming into the field." "Yes, yes, yes, Neil. I see where you are coming from but your point of view is somewhat alarmist…." "Not at all, Mrs. Warner," Grayling answered with velvet smoothness. "Prevention is better than cure, so they say. I have only the best interests of the prison service at heart." Grayling grinned broadly, his mind ice cold and his thinking at his most acute. This worked better for him than getting angry and letting it cloud his thinking.  
The man was infuriating, fumed Alison Warner. He has this India rubber quality which bounces back out of nowhere. She paced round in a circle until her temper could cool down, not the sort of hot-blooded temper of the natural woman but that suppressed authoritative temper that could not find an outlet.  
"You can't run with the hares and hunt with the hounds, Neil. I'm sure that your old friends won't have found you to be the man of the people." Alison Warner's thin malignant smile was that of someone who thought she had found a weak spot in her opponent and was determined to exploit it to the full.  
"An unfortunate metaphor these days, Mrs. Warner," Grayling struck back. Then with lightning speed he sought to cover up where he was most vulnerable. "But yes, to a degree, you're right. Part of my role is to deliver some unpalatable messages, which is normally to refuse part or all of the funding bids, which I know that Larkhall, along with other prisons is desperately in need of. I'll not shrink from my duty and deal with phone calls from Karen Betts and other governors and explain personally the reasons behind the decisions. I know that she and others like her won't shrink from passing on the bad news to their wing governors. That's the way it goes. It is something that I can't do anything about. I'll be equally honest and if I'm asked to prepare a report on a sick absence policy as I see it from my research and from personal experience. I'll start with a blank sheet of paper with no preconceptions and you'll get the truth. Or is this not what you really wanted?" Alison Warner cut the conversation short and beat a retreat. It wasn't her day but this infuriating man knew just how far to push and was always that wily one step ahead of her. There was something devious, underhand about him, which she should have spotted immediately.

A few hours later, Grayling glided out of the foyer of Cleland House and into the streets where his mind shook itself free of the number of projects that he was handling. He was homeward bound and bent on listening again to Haydn's "Creation" for yet another time. This was the life, he felt. On many occasions, he had watched concerts from afar and, yes, the first time he went out with Di Barker was watching a string quartet. He wasn't sure if the memory of those two events, one holy, the other profane, made him want to laugh or throw up. He had to sit down in an armchair and try and contemplate happier things and the soothing feelings gradually came to him.  
He would have loved to be a professional classical singer and had thrown caution to the winds and not let that careful calculation of the steady monthly salary lure him away from that dream. As a singer, honest sweat brought forward his sense of oneness with the orchestra and that thrill of being out there before an audience. It was only from that first performance that he was aware of his divided self, which had consumed him. It was that lifelong compulsion in him to drive forward in his career onwards and upwards, whatever it took to advance him and whatever handy catch phrases which were the buzz words of the moment. Oh yes, he knew how to change, where to move on and what friends to cultivate. It had blinded him to everything else around him. He had to be ruthless, to play on the susceptibilities of those he came into contact with, yes, as if he were playing a violin so that he came out on top. He delighted in these desires but had never thought to ask himself where they came from in the same way as his wavering sexuality. Why else did he decide to marry, not once but twice. Yet he was haunted by rare unaccountable impulses for the good which broke through the surface. It was now that he could place himself, in his past and in his present. When his father had walked out the door and nobody explained why to him, he was consumed with anger. This was the only way that anger could be expressed and his career was his way of feeling better about himself, to prove himself to himself. All this enormous sweep of self-revelation and rebirth spanned the length of time that the birth of the world was played out in music.  
In the quiet of his stark, functional living room, he recalled the sheer beauty of the moment when his voice had resonated powerfully against the swelling power of the orchestra. It was not that he felt that the musicians were merely his accompaniment, as that seemed quite improper. The separate but equal colouring of the disparate sounds was utterly entrancing. It was as if the hours of listening to the music from afar since his youth prepared him for the moment that he could sit at the same table as the gods without needing to be at the head of the table. It was the most perfect expression of himself, yet equal to those around him, modestly, without straining, and with that positive blessing from Joe Channing, that positive grandee and the rightful head of the heavenly orchestra For the first time in his life, he could play his part modestly yet of substance. Those words flowed down like honey on him and gave back to him what his broken home had cut short.  
He smiled fondly when he thought of George. Her voice was utterly admirable, so perfect and playing Adam against George's Eve, was a sheer physical pleasure of their contrasting voices. He could appreciate the abstract purity of it all and her beauty like a Mona Lisa. Of course, it did not mean that he would ever want to live with such feminine beauty. It was meant to be admired, from a distance. What he did find intriguing was that totally authentic upper class woman with a strength of mind to go with it. He gave her full marks to her ability to stop herself short just before she was about to let slip their secrets. There was nothing likely to come between them, as they had no illusions about each other and their needs. There was understanding between them as to why George had not been at their best during the love duet and he thought there was a possible reason exactly why this should be the case. 

It is funny, Grayling reflected, that while male beauty had long inhabited his dreams, one of his closest friendships lay with an extremely strong and sympathetic woman and that was Karen and not either of his ex-wives. George could easily turn out to be another. He propped his music on his own music stand, which was a prized possession of his and started to run over some of his lines. He was who he wanted to be right now.

Crash went the door to Sir Ian's inner sanctum making the man behind the desk jump out of his skin. All the more of a shock was that something or someone had slipped his way past the layers of minders, secretaries and such like that were there to cushion him further from reality than any old time rock star. His first thought was this was part of a plot of Al Quaeeda terrorists to launch a systematic raid on the seat of government but turning round, he saw the thoroughly respectable and besuited form of John Deed. He was not sure which scared him the more as they were equals in degrees of fanatical devotion to the cause.  
"A word with you, Rochester," Came the softly spoken words but with an incredibly determined edge to them. His blue eyes were burning with white hot anger and pinned his wavering vision with sheer force of personality. What was more alarming was the choice of address, which, alone, meant trouble.  
"I have a score to settle with you, one way or another, you and your contemptible lackey Lawrence James." "I can't think what you're about, John," Stammered Sir Ian, knowing very well what had brought this hellhound in human form to track him down. "Don't play games with me," Roared John, making the attractive chandelier above him vibrate and jangle. "You know very well that you and your fellow pathetic whimp have been found out. I know exactly what despicable words you and that other wretch wrote in that notepad. I've a good mind to sue you for liable and drag you both personally through the court." "You wouldn't dare," Sir Ian sneered back in an unusually reckless mood. "You pretend to all and sundry that you are the knight in shining armour, standing up for injustice but you are very sure for all that, not to become the real martyr for the cause. You know very well which side your bread is buttered as you enjoy the luxury of your lifestyle and scorn only to be further elevated to the appellate Bench. As for your defence of helpless maidens, your act of chivalry is absurd. At least I am honest about who I am." For several seconds, Sir Ian's physical welfare hung in the balance as John grasped Sir Ian by the tie, constricting his airwaves considerably and choking off his laugh with a gurgle. Murder looked out of John's eyes. It was a long time that John had voluntarily engaged in fisticuffs apart from one exchange of blows in court. It was that unsavoury hit man who the eldest brother of three siblings had hired who had killed their father. In one frightening flash, Sir Ian recalled that very same incident. Forces battled for supremacy in john's superheated emotions before, by a hairbreadth, that very secret sense of judgement held him back. So often, that had dared him steer closer to the edge of the precipice than his adversary of the moment and, at odd occasions, had stopped him from falling off it. "You're not worth while having the satisfaction of doing what I intended to," John uttered in a very choked voice, his nerves and heartbeat hammering through his system. "Why indulge myself in one moment of selfish pleasure at my expense when I could spend the rest of my professional career haunting you." That nightmare vision that John conjured up was a more extreme form of torture than receiving the full impact of John's fists. He laughed when he saw Sir Ian's reactions.  
"Whether you like it or not, I am the leader of the orchestra and I will not have you, Ian, indulging in any petty spiteful behaviour that causes any friction in the running of the orchestra. You will play your part, yes and that toady, Lawrence James and I shall play mine. Do I make myself quite clear?" Sir Ian's anger rose when he realised that his foolish actions had placed them in the utterly humiliating position of John being able to pull rank on them. He knew that they would get no sympathy from their normal court of appeal, Joe Channing as the performance and the run up to it cut across everything, including traditional loyalties.  
"Yes John. Will you now leave as you are making me feel uncomfortable." Sir Ian pulled at his tie to loosen it and his voice was very husky.  
For the first time, John laughed, turned round and shut the door, leaving a swirl of air behind him.  
As he calmed down, he made a mental note that arrangements should be made for that wretched firm of incompetents, Group 4 to step up their security. It was never the same since the faithful old retainers who once worked for him had been retired. They knew by instinct who should be admitted and who should be refused admittance, even someone as dangerously convincing as Deed. 


	99. Part Ninety Nine

A/N: Betaed by Jen. I must also pay due credit to a line I couldn't resist borrowing, from Bad Girls series 2 episode 7. 

Part Ninety-Nine

On the Saturday evening, Jo thought that it was about time she checked up on George. She'd heard nothing from her all this week, which was a bad sign in itself. They usually talked every few days, if not more often, but Jo hadn't seen hide nor hair of George since the previous Saturday's rehearsal. She was also extremely curious about the subject matter of the row George and John had had last Saturday. John had clearly been intent on having something out with George, when he'd demanded her company at the end of the rehearsal, but what on earth had made it spiral into something that might stop George from eating again? 

George on the other hand, was drinking. She didn't think she'd ever felt so alone in her life, not even after John and Charlie had left. She knew that this was stupid, but it didn't make her feel any better. She knew she should talk to Jo, or to Karen, before she went completely mad, but she couldn't do it. She'd said some terrible things to John, so why would anyone want to listen to her? But this was the problem, she knew she'd hurt John badly, and she didn't think he'd ever want to speak to her again, never mind anything else. If she couldn't sort things out with John, where did that leave her? Her life meant nothing without him, even though she was a little ashamed to admit it. She'd fucked up with Charlie, and the only way she'd ever managed to keep John for the last few months, was because his sleeping with her gave him licence to love Jo. That really was a pretty pathetic achievement, she thought to herself. She couldn't even get herself someone of her own, someone who loved her for herself, and who wanted a real relationship from her. Not even Karen wanted that, though George couldn't really blame her. Karen didn't have the time for a committed relationship, her inmates always being far more important to her than anything else. Putting some soft, melancholy music on the stereo, she slumped in a corner of the sofa, with the martini bottle standing in an ice bucket on the coffee table, and with a glass and the paraphernalia of smoking to hand. Lying next to the vase of flowers in the centre of the table, was perhaps, her one salvation. If, with the assistance of the alcohol, she could find the courage she needed, then tonight might just be her last. She was tired, tired of fighting, tired of existing, tired of all the pain and irritation that she seemed only too capable of causing. Continuing to go round and round in circles with John seemed pointless to her, especially as he didn't love her, and couldn't accept the person she knew she was. 

When the doorbell rang, George was surprised. She supposed it might be Karen checking up on her, though she'd spoken to her earlier in the day. In that case, it must be Jo. Shit, she suddenly thought, what could she do with her last resort, sitting in the middle of the coffee table for all to see. Hurriedly shoving it under a newspaper, George went to answer the door. Glancing in the hall mirror on the way there, George realised that she probably looked as rough as she felt. As Jo moved into the hall, she couldn't help giving George the visual once over. She looked gaunt, belligerent and exhausted, all signs that nothing had been resolved. "How are you?" Jo asked, though feeling that the enquiry hardly needed an answer. "How do I look?" George replied, knowing only too well how she looked. "Drunk," Jo said, after a moment's thought. "Not quite, but I'm getting there." "Add tired, depressed and barely nourished, and that might just describe it," Jo added as they walked into the lounge. "You're getting to know me far too well," George replied, her sheer moroseness telling Jo that she was in for a rough ride. Agreeing to a glass of wine, Jo nevertheless vowed to herself to stay as sober as possible. George was clearly in no state to be left alone tonight, and Jo had a sneaking suspicion that she would need all her wits about her to deal with this particular emotional outburst. When they were sitting one each end of the sofa, Jo lit a cigarette, almost to give herself courage for the conversation she could feel brewing below the surface. "I had lunch with Karen on Thursday," She said, taking a thoughtful drag. "Jesus, that didn't take her long," George said bitterly. "I suppose she wanted to find out what she'd let herself in for." "Yes, though I wouldn't have put it like that. Karen is very worried about you, and doesn't know how to help you." "And what makes you think you do?" George asked, knowing she was being horrible to Jo, but the need for a fight, a fight that would on all levels be fair, was what she now realised she wanted. The fight with John hadn't been fair, not one, little bit. "Because at the moment, you're angry," Jo told her. "Whether actually with me, or just with John, or with the world in general, I'm not sure. You are clearly looking for a fight, and you think I might give you one, and you know that if you fight with me, you're not quite as likely to feel guilty for anything you say, as you might with Karen." George's eyes widened. She hadn't actually thought of this, though she could see that it made sense. But could she fight with Jo as they had done in the old days, she didn't know any more. "So, if you know that's what I'm after, why won't you give me one?" "Because you're drunk, or at least trying to get drunk," Jo responded calmly. "I'll fight with you tomorrow, when you're sober, though at the rate you're going, you probably won't feel like it." "You always used to enjoy a good shout with me," George said almost sulkily. "You know you did." Jo smiled. Yes, she had once enjoyed some of the rows she'd had with George, though she would never have admitted it. "If I wanted an excuse for a fight," Jo conceded. "You always managed to provide it." "What's happened, Jo? Where's everything I used to be, and everything I used to know?" "What do you mean?" Jo asked quietly, seeing that George's anger had evaporated as quickly as it had grown. "You wouldn't want to go back to the way things were, would you?" She added, feeling an inexplicable prayer that George's answer would be no. "No, of course not, at least not with you. But maybe I do with John. At least back then he didn't expect me to shut out part of who I am." "Is this about Karen?" "Partly, but I think it goes deeper than that. As you're here, I'm assuming Karen told you that John and I had a fairly monumental row last Saturday." "Yes, she did, but I could have worked that out for myself. John looked in the mood for a row at the end of the rehearsal last week, and he's done everything to avoid me since." "You see, that's what I didn't want to happen," George said exasperatedly. "George, with this type of relationship, anything that affects one or two of us, will undoubtedly affect all three of us, that's how it works." "I said just as many unforgivable things as he did, so don't feel too sorry for me." "George, something has got to you this week, something pretty serious has made you stop eating again. So tell me." Lighting a cigarette of her own, George thought about how to explain it. "You know John's felt very insecure about Karen, and that he's never really had that out with me. He has with her, back in January, but not with me. He can't understand why I need her, when he's the one being kept on a leash and only permitted to sleep with two women. He thinks that if he can be faithful to this relationship, so should I." "So, tell me why you need her." "I think we both know, that the only reason John sleeps with me and tells me he loves me, is because this arrangement gives him what he wants, and has always wanted with you. I've known that ever since it began, and until now it hasn't really bothered me. I do love John, and the pretense of his love is sometimes enough for me. But with Karen, I get someone who is with me for myself, who, even though she doesn't want anything heavy, doesn't have anything making her feel the way she does for me. I know that doesn't make an awful lot of sense, but Karen is with me because she chooses to be, not because it gives her the permission to be with someone else." "Is that how you really see it?" Jo asked quietly astounded that George still thought like this after all these months. "Yes," George said without a flicker of hesitation. "John doesn't love me. Yes, he enjoys making love with me, but he doesn't actually love me. But then, that was the original point of the exercise, wasn't it." "No, of course it wasn't," Jo said, feeling an immense sadness that George had so little belief in herself and John's love for her. "Oh, get a grip, Jo, you know it was," George insisted angrily. "I'd have thought you would have known better by now, than to believe him when he agrees to something so easily. John started screwing me when he felt like picking up some random tart, because on my particularly good days, I don't make bad tart material. But that's all it's ever been, and no doubt it would have stayed like that, if I hadn't threatened his masculinity by sleeping with Karen." "George," Jo said, holding up a hand to stop her. "I wish you wouldn't refer to yourself as a tart, or a whore, or any other of the numerous derogatory titles you insist on giving yourself." "Why?" George demanded belligerently. "That's what John came back to me for. He gets all the love he could ever want from you, and because he's a sex junky, he gets his extra supply from me. He can't seem to make up his mind, though, because the way he was talking last Saturday, you'd think I was the one who couldn't keep it to myself if I tried, yet look at how he was when we were married." "What did he say to you?" "It was my own fault really, because I goaded him into talking about how he felt about Karen. He wanted to know why Karen, why a woman, and I stupidly asked him if he was jealous, because it might just be possible that Karen was giving me a far better time in bed than he was." Jo winced. "That wasn't the worst thing I said, believe me. John said that no one could possibly give me a better orgasm than he could." In spite of her total exasperation with John, Jo laughed, provoking a slight smile in George. "What you need to understand," She continued, looking a little uncomfortable. "Is that when we were married, and before Charlie came along, there wasn't much me and John didn't try. Probably the only fantasy I didn't tell him about was that of wanting to sleep with a woman. He once told me that he wouldn't mind sleeping with two women, but even then I didn't tell him. I'm not sure why, it just didn't feel the right time to tell him something like that. But last week, some of the things he said, made me wonder just how much he really had been up for all the things we did back then. I know you don't like to hear me say it, Jo, but he really did make me feel like a whore. He said that at least you like your men to be fairly normal." "George, listen to me," Jo said vehemently. "You're not normal, you're not abnormal, you're just you. Just because you find women sexually attractive, and enjoy what you have with Karen, never mind anyone else who might come along in the future, does not make you abnormal. It certainly doesn't make you a whore." "I just wish John thought so," George said miserably. "George, John does love you, you must believe that." "If he really loves me so much," George replied bitterly. "Why does he expect me to ignore a newly discovered part of my personality, when he has never, not once, asked you to change anything about who you are?" "Do you really think he has never asked anything of me, that I either found it impossible to give, or shouldn't have given him? The very first time I slept with John, I went home feeling about as guilty as you did when you realised you didn't love Charlie in the way you thought you should. My husband was terminally ill, and when I got home, I realised just what I'd done. But I couldn't stop going back for more. John would never pressure anyone into sleeping with him, but that doesn't stop him using every manipulative skill he possesses. I knew he had worked his magic on me, but that didn't make it any easier to say no. A few months later, when I discovered I was pregnant, my husband didn't have very long to live. I knew that the baby was John's, it could only have been John's. I suggested that I have a termination, because I think in my heart, I knew that was what he wanted. I already had two very young children, Mark was one, and Tom was three, and I had a dying husband to care for. So yes, having another baby, especially one whose father wasn't very enthusiastic about its creation, would certainly have been difficult. But I would have kept it, if John had put up any kind of fight for its survival. George, he asked me to have a termination, by not asking me to keep it. That is by far, the hardest, most terrible thing I will ever have to do for anyone." "Oh, god, Jo, I'm sorry," George said, the heart felt contrition evident in her voice, and with tears in her eyes. "It's all right," Jo said, holding out her arms. "I didn't say it to make you feel guilty." "I know, but the choice he's putting on me, is nothing compared to that." "It still doesn't give him any right to do it," Jo said seriously, as their arms went around each other. "You can't help finding women attractive, just as he can't. You haven't asked him to give them up, or at least not all of them," She added with a smile. "So he shouldn't ask the same of you. He doesn't know how lucky he is sometimes." "Tell me what he was like in those days?" George asked. "I wasn't giving him much happiness at home at that time, so it would be nice to know he had some with you." Jo looked into George's face, which was only inches from her own. She knew that at the time, George had been bitterly hurt by John's relationship with her, but she also knew that George had thought of John's playing away, as being mostly her own fault. Yet here they were, sitting close together, feeling entirely at ease to have their arms around each other, and exchanging confidences about the one thing that had once made them the greatest of enemies. 

"Well, you know he was my pupil master at Bar school. Whenever he looked at me, every nerve ending I had seemed to become hypersensitive. He's always had a way of looking at you, that makes you certain he's thinking about what your clothes are covering." "I think he was born with that look," George said with a smile. "Another thing he seems to have been doing all his life, is summoning women to his presence. Whether in the guise of judge or tutor, it's how he's always achieved what he wanted. You know how he does that slow, methodical pace round his chambers? Well, he even managed that within the cramped space of his office. The first time he kissed me, I knew I was lost. I told him I couldn't do it, and I told him why. But, in his typically arrogant fashion, he left the choice up to me, all the time knowing that after sampling the Hors D'Oeuvres, I would require super human strength, not to come back for the rest. That's what made me determined to stay out of his bed for all those years, after my husband died, the fact that he'd plucked me off the tree with no more effort than the proverbial apple. So, the next time I saw him, a week later, I did sleep with him. I think that hotel got to know him quite well." "That's one thing I always resisted the urge to do, go through his credit card statements. I knew I would find far more hotel, flower, lingerie and restaurant bills than I really wanted to know about." "What I'm getting round to telling you," Jo continued. "Is that you must never think that John doesn't thoroughly enjoy initiating someone into new sexual pastimes. He likes playing the tutor in all walks of life, but especially in bed. He might not have introduced me to anything particularly out of the ordinary, but he did initiate me into the delights of receiving oral." George laughed knowingly. "He's always loved doing that," She said with a smile. "I didn't know what he saw in it, until I did that to Karen." "Is it really as good as he makes out it is?" Jo asked, totally unable to believe they were talking about this. "Oh, yes," George said with utter certainty. "Though I suppose it's slightly different with everyone. The first time you do it, it's the weirdest, scariest thing you'll ever do." "Why?" After refilling her glass and taking a swig, George said, "I didn't want to try it, only to find I didn't like doing it. But once I discovered I did like it, it was wonderful." Jo stayed quiet for a moment, the memory of that Sunday afternoon again clear in her mind. When they'd gone home and John had given her the most explosive bit of oral she'd had in a long time, Jo had been continuously thinking about George and Karen. George also remained quiet, seeing that Jo had a whole host of thoughts whizzing around in her brain. 

"To change the subject entirely," Jo eventually said, needing to drag her mind away from where she could feel it pulling her. "You wanted to know about the beginning of my affair with John, but I think I need to know about what was happening with you and he around that time. He never told me very much, just that he was in the process of splitting up with you, though he obviously didn't say that in the beginning." Moving slightly away from her, George reached for another cigarette. "You know about the day I found out about you," She began. "I remember telling you about that, just before I fainted in court. I came to court with Charlie, to see if John had finished for the day, and saw you kissing him on the front steps. That was the only time I have ever purposefully broken a priceless vase. John had no idea I'd seen you, because I acted completely normally with him until Charlie had been put to bed. I think I was trying to let all the hurt turn into anger before I started. I poured us both a large glass of red wine, knowing we were both going to need it. I asked him your name, and he made me explain exactly who I was talking about. Then, obviously realising that he wasn't going to wriggle out of this one, he told me about you, how long it had been going on, and that you were one of his students. I asked him what you had that I didn't, and to this day I sincerely wish I hadn't asked. He told me that you had feelings, that you had a heart." Jo winced. How could he? How could he have said something so despicable, after everything George had gone through with Charlie? Though perhaps that was why he'd said it. "That's what really got me going, not because I was angry with him for saying it, but because I knew he was right." "George, no," Jo said in clear distress. "On the surface, that's precisely how I would have appeared in those days," George clarified. "I knew he was playing away fairly regularly, because we were making love less and less. I wasn't familiar with the art of faking it when I was married to John. We threw every bitter insult we could think of at each other, and let's face it, he had a far worse thing over me than I ever could over him. I couldn't blame him for throwing how I'd always felt, or not felt, about Charlie at me, but I think it was what finally broke me. Up until then, we'd always had a rule that each and every argument must be over before we went to bed, because disagreements of any kind had to be left outside. We didn't exactly continue arguing when we went to bed that night, because we didn't have anything left to say to each other, but neither of us slept very much. He wasn't due in court until ten, so I took Charlie to school on the way to work. I remember making her promise to be good for daddy when I left her, because I knew I wasn't going to see her for a little while. When I knew that John would have left for court, I went home, after arranging to take a week off work. I threw a few things into a case, and drove to court to see John during the adjournment. We sat in the car to talk, and I told him that I was going away for a few days, perhaps as long as a week. I told him that I needed some time to think. He said he was sorry, for what he'd said the night before, though he funnily enough didn't apologise for his affair with you. He wanted to know where I was going, and asked me to keep in touch, probably because he didn't want my suicide on his conscience. So, I went abroad, to France, and made all my self-inflicted wounds far deeper, by visiting all the parts of Paris we'd seen on our honeymoon. Oddly enough, it was our wedding anniversary while I was out there. I was haunted by the memories of how happy we'd been in those days, of all the things we'd said and done that were supposed to mean something more than instant gratification. John has always maintained that he loves me for having given him Charlie, and I don't doubt that he does. But Charlie is the only thing he does love me for. He changed after he found out why I'd stopped eating, I know he did. Quite naturally, he didn't understand how I couldn't love my own daughter, as if he thought I understood it any better than he did. A year or so later, when I discovered that you had two children and were raising them on your own, I knew that this was one of the things John loved about you. It was also perhaps the biggest way in which I couldn't compete with you. Anyway, when I came back from my pointless week of contemplation and emotional self-harm, I told him I wanted a divorce. He decided to move out, and find somewhere new to live with Charlie. He didn't have to do that, but I think he wanted to. It's funny, but even though we knew we were splitting up, we still slept in the same bed until he moved out. The night before he was due to leave, we made love, one last time, both of us putting everything we had into it, and both crying our eyes out afterwards. So, you could say that's what made me the bitter and twisted old cow I am today." Only then, did George realise she was crying, the corrosive tears of self-reproach coursing down her cheeks. Putting out her arms, Jo drew George against her, George having maintained a small distance between them, during the telling of her story. 

"You're not bitter, and you're definitely not twisted," Jo said, softly rubbing George's shoulders. "But I've hurt him so much by being with Karen," George insisted. "George, you've done absolutely nothing wrong." "As pathetic as I know it sounds, I can't live without him, Jo." "And you think I could?" "Some of the things I said to him last week, they were unforgivable." "And from what you've said, I'd say the mud slinging was fairly equally weighted," Jo tried to persuade her. "And I didn't want to screw this up for you either." "George," Jo said with a wry smile. "I am perfectly capable of doing my own fighting where John is concerned, in fact especially where John is concerned. I've had almost as many years practice of it as you have." "You know what I felt this evening, before you arrived? I felt as though I had nothing left. That's what he does to me, and I loathe myself for it." Jo's eyes suddenly fixed on her. "What do you mean, you felt as though you had nothing left?" She asked carefully. George looked very uncomfortable, realising that she'd been caught out. She would curse that Martini bottle to hell and back, though not before she'd finished it first. "George, answer the question," Jo persisted, not willing to be content with anything less than the truth. "I wasn't feeling particularly brilliant earlier this evening," She said evasively. "George," Jo said in dawning horror. "Please don't tell me that the alcohol was quite literally to give you some Dutch courage?" "I'm not going to lie to you," George said carefully, refusing to meet Jo's gaze. Holding her at arm's length, Jo forced George to look at her. "Don't you ever, ever, contemplate doing that again!" She said sternly. "I don't care how bad things get, and I don't care how much of a shit John is capable of being. He might not show it at times, but he does love you, and he always will love you, and it's not just him you need to think about. You have your father, who would go insane if you died, you have Karen who feels far more for you than you think she does, because she doesn't want to put any pressure on you, and if that isn't enough, you also have me." "I'm sorry," George said, the tears now coming thick and fast. "Don't be sorry," Jo said, her own voice a little unsteady, and now sounding much gentler. "Just please, don't ever think of doing that." 

As her eyes locked with George's, they both became unbearably aware of how close they were, of just which bits of them were touching. As if compelled by George's hypnotic gaze, Jo leaned slightly nearer, and kissed her. It wasn't something she had intended to do, but it had somehow felt right to her. After her initial feeling of shock, George reacted automatically, kissing her back, softly and lingeringly. George's lips were a source of enlightenment for Jo, their soft, smooth, total pliability enchanting her. "Well, that was certainly unexpected," George said quietly, when they eventually came up for air. "You're telling me," Jo said, gently touching her cheek. "I didn't expect it either." They sat there in silence for a time, neither of them knowing what to say, though both of them feeling entirely comfortable in the other's embrace. But eventually, it was Jo who made the decision. "I think you should go to bed," She said to George, thinking that this conversation could only be had when George was sober again. "Mmm, perhaps you're right," George said with a yawn. But as she rose from the sofa, she realised just how much of the alcohol had taken residence in her legs. Standing quickly, Jo caught her as she stumbled, bringing them skin to skin but for their clothes. "Do forgive me," George said with a smirk. "If I take complete advantage of the situation." Reaching up from her slightly smaller height, it was her who initiated the kiss. When the thought occurred to Jo that she would happily remain here forever, she gently detached her lips from George's. "Come on," She said with a smile. "Or we won't make it to tomorrow morning, without having far more than an overdue conversation." George couldn't help emitting a low giggle. Jo kept an arm round her as they walked upstairs, George's sense of direction having been seriously impaired. When they reached her bedroom, Jo closed the curtains, and George stood in front of the full-length mirror, trying to undo the buttons of her blouse. This was made enormously difficult, by the fact that she was seeing at least two different sets of buttons in the mirror. But eventually achieving her goal, she removed it and dropped it onto a chair. Removing her skirt seemed to require even more physical dexterity. George then realised that she'd forgotten to remove the sandals she'd been wearing. Drawing back the duvet, she sat down on the side of the bed to undo them. Once they had been cast aside, she reached the mammoth task of navigating the clasp of her bra. These things really didn't make sense, especially when only a tenth of one's usual mental capacity was in full, working order. Taking pity on her, Jo put her arms round her and undid it herself. But before George could even think of removing the rest of her underwear, she slumped sideways onto the pillow, passed out cold. Laughing softly, and thinking that George would have an almighty hang over in the morning, Jo lifted her feet up under the duvet and drew it over her. As she walked out of the bedroom, switching the light off and leaving the door open, she spared a thought to wonder if George would remember what they'd done. As she slid under the duvet of the spare bed, not long after, she prayed to every existing deity that this wouldn't just be put down to a drunken mistake. Jo hadn't even begun to untangle her own feelings on the matter, but she knew one thing, nothing about either of those kisses worried her in the slightest. Come what may, she would treasure the memory for the rest of her life. 


	100. Part One Hundred

A/N: "Stranger in the House" George Jones and Elvis Costello

Part One Hundred

Nikki always had that sinking feeling when she came to that time of the month to meet Trisha at the club for business. There was always a strained edgy undertone to these meetings no matter how hard they tried. Paradoxically, it was Nikki who had first suggested this arrangement. To her practical way of thinking, they could not properly run the club together totally in isolation from each other. Besides, Trisha held the accounts as one of them had to hold them and they had agreed that it would be best to check the accounts together and to talk over future plans for events at the club. She knew that Trisha, if left to herself, would never abuse her position to fiddle Nikki out of her share of the business. It's just that went against the grain to feel dependent or beholden to an ex-girlfriend like some helpless female.She had struck out on her own when she was sixteen to become that sort of grotesque offence against all that she held dear. The practical common sense of the arrangement by routine didn't make it any more comfortable when the time came to leave the atmosphere of warmth and affection of the flat she shared with Helen on Saturday. Sundays and that fraction of a Saturday were utterly precious to her and Helen as for so much of their time, they were physically apart from each other. It was very easy and tempting to spend that precious time with Helen but it would have handed everything over to Trisha. Both Helen and her knew that it would be utterly wrong for Nikki to throw away control over that side of her life. For all these conflicting reasons, she found herself sitting at a bar table in the cold atmosphere of the club, the smell of last night's stale cigarettes still hanging in the air.  
"Let's have a look at the accounts, Trisha and see how we're doing," Nikki said without preamble.  
"Nice to see you showing an interest," Trisha found herself saying despite her best resolutions. "If you're bringing up the matter of those couple of weeks I had out with my friends while Yvonne's daughter who killed that bastard Fenner was up on trial, you should know better, Trish. He wasn't a million miles different from that bastard DC Gossard who I did time for." Trish promptly shut up as Nikki was perfectly right about that. It was only blind chance that placed him in the club that night when Trisha had been alone that led to Nikki being in prison in the first place. Neither of them had ever felt easy at this man who had given off bad vibrations, the first time he had ever come into the club. Nikki had felt that same instant hatred for Fenner the very first time she had met him at Larkhall.  
"I'm sorry, Nikki. I shouldn't have said that," Trisha said feeling genuinely apologetic. "Yeah, I care enough to make sure with my own eyes that this place isn't going down the pan. We have a professional relationship to maintain and I agreed to put in my fifty percent. You won't ever get less than that out of me," Nikki's curt voice corrected her.

Trisha wearily slid the folders and receipts over from her side of the table to Nikki's. Trisha sat back and stared over Nikki's shoulders as she pored her way industriously over the accounts. She had mixed feelings about this as she had been in total command when Nikki was in Larkhall. When Nikki came back to the club, Trish had agreed readily that Nikki was reclaiming half of what was hers. It was only later that she realised that it wasn't as easy as that. Handing over half of the burden and responsibility was very welcome but she didn't like losing half of the control over what went on. However, both of them reasoned that it was only fair to handle the club on a strict fifty fifty basis once again. Nine years of living with Nikki had made that sense of fair play rub off on her. Nikki was more thorough and efficient than she ever used to be because studying for her degree in Larkhall had sharpened her eye for detail. At least that was a bonus that Trisha had never expected and it had helped the business flourish.  
"Okay, everything's fine. Business seems to be doing well." Trisha had that irritated feeling of being up before her supervisor in her days when she worked in a market research firm but glad at the same time that their club was doing fine. It was the only thing that they could call 'theirs' these days, she felt with a touch of resentment.  
"We don't do badly even in the weektime whether you are around or me." "On present form, we're not exactly headed for the bankruptcy courts." Nikki spoke with a modicum of enthusiasm trying to sound more positive than she felt. She ought not to take it for granted, she told herself as she would feel terrible living with Helen with debts coming out of her ears. "That's what made me think of an idea to push up business a bit. What about theme nights? I've checked what the other clubs do and it's becoming quite a trend." "Straight or gay clubs?" Nikki interjected.  
"Gay, naturally," Trisha shot back, offended that her judgement was being questioned.  
"Just checking." "What sort of things have you got in mind? Is it going to cost us a fortune to tart up the club?" Trisha launched into her ideas. It was what she was good at as she had that commercial sense to sense what the average eighteen to thirty, twenty first-century lesbians wanted by way of club entertainment. She had a background in market research, which was invaluable, when they threw in their lot together to first set up their club. Enough of Nikki's mind was taking in the ideas and she had to admit that they made commercial sense. Nikki could tell in her detached way that it would pull in the punters. Trisha was always right that way.  
"Okay babe, you've got me convinced," Nikki cut in while Trisha was still talking enthusiastically away.  
Trisha was put out rather than thankful for Nikki's ready agreement. When they were lovers and when either one of them came up with a good idea, the other would have savoured every moment of it and repeated ecstatically what a brilliant idea it was. It was almost as if Nikki's mind was only half engaged with the matter, which, to her, was her lifeblood. They had worked so hard to set up the club at a time when there were hardly any such clubs around and had put their heart and soul into making a success of it. Nikki had had so much boundless enthusiasm for the club, which was their labour of love. When they had a good night at the club, when the music was at its most all enveloping and the lovers were on the dance floor to be free to be with each other, it had seemed a prelude for the two of them to stagger back home to their flat, dead beat to topple into bed and make passionate love. Every part of their lives seemed to flow into each other then.

This remote stranger whose eyes looked out on the world with too many bad experiences of what had gone on in those three years wasn't the same woman. Her Nik had gone for good. This strained woman had had experiences, which she had not shared. These experiences were ones which Nikki had shared with another woman and not her. She was in love with her and they were living together. No matter how gracious she had been in pushing Nikki to run out of the club that fateful day, she had known that deep down, she had done it to save herself the hurt that she would have otherwise gone through. She knew that she had lost Nikki for certain when Nikki had stood on the steps of the Court of Appeal and broke down in emotion on the three o'clock national television for the woman who she had to thank above all else. She knew it wasn't her. "You've agreed pretty quickly to that. "You know that you're better at this sort of thing. I trust your judgement." Nikki's voice sounded warmer and more reassuring. She felt guilty as she knew that she was sounding disinterested in what she ought to devote her entire concentration to. Trish had made a real effort to do all the background research and she ought to make an effort.  
"It's almost that now that we've made a success with the club, you lose interest," complained Trisha. "You have almost this need to be a martyr in struggling to make a living and somehow enjoying that struggle. I hated being always short of money. When you get to where you want to go in life, somehow you don't want it anymore. It's almost as if you feel guilty in having any money." That remark brought Nikki up short. It was only yesterday that she sat on a chair in Helen's office, belligerent, angry, and daring Helen to punish her and confirm her worst opinion of her. 'Oooh, you really love playing the martyr, don't you, Nikki' Helen had said and, in that situation, she was right. Could Trisha be right as well?  
"As for me, I want to enjoy the luxuries in life, wear expensive designer clothes, drink champagne and be stinking rich. If I can do it through running a cutting edge lesbian club, then what's wrong with that?" Everything is wrong with that, the words rang in Nikki's mind, unspoken like a tuning fork being precisely hit. But what does Nikki Wade want out of life besides living with the love of her life, the first words started to peel off from her tangle of thoughts. There has to be more than that and Helen knows that well enough.  
"I don't know, Trish. Perhaps I'm starting to get old. I see young kids these days and all they want to do is get totally legless. It's happening to all the clubs these days, straight or gay. I somehow don't want that." "You don't have any trouble with managing that, Nikki. From what I hear, you are better than anyone in handling the drunks, either aggressive or just paralytic. Are you saying that you were a perfect little angel when you were young? Somehow, I can't believe that, darling," laughed Trisha.  
Trisha was right to say she could handle trouble. Those years in Larkhall when she was only a prisoner taught her to depend on her own toughness, verbally and physically and to be able to psych anyone out. Nikki's thoughts went further back in time to when she and Trisha had first started the club and smiled at the memories. It was in the days when it was very hard for a single woman to go somewhere and find a partner that was not of the opposite sex. The whole thing was underground and starting the club was her crusade, to create a place where lesbians could meet openly with that most honest, fundamental declaration of who they are. That was the great motivating force and Helen, bless her, understood that sentiment completely and instantly, feeling it for Nikki to the bottom of her soul. That motivation was so very close to a major driving force in Helen. But could she have lived with Trisha for all those years and Trisha not to know that and, worse, to be operating from an entirely different agenda? She looked at Trisha and blinked her eyes. The chorus of a maudlin country and western song, complete with violin skidding up and down the scales, hit her with incredible force.

"There's a stranger in the house nobody's seen his face And everyone says , he's taken my place There's a stranger in the house nobody one will ever see And everybody says, he looks like me."

That's the answer, Nikki thought. What is she doing here holding on to a way of life that she clung onto, only because it was the first fruits? In an inverted way, Trisha was right. If she could no longer believe in what she was doing, it was time to get out of the situation. She needed a new job and fast. That was the key to her future.

"Yeah well, Trisha, you go ahead with your plans. I'm sure they'll work out fine." The irony of it all was that Trisha was encouraged by Nikki's general attitude. 


	101. Part One Hundred And One

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And One

When Jo awoke on the Sunday morning, it took her a moment or two to remember where she was. But as she lay under the duvet, listening to the birds through the slightly open window, it all came back to her. George had got about as drunk as she, Jo, had been, on the night Jason Powell had died. George had finally admitted to being suicidal, and all because of John's total lack of sensitivity. They'd exchanged some very deep confidences, not something they'd done for quite a while. Then, when all the talking, crying, and even a little shouting was over, she had actually kissed George. She, Jo, who had never kissed a woman in her life, and who regarded herself as sexually unadventurous, had voluntarily, all of her own accord, kissed another woman, kissed George. She had no idea what had made her do it, except that she was so angry and so worried about George, on realising what she'd been intending to do, that all her feelings for this complicated woman had come out in a rush. Jo knew they'd been getting closer, and she wouldn't have had it any other way. But added to this feeling of very deep affection, had been her colossal reaction to what had happened two weeks before. The fact that she'd been thinking of George, when she'd been brought to orgasm, clearly meant that she had the capacity to be attracted to a woman, so what did that make her? She really didn't know. Jo knew she had enjoyed that kiss, or both kisses if she was strictly honest, but she also knew that any feelings she might have for George in that respect, had to be banished before they emerged. George was with Karen, not her. She was also aware that whilst John might make the odd, light suggestion about being with them both at once, anything more serious would terrify him. It would frighten him immensely that both of the women he loved, could one day stop needing him in their lives. As much as John had clearly hurt George, both recently and in the past, Jo wasn't about to hurt him herself. He was obviously still very insecure about George and Karen, and Jo wasn't about to make that worse. Besides, George might not even remember what had happened last night, never mind want anything to come of it. Yes, last night, Jo had been determined to remember every second of it, but now, in the cold light of day, she knew that it had to be forgotten. 

After having a long, hot shower to wake herself up, Jo went downstairs to make a cup of tea. It was only nine thirty, and she thought that George would probably sleep a good while longer. Opening the French windows to let in some air, she stood with her cup of tea and looked out on the garden. It was the first of May, and spring was well and truly here. A light breeze ruffled the flowers, and the birds flitted in and out of the trees, tending to their young. When Jo went back inside, she picked up their glasses from the coffee table. After washing them and emptying the ashtray, she picked up the newspaper, intending to sit down and read it for a while. But when she lifted up Saturday's copy of The Guardian, Jo stared at the packet of sleeping pills that had been revealed. So, George really had been intent on going through with it. She must have hidden them under the newspaper, when the doorbell had rung the night before. It brought a rush of tears to Jo's eyes, to know that George felt so low, that she had seriously considered killing herself. Slipping the tablets into the pocket of her skirt, Jo made George a cup of tea and went to wake her. 

As George drifted into gradual awareness, vague memories of the night before began to emerge. The later the evening had become, the patchier were her recollections of what had happened. One thing was definitely very odd though. Waking up in bed entirely naked was normal, that's how she slept nearly all the time, and waking up wearing a nightie, that would also have been fine. But waking up wearing nothing but a pair of knickers, that was different. She groaned aloud when she realised that Jo must have put her to bed. Jesus, just how drunk had she really been? She was lying half on her left side, and vowed to stay as still as possible for the foreseeable future. But when she heard Jo enter the room, and put what sounded like a mug down on the bedside table, she opened one bleary eye. "What time is it?" She asked, as Jo sat down on the side of the bed. "Nearly ten o'clock. How do you feel?" "Stupid, miserable, and hung over." "I've brought you a cup of tea, if you think you can stomach it." "Thank you," She said, though still not wanting to move. Then, after a moment, she asked, "Jo, did I do, or say, anything totally outrageous last night?" Jo smiled in spite of her concern. "You didn't do anything you need to worry about," She said evasively, still not sure if George remembered their kiss. "That doesn't exactly fill me with confidence," George said dryly, slowly turning onto her back to face Jo. But as she made to sit up, she remembered how little she was wearing. Squinting up at Jo, George became aware of the trace of recent tears in her eyes. "You've been crying," She stated quietly. "Not really," Jo replied, feeling a little uncomfortable. "I found these, and it upset me, that's all." Removing the sleeping pills from her pocket, she dropped them on the bedside table. Glancing at them, George was assailed with a feeling of guilt. "I'm sorry, Jo," George said soberly, feeling such a sense of desolate aloneness, that it made her want to reach out for Jo, to be back in her arms again, to... "Oh, no!" She moaned, covering her face with her hands. "No, no, no. Please, tell me I didn't do anything quite so stupid as that?" That was what had happened, she had kissed Jo. God, the feel of her lips had been incredible, she could remember that much, but what in the world had made her do it? "George," Jo said with a faint smile. "Before you entirely die of humiliation, you might be interested to know, that it was I who kissed you, not the other way round. So, as I said, you didn't do anything you need to worry about." "Are you sure?" George asked, staring up at her in amazement. "I mean, it's not... You're not..." She couldn't find the right words. "If you're asking what made me do it, I couldn't possibly tell you. But I shouldn't have done, and I'm sorry. I was just so angry with you," She added, the tears again rising to her eyes. "You really were considering killing yourself, and you couldn't even tell me. If you'd been sober, you wouldn't have let it slip out in the way you did. I couldn't bear it if you did that. But it's not just that. Do you have any idea how thin you actually look? When I arrived last night, I could tell with a glance that you'd barely eaten all week, but when you came upstairs and undressed to go to bed, I could have counted every rib. It hurts me, every time you do this. I know you don't want to hear it, but it does." "Jo, please calm down," George said slowly but firmly, reaching out to take Jo's hands in hers. "From what I can remember, I know I upset you last night, and I'm sorry for that. I didn't want you to know how I was feeling, because I know it hurts you when I do feel like this. As for the not eating, I know that hurts you too, and believe me, if I could stop myself doing it, I would. But you know that things like that aren't quite so simple. I don't know how to explain what I was thinking before you arrived last night, because I would do anything not to have to feel like that again. You know what provoked it, and I know that you think my reasons for it silly and incredibly unjust, but if it makes you feel better, I don't want to lose you either." "I'm sorry," Jo said, feeling silly herself now. "I just can't bear the thought, that I might have left it another day before coming to see you." "Don't, don't think like that," George said in a slightly choked voice. "It won't do either of us any good." Pulling herself into a sitting position, she tugged the duvet upwards to cover as much of her body as possible. As she put out her arms, Jo clung to her, both of them desperately needing the safety and comfort of each other's embrace. It didn't occur to Jo that she had her arms full of a half-naked George, until George murmured something into her shoulder. "What did you say?" She said, gently touching George's cheek. "I said, for a kiss that wasn't supposed to happen, it was really quite incredible." "So I'm forgiven then?" Jo asked with a shaky smile. "Nothing to forgive," George said, detaching herself from Jo's hold. "But we do need to talk about it." "That, and other things," Jo said seriously, remembering the other subject she needed to broach very carefully some time today. "So, while I suggest you get another couple of hours sleep, I am going home to get some clothes. After at least one of the conversations I know we're going to have some time today, you might end up feeling as bad as you did last night. So I'm afraid that you'll have my company until tomorrow." "You don't have to," George told her, feeling a trifle guilty. "Oh, yes I do," Jo said firmly. "Because I am not taking any chances with someone as resourceful in such matters as you clearly are." 

As George rolled herself back up in the duvet and drifted off to sleep, thinking about nothing but that kiss the night before, Jo drove away, praying that George really would stay asleep till she returned. On reaching her house, she changed her clothes, threw some more into a bag, and got back in the car. But as she began the drive back to George's, she passed the turning off towards Karen's flat. George would probably be asleep for another hour at least, so it wouldn't hurt to stop and put Karen in the picture. She found Karen doing the ironing and listening to something that thankfully wasn't Haydn. "Would you like a coffee?" Karen asked, when they'd reached the lounge. Saying she would, Jo sank gratefully into an armchair. Karen could tell that something was wrong, because Jo looked not only tired, but emotionally on edge. "What's happened?" She asked, putting a steaming mug into Jo's hands, and moving her basket of ironing off the sofa so she could sit down. "I went to see George last night, and I'm heartily glad I did." "Why?" Karen looked and sounded extremely worried. "Calm down," Jo said persuasively. "She's all right, just. She was in the middle of getting very drunk when I arrived, and judging by the packet of sleeping pills I found this morning, I don't think she intended on being around for the hang over." Then seeing Karen's aghast expression, she said, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said it like that, but I think I'm in shock." Being very much acquainted with the signs and symptoms of emotional shock from her days as a nurse, Karen understood. Lighting two cigarettes and handing one to Jo, Karen asked, "Where is she now?" "At home, asleep. She wouldn't have told me how she was really feeling, but she let it slip out in her usual euphemistic fashion because she was drunk. That's what scares me so much about her, the fact that she is so good at hiding things like this. But then, I think she's been doing it all her life." Karen took a long, thoughtful drag of her cigarette. "Do you think she'd want me to come and see her?" Jo hesitated over this. "Don't take it personally, but no, not today. She tried picking a fight with me last night, and though I don't think she's going to feel like one today, we are due for a very difficult conversation." "Okay, but you know where I am, if either of you change your mind." 

When Jo re-entered George's house, she found herself trying to feel that sense of a living being, the sixth sense awareness of a life within its walls. Quickly going upstairs just to make sure George was still asleep, and finding her just as she'd left her, Jo thought she may as well do some work until George woke up. Going into George's office on the other side of the hall to the lounge, she was assaulted by a familiar waft of George's perfume. As she waited for the computer to start up, she kept repeating a mantra in her head. Forget that kiss, forget that kiss. That was a complication none of them needed, least of all George. Jo worked quite happily for a time, eventually hearing the unmistakable sounds of George surfacing and taking a shower. Reaching the end of a paragraph, Jo wondered if George might initiate the coming conversation, or whether she would have to drag it out of her by force. 

When George came downstairs, she stopped in her office doorway, feeling a sudden warmth to see Jo so at home in her space. "You don't mind me invading your office?" Jo said, glancing at George over her shoulder. "No, of course not. Do you want a coffee?" Saying that yes she would, and that she would be through in a minute, Jo finished the paragraph she was writing, saved it, and switched off the computer. The smell of freshly percolating coffee permeated the house, making Jo wonder if George had any intention of eating at some point today. When George joined her in the lounge carrying two mugs of steaming coffee, they again assumed their almost accustomed places at each end of the sofa. George looked pale, still a little tired, and in the sunlight, even thinner than she had done last night. "The first thing I'm going to say to you, is relax," George said, lighting herself a cigarette. "I am," Jo insisted, reaching for one of her own. "Jo, I can feel the nervous tension coming off you in waves. I'm not going to bite, I promise. Well, not unless you ask nicely," She added with a smirk, immediately making Jo smile. "You ought to know by now," She said, taking a long drag. "That there isn't anything you can't say to me." "I know," Jo replied. "It's just all a bit too odd, that's all." "What is?" George asked gently, wanting to provoke Jo into talking about what she was feeling. "The fact that I kissed you, the fact that I enjoyed it, and the fact that I could have gone on doing it all night." Jo seemed surprised that she'd said all this so easily. Taking a sip of her steaming coffee, George said, "I think this goes back to before last night, doesn't it." "Probably," Jo conceded miserably, steadily avoiding George's gaze. But when nothing more was forthcoming, George prompted her. "When John suggested that we both spend the night with him, you said that my finding the idea appealing, didn't bother you. Did you mean that, or did you say it to make me feel better?" "I meant it," Jo said with utter certainty. "After you left, I told John that he shouldn't play with you like that. I also told him that his suggestion hadn't bothered me, because I knew it would never happen. At the time, that was what I thought. I knew that the idea had aroused you, and that you felt guilty and confused because of that. It sounds funny to say it now, but I felt flattered that you found me attractive enough to consider doing that with me. Then, a week later, everything changed. You've got absolutely no idea just how incredible I thought you looked with Karen that Sunday. I think it was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. But do you know what struck me most? It was the way you clearly knew how beautiful you looked. You haven't acknowledged just how attractive you are, ever since Neil gave you that black eye, more than eighteen months ago. What you did that Sunday, it showed me that you were starting to get some of that awareness back. I didn't think about it like that at the time, because other considerations took over. It shocked me that I found the sight of you and Karen together so erotic. Thinking about what two women might do together, wasn't something I'd ever really considered before. I'd seen you and Karen kiss each other, but that had never made me contemplate what else you did. It surprised John that I clearly liked what I was seeing, but it didn't bother him. I haven't felt as turned on as that, for quite a long time, which is why I made John take me home." "Something new can often spice things up a bit," George put in, as she stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray. "Is that why you and John tried different things when you were married?" "Not really, at least not in the beginning. We just liked venturing into the unknown sometimes. But once, when Charlie was four, John took her up to stay with his sister for a week, so that we could spend some time together, trying to put some life back into our marriage. When he walked back in through the door, he was carrying a blue movie." Jo laughed. "Well now," She said in amazement. "I never would have thought John would go for something like that." "Oh, believe me, he loved it," George said with a smirk. "But then, it was about two women and a man, so I'm not surprised." "And what about you?" "It was incredible, and just for those few days, we got back what we'd had before Charlie was born. The point is, it isn't wrong to find something unexpectedly erotic." Jo looked very uncomfortable, a sudden blush rising to her cheeks. "What happened when you got home?" George asked, seeing that there was something Jo wasn't telling her. "Other than the obvious," She added hurriedly. "I don't entirely let myself go with John, not usually anyway. I don't know why, I just don't. There's always been a part of me that's somehow detached from the situation. But not that time. Everything I had went into it, giving me three of the most explosive orgasms I think I've ever had. Sorry, too much information," She added, still unable to meet George's eye. Reaching out a hand, George gently turned Jo's face towards her, forcing Jo to meet her gaze. "Look at me," she said cajolingly. Then, when Jo's eyes finally rose to meet hers, she said, "There's still something you're not telling me, something that you think is going to make me run a mile." "When John was... When we were..." She couldn't seem to find the right words. "I couldn't stop thinking about you, about what you and Karen were probably doing right at that moment. I've never thought about a woman whilst reaching orgasm before, but I did then." "Well," George said slowly, after a moment's silence. "That's certainly a compliment and a half." "I'm sorry," Jo said, now looking even more uncomfortable. "What on earth for?" George asked, though she thought she knew. "I don't have a problem with you having thought about me like that, I promise you." "Don't you?" Jo was genuinely mystified. "No, of course not." Putting out her arms, George gave Jo a tentative hug, taking it slow because of the look of hesitation on Jo's face. "First and foremost," George began, with her face very close to Jo's. "We are friends, which means that as long as we are honest with each other, we aren't likely to have a problem in staying friends. Secondly, we are both John's lovers, and we both know that if he were to ever discover what happened last night, part of him would love the idea and pressure us both into taking it too far too soon, and the rest of him would be terrified of losing both of us. Last, though by no means least, we appear to have discovered a tiny flicker of mutual attraction. I think you kissed me last night, because you were angry with me, worried about me, and were subconsciously still remembering your extreme reaction from two weeks before. Whether it was a very brief moment of sheer inspiration, or a hint of something you don't yet know you feel, neither of us can possibly tell. But whichever it is, it doesn't matter. I am just as mystified by this as you are. I might not show it, but I am." "But what if I do discover that it's something more, what if we both do?" "Then we deal with it, if and when it happens. All right?" "Yes," Jo replied, feeling an immense warmth for the woman who would never, not in a million years, pressure her into anything she wasn't entirely comfortable with. Softly kissing her cheek, George detached herself, somehow knowing that Jo was about to put her under the spotlight, and not for anything as beautiful or enchanting as that kiss had been last night. 

"The other thing I wanted to talk to you about," Jo said carefully. "Might not be quite so pleasant." Draining her mug of coffee, she tried to assemble her thoughts. "Why did you drink as much as you did last night?" "Now that, I certainly wasn't expecting," George replied. "But to answer your question, it was simply a means to an end. On their own, those sleeping pills wouldn't have done the trick, they're not supposed to. They might have knocked me out for a couple of days, but nothing more. Combined with alcohol, they would have proved to be far more lethal. So, the more alcohol, the more success I was likely to have." "But you still kept on drinking, even though I was here, which meant that you wouldn't have been able to take the pills without my noticing." "I didn't know you were going to stay, did I." "So, getting drunk was a means to an end, not the end itself." "Definitely," George said without hesitation. "I'm no alcoholic, Jo, I never have been." "I'm sorry," Jo said with sincere contrition. "I just wondered if your tendency to addictions might have encompassed alcohol as well." "No. But what made you ask?" This was a difficult one for Jo, making her think that she was about to tread a very unsteady tightrope. "The way you were last night, reminded me of how I was, on the night that led to my hearing with the professional conduct committee." "You know, that's one little set of circumstances I've never had cleared up for me," George said in reply, her curiosity unbearable. "There's not much to tell really. I was defending a fifteen-year-old's right, to say no to a heart transplant. He was by far the most intelligent boy of his age I've ever known. He was trying to get an injunction, to stop the hospital from operating on him. He was going against his parent's wishes. John heard the injunction, and after talking to everyone concerned, including Jason, he lifted the injunction, meaning that Jason would be forced to have the operation, even though it went against everything he believed in. I sought leave to appeal, even though John expressed his wish that I wouldn't. But the appeal failed as well. Jason died during the operation, when he'd fought against having it till the end. I was so angry, with myself for failing, and with John for denying Jason his one last wish, that I went to see John at the digs. I was so distraught, that I left my keys in the ignition, and my handbag on the passenger seat, not things I would normally do. I drank more scotch that night than I had done in a long time. I badly wanted a fight with John, but he insisted on being his maddeningly reasonable self. He let me shout at him, he watched me drink far too much of his scotch, and when we realised how late it was, he put me to bed, much as I did you last night. I couldn't believe where I was when I woke in the morning, held in John's arms and wearing nothing but one of his T-shirts. I couldn't even stomach a cup of coffee I felt so rough, and when I went out to my car, I couldn't believe I'd left it the way I had. It frightened me that I had been quite so irresponsible. I learned afterwards, that Michael Nivin saw me leaving, clearly wearing yesterday's clothes and looking very much the worse for wear. What I obviously didn't know till a year later, was that you had prompted someone into taking photographs of us in bed together." "I cringe, every time I am reminded of that little stunt," George said regretfully. "Yes, so do I," Jo said sardonically. "But why," George asked slowly and carefully. "Does the similarity of my behaviour to yours, make you consider that I might have a problem with alcohol?" Jo could have cursed her own stupidity to hell and back. George, in her utterly bloody but at times wonderful sensitivity, had alighted on the fact that Jo herself had an occasional problem with alcohol. "Am I in the company of John mark two?" Jo asked a little sharply, to cover up her rising tension. "No," George said sincerely. "Because unlike John, I am not about to force you to explain, not if you don't want to." "This isn't easy, George," Jo prevaricated. "Neither was telling you about my addiction to starving myself," George said bluntly. "But as I said, you don't have to tell me. I might professionally be in the business of extracting confessions and confidences from people, but it's something I generally prefer to avoid with those I care about." Jo's eyes made a circuit of the room, from the Monet above the fireplace, to the Stubbs above the piano, to the stereo, the television, and back to George, who simply sat and watched her, knowing that Jo was having a furious internal battle with herself. "My father was an alcoholic," She said eventually, still not looking at George. "And I suppose I have inherited his tendency to turn to it, in times of extreme stress. I haven't got drunk like that since, and that had been the first time for years. If everything's fairly plain sailing, I can drink, a few glasses of wine, or a couple of glasses of scotch, being nothing I can't handle. But if I'm very angry, or very upset, I have to purposefully avoid even so much as one glass of wine. If I don't, and allow myself the luxury of getting as drunk as you did last night, then I end up doing career destroying things, such as spending the night with John." After a few moments silence, where George took in what Jo had told her, she moved along the sofa, and put her arms round her. "That was a very brave thing you just did," George said gently, turning Jo's face towards hers. "No, it wasn't," Jo replied, her voice slightly huskier with repressed emotion. "Yes, it was," George insisted. "Because you weren't expecting to have to tell me, and even though I gave you the option of backing out, you didn't. Having had to explain my own little addiction, I know how difficult that was for you." "Why didn't I find you years ago?" Jo asked, through a few stray tears that were speckling her cheeks. "Because neither of us would have been able to take the shock," George told her with a wry smile. This time, when Jo's lips descended on hers, George was sober. As their mouths entwined, first gently, then more passionately, George had to rein in every impulse she had, that was begging her to take Jo upstairs right now, and make long, glorious, delicious love to her. "I'm sorry," Jo said, as if suddenly realising what she was doing. "Shh, calm down," George told her, softly stroking Jo's cheek, and wiping a tear away with a finger. "Darling, there is nothing I would enjoy more, than to take you to bed right now, and to give you the best time you've ever had in your life. I could make love to you all night long, the way I feel at the moment. But I mustn't, both for your sake, and for Karen's." At the mention of Karen's name, Jo froze, having only just remembered the one real complication to what was clearly happening between them. As though Karen's name had provided them both with an extremely cold shower, they drew apart. "You know I have to consider her feelings as well as yours," George continued, reaching for a cigarette. "She doesn't deserve to be hurt, no matter how open or unofficial my relationship might be with her." "I know," Jo said regretfully. "And I'm sorry I got carried away like that." "Don't be," George said, briefly touching her hand. "Your feelings about a lot of things are very up in the air today, and I think you need to give them time to settle. Neither of us are in an emotionally stable condition, which would only mean a recipe for disaster if we followed the calling of our instincts. You may well regret you ever did this, which is why you shouldn't rush into anything." "And if I don't? If you don't?" "Then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it." 


	102. Part One Hundred And Two

Part One Hundred and Two

On a Sunday morning, Helen found it common enough for a dog tired Nikki to slip into her bed in the early hours in the morning and to sleep in late from her turn at a Saturday night at the club. She knew not to disturb her and that Nikki only became human after a painful period of resurrection to become her normal self. This time, her tousled hair emerged from under the duvet but her expression was grim as Helen handed her a steaming hot mug of coffee. There was also an ugly purple bruise round her eye.  
"Jesus, Nikki, whatever happened to you? You should have woken me up," Helen exclaimed in shock.  
"Well, I won't spin you the usual line that I walked into a door," Came the reply with her patented understated graveyard humour. "I got something from the medicine cupboard, as I didn't want to disturb you. It isn't as painful as it looks. Really." "You're sure?" Helen looked doubtfully but not wanting to make too much fuss. "This cup of coffee is fine and I could do with a cigarette. I need something like this after last night's drama." Helen was beginning to sense that there was a lot more to it than a black eye and that Nikki's emotions were full to the brim and wanted to talk. She knew that the right thing to do was to be all ears and wait for Nikki to spill the beans.  
"Did you get that from a rough night at the club?" "You can say that again." Nikki winced at the memory and took a swig from the coffee mug while her thoughts spewed out. "It's not easy keeping your eyes open while the party's going and the place is packed out on a Saturday night. The money's good and the place is doing better than ever. The only problem is the gang of kids that have started to come around in recent months. Sure everyone's out for a good time on a Saturday night as I know way back when. It's different these days……." Helen resisted the temptation to make light of it and joke about Nikki getting old. Sure, the years were passing for all of them but Nikki was Nikki and remained as open minded as she had always been and yet sticking rigidly to a set of beliefs which she would not compromise for love nor money. She had grown up mature for her age without the need to keep up with superficial trends. "How different?" Nikki was grateful for the way that Helen reacted very quickly to every minor shift of her moods and could read her mind. That was how they first connected. "A lot of the old customers were friends who I grew up with. The place was more like a big family. More and more of them move away or just stop coming and those that replace them are kids that just want to get out of it as quickly as possible. They've read too many bloody celebrity magazines so they want to use alcohol to knock away any trace of civilised behaviour to become argumentative, and let all that nasty side of them to come out ….." All Nikki's anger and contempt boiled over at this point to Helen's horror. Nikki had always tended to minimise any sense of her own personal danger and this was new to her. "…..They behave like the Peckham Boot Gang only they wear up to the minute designer dresses with lots of money to throw away. You watch current affairs programmes of that sort of thing happening outside straight clubs and it's creeping in at mine also and I don't like it." "So you're saying that the world's changing for the worse and away from the standards that you believe in." Nikki smiled gratefully at Helen for the understanding, The last thing she wanted to sound like was a Disgusted of Tonbridge Wells coming out with a load of reactionary dogma, the sort of beliefs that she had spent her life fighting against in various forms. Now she looked back on it, everything blended into one, running up against the authority figures at her boarding school when she and her first girlfriend were found out and standing up against the vicious homophobic remarks that Bodybag and Fenner used to come out with. She never hated the prison system on principle, only the sort of petty minded people that worked in it who were no different to the sort of people you might bump into on the street. Yet she saw these young kids and she started feeling sympathy for their mothers. That was a turn up for the book, she thought bitterly, to feel that way for the ultimate authority symbol who had been instrumental in casting her aside when she was young.

"It was late last night that it all blew up. I saw a bunch of them start to pick an argument with one of the barmaids and quietly and politely asked them to leave it out. I got some cheek from one of them but I thought no more about it as they backed off. It happens from time to time and I didn't expect any more trouble. It was only when I was closing the doors and three of them came from nowhere and started getting really mouthy and it started getting dangerous. I pushed a couple of them out of the club and one of them took a swing at me and I didn't move back quickly enough. That started off a right tussle when round the corner came a couple of policemen. I shouted at them to come over when they pretended not to notice what was going on." "Why the hell was that? You are an ordinary law abiding citizen who is entitled to have police protection?" Helen stormed with anger.  
Nikki smiled fondly at Helen. It was so like her to be more than ordinarily defensive of her rights and expected her to be treated as equal as anyone in the land, queen or commoner. It was a pity life didn't work out like that.  
"Police have long memories, Helen. They remembered that I killed one of them. It doesn't matter to them that I finally had the slate wiped clean. Take a line through the way the likes of Fenner and Bodybag will be only too ready to hand out their type of justice. Remember that time you sent me down the block and I ended up in strips." Those words sunk in. Helen remembered and understood only too well.  
"So what happened." "Somehow even though my eye was hurting like hell, I called out to them very politely and told them that if they let those three go down the street and attack some other innocent passer by, then it will be on their head. I took a leaf out of your book and I lectured them very nicely in my best imitation Wing Governor's style of their public duties and responsibilities. It's interesting that if you pitch it right, even the thickest and most pig headed copper will get the message and jump to it. They slipped the handcuffs on the three of them and bundled them into the nearest police van. I thanked them very graciously, being very understanding of how they must be really stretched on Saturday nights." Helen grinned broadly at Nikki's account in the way she shifted her approach around showed how versatile and resourceful she was in an emergency. She knew very well that force of personality and semi-official status, which she could assume as a prisoner. Having spent the last few years out of prison and having daily responsibility for the running of her own place only sharpened up her skills.  
"This goes further than just a bad night at the club, doesn't it Nikki." A huge feeling of relief that ran through Nikki gave her the strength to push on with what most troubled her, deep down.  
"I'm looking at what I'm doing and I can't see myself running a club for the rest of my life. In fact, I need a change of job as soon as I can get one, a regular nine to five job where I get the recognition I deserve for what I can do. I did Open University at Larkhall and I ought to make proper use of my degree." The precisely formulated words fell out of Nikki's brain, fully formed. Helen realised that this was a pivotal moment in their lives.  
"What do you want out of life, Nikki." "Well, for a start, having all the time in the world to grow old with you, Helen and spend more nights sleeping with you than we get the chance to with the insane hours of my job." Nikki's wide smile revealed the unashamed romantic that she had always been and Helen gently stroked her perfectly formed hands.  
"That sounds like paradise to me, Nikki." Her soft Scottish accent caressed Nikki gently without the need for the touch of her fingers. " I would like enough money to pay my share of the bills, enough for clothes, the odd holidays and more books that I haven't read and music that I haven't heard though I don't get as much time as I would like to read or listen….." Nikki started slowly on a more serious note starting with the more trivial and inconsequential as a way of leading her way into what was deepest on her mind.  
"What I don't want is living the luxury life that Trisha wants to lead. I'm not really into money like she is. She was honest about it when we talked business yesterday. She wants to use the club to make money and sod the social consequences. That's when I decided that we don't even have anything in common professionally any more." "I want to be able to have a job where I can do some good in this world, like yours," Nikki added after a long pause.  
Helen smiled. Those were her own very favourite words even before she ever joined the prison service. Nikki wasn't copying her but speaking from her own independently worked out ideas. It was simply that their thoughts and their love which had come together.  
"I envy you, Helen. Every day, you can go to work and you are directly involved in trying to make individual's lives better. All I'm asked to do is to act as bouncer and talk about theme nights which I really don't give a toss about." Helen's smile faded. Nikki had a romantic view of her day to day job which, out of professional discretion, she couldn't talk about. She felt as if she were in a losing battle with her most difficult patient. Nikki's battle was a desperate encounter, alone on a late night darkened alley with three vicious women and a couple of policemen who were prepared to turn a blind eye to their duty. Hers was her desperate attempt to fix her certain eyes with his wavering will, at sixes and sevens with himself. Each time he came in, he greeted her with the shrug of indifference, that air of going to see her only to be sure of his prescription which she knew he would sell for the vilest quality of street heroin which he injected into himself. His story was one that he grew up with a mother who may have given him what he wanted materially for him but one who was never there for him when he needed her. He complained that his mother was hard, unsympathetic and demanded the best out of him, more than he could deliver. She could never recognise when he was scared though Helen suspected that at times like that, he came over as a truculent, aggressive adolescent who appeared to shrug off his mother. There was a childish element to him who would never accept responsibility for what mistakes he had made in his life. He was well enough educated to know better but Helen's bitter experience was that this was no guarantee of anything. He had gone to university but had dropped out and had got into that hopeless spiral in his lack of self worth, having too much time on his hands and the friends whom he sought approval on pulling him into the drug scene. She had tried all sorts of approaches and they were obviously failing. Every time she saw him, he looked rougher and more neglected than the time before. All the same, Helen knew that she had that recognised authority which Nikki had not really got. Running a gay club gave her responsibility but Helen knew that Nikki wanted to move on in her work and be closer to her. For months there had been hints from Nikki that she was half aware of, that her heart wasn't really in her job, only her determined commitment to carry on what she had started and her pride in contributing her honest half share of money to their union.

"While you started the club , you did it to fight a cause, didn't you. The money was helpful but incidental. You want a different cause to take on, don't you." Nikki nodded, tears of gratitude running down her face at this extraordinary woman who was that soul mate she had spent her life searching for. Her arms reached out to clasp this beautiful woman to her though she gingerly avoided Helen's cheek to come too close to her eye, which was still tender.  
"That's exactly it, Helen," She whispered into Helen's ear while her hair brushed her face. "That's what I want out of life." Somehow, everything made sense. The only thing she needed to do was to find this job. 


	103. Part One Hundred And Three

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part One Hundred And Three

When they arrived at the rehearsal on the Monday afternoon, it being the bank holiday, George had a brief moment of nervousness. This would be the first time she'd seen John since their row, and the first time she'd seen Karen since Jo had talked to her yesterday. She would also be forced to conceal from her father, just how emotionally fragile she still felt. "You do know that the chorus is joining us today?" Jo said, as they drew up outside the church hall. "Oh, that's all I need," George grumbled. "I've smoked far too much as it is this weekend, without having to prove myself in front of a load of new people." "Well, I'm sure that Vera Everard will steal all your thunder, so you'll have nothing to worry about." "Good god," Said George in disgust. "I can't believe she wanted to play Eve. Haydn would turn in his grave at the thought." "I'm looking forward to seeing how your father will handle her," Jo said in amusement. "I wouldn't bother," George replied, a slight smile cracking her air of moroseness. "Daddy's afraid of her, he always has been." 

Seeing that they were clearly the last to arrive, George said she would stay outside for a quick cigarette. "I suppose you may as well make a bad situation worse," Said Jo with an affectionate roll of her eyes. As she left George to it and walked inside, she saw John, sitting tuning up his Strad, with a very thoughtful look on his face. When he saw her, he lowered his violin and walked over to her. "Is George with you?" He asked in greeting. "Yes," Jo replied, briefly leaning her cello against the wall. "Is she all right?" He asked almost casually. "Not really," Jo told him, her anger beginning to rise. Then, before he could speak, she held up a hand to forestall him. "Don't, John, don't say whatever it is you're about to say. I could strangle you for what she's gone through this last week, but I have no intention of getting myself a mandatory life sentence." "Jo, I..." He tried to interrupt. "Why, John, why do I always have to pick up the pieces when you start playing with her feelings, as if she really was nothing more to you than your latest conquest?" "I didn't ask you to," He countered back. "No, and neither did George. But somehow, I always end up doing it. It really is about time you learnt to clear up your own mess." As Jo stalked away to take her place, John stared after her, utterly flabbergasted. As Brian Cantwell hadn't yet arrived, Karen leaned across the space to speak to Jo. "How is she?" "Outside having a cigarette, if you want to speak to her." Moving across to sit in Brian's chair, so that they could talk with a little more privacy, Karen said, "I heard what you said to John, and I feel a bit guilty that I didn't do more this weekend." "You shouldn't," Jo told her, calming down a little. "Much as this might hurt you, George wouldn't have wanted you to see her like that. The best thing you could do, is to take her home with you afterwards, and give her what I can't." Seeing the shutters coming down in Jo's face as she said this, Karen silently got up and left her to it. Leaving her viola on her chair, she walked outside, to find that George was the only one taking a last, hopeful drag. "I thought I might find you out here," She said quietly. "Once an addict, always an addict," George said matter-of-factly. "How are you?" "Oh, all right," George replied, not really knowing what to say. "George, I know you probably don't want to hear it," Karen began slowly. "But there's something I need to say." "Don't," George almost pleaded. "Or you'll make me feel even more stupid than I already do." "Just let me say my piece," Karen persuaded gently. "Then I'll shut up, I promise." When George remained quiet, Karen suddenly didn't know how to phrase it. "There isn't anything you can't say to me," She said eventually. "Nothing I don't want to hear. No matter what you feel, no matter how good or bad it is, I want to know. There isn't anything you could say, or feel, that would frighten me off in any way. I know this relationship is unconventional to say the least, but that doesn't mean that I don't care for you a great deal. I... I just wanted you to know that," She finished quietly, thinking that that had possibly been the lamest speech she'd come out with in years. But George was staring at her, a rush of tenderness flooding her heart. What she'd said to Jo yesterday was right, Karen didn't deserve to be hurt, not ever. Reaching up to put her arms round Karen's neck, George gently kissed her. "Thank you," She said softly. "That's the most beautiful thing anyone's said to me in a long time." "I know it's difficult," Karen said into George's hair. "But try not to shut me out." "I think we'd better go in," George said, after a while of standing close to each other. "And it's probably a very good job that I'm not conducting today. I would probably take it out on all and sundry." 

When everyone had been assembled, including the twenty strong chorus, Joe Channing took his place on the rostrum. "Now, I know that my daughter will have given you all a fairly hectic ride when she stood in for me last week, so I am expecting you all to have improved dramatically." At a sound of disgust from Sir Ian, Joe Channing raised an eyebrow. "Something to say, Rochester?" He demanded silkily, seeing that something had obviously happened that he didn't know about. "No," Sir Ian replied, his feathers a little ruffled by being addressed in such an unaccustomed manner. "Good," Joe replied, vowing to discover what had happened at the earliest opportunity. It wouldn't surprise him in the least if George had offended quite a number of people in her stint as conductor. "As we have the members of the chorus with us for this rehearsal," He continued. "We will be concentrating on those pieces which include them, most of which do not require the participation of our soloists. However, we shall begin with one that does include everyone, and that ought to ease our singers in gently." 

As he raised his baton for the opening of 'The Heavens are telling', George became suddenly aware of John's gaze behind her. She could feel his eyes burning into her back, as if the notes of his score were printed on the back of her blouse. As there is no orchestral introduction to this particular piece, the chorus seemed almost surprised that they were expected to sing. "Let's try that again," Joe Channing said patiently. "Without the fluff this time." The second attempt wasn't much better, but by the third, the members of the chorus seemed to realise that at least some of them had to take the plunge. Finally! George thought as they moved into the piece, the fairly simple chords not appearing to pose any immediate problems. When the trio of soloists entered for their few bars, George realised just how many cigarettes she must have smoked this weekend, in other words, far too many. Her voice didn't crack, it didn't even waver, but she was all too aware of just how much she wouldn't be able to sing anything particularly high today. At the same time, a good many of the orchestra, though happy to have Joe back as their conductor, were occasionally missing George's far clearer beat. Her rhythm had been clipped, precise, like a knife driving through butter. Joe's on the other hand was a little less certain. After a few abortive entries, they finally stumbled to the end. "Well, that wasn't exactly an unmitigated success," Joe told them. "But practice is supposed to make perfect, so we'll try this again." They added Monty's few preceding solo tenor lines this time, giving the chorus a little more warning of their entry. After the trio had completed their few lines in the middle, George suddenly became aware of a most unpleasant noise, the sound of an alto who was singing distinctly out of tune. By the end of the second run through of the piece, she had pinpointed the lack of tone, to none other than Vera Everard. But she wasn't the only one to become aware of this. John had noticed it, so had Roisin, and many others. But how to tell her? She was one of the most formidable wives on the legal circuit, causing fear and dread everywhere she went, from the Lord Chief Justice downwards. 

When Joe announced that they would then move on to 'the marvelous work behold amazed', Neil glanced over to see a look of horror on George's face. She couldn't believe it. No, not that song, please. The one of her solos that included the chorus, went right up to top C, sixth, octave, C. She knew she couldn't do it. No way on earth could she get up that high today. Knowing that she was about to make an even bigger fool of herself than she had ever done before, George began to tremble. She could feel her throat closing up, a barrier rising to prevent her voice coming out. John could feel her tension from where he sat, and from what Jo had said, this was probably because she'd been smoking far too much this weekend, and didn't think she would be able to do what was required of her. He stretched out a hand to touch her shoulder, to offer some sort of comfort, but retracted it before he could. After the last time they'd spoken, he thought she would probably reject his touch. As George rose to her feet, she had to resist the urge to simply walk out of the hall. She listened to Lawrence James' oboe, her hands balled into fists at her sides. She sang the first few bars adequately enough, but she could feel the constriction that her nervous tension was putting on her throat and breathing muscles. The chorus came in at the right time, their lines interweaving with hers just as they should. But when she reached the second verse, she knew the moment of her downfall was approaching. It was during the word 'Volts', that she had to soar up to the top C, her voice rising above every other sound. But this wasn't to be, not today. As George reached the point of no return, she got so far up the scale, and then stopped. She tried to go on, but her voice just wouldn't come. John was surprised by the sudden ceasing of her voice, and he glanced over at her, to see her standing as stiff and taut as a lamppost. Joe brought the orchestra to a halt. "What happened?" He asked, looking over at his daughter, taking instant note of the look of terror, anger and humiliation in her face. "Nothing," She mumbled, refusing to meet her father's gaze. She was letting him down, and she couldn't bear that. Saying that they would take the piece from a few bars earlier, Joe raised his baton. But the same thing happened again. Try as she might, George could not force her throat to open enough to let out the sound, because she knew that as a result of her drinking and smoking this weekend, the note would crack if she tried to sing it. She would far rather make no sound at all, than make one that bore any resemblance to a tomcat being garroted by knicker elastic. They tried these few bars over and over again, but every time George failed to complete them. It wasn't helping her concentration, that Vera Everard was becoming more and more irritating. After the sixth failed attempt, George finally snapped. "Will someone please get that caterwauling alto out of here!" Everyone knew to whom she was referring by this time, and a few of them laughed. "At least said alto is trying to sing her part, which is more than can be said for you," Sir Ian put in, knowing he was signing his own death warrant, but being utterly unable to resist. Whirling round, George snatched the open score from the music stand in front of John, and hurled it over the heads of the first and second violins. Its pages briefly fluttered, like autumn leaves in a gently blowing breeze. But there was nothing gentle about the way the spine of the score crashed into Sir Ian's face. There was a stunned, awful pause. "Georgina!" Joe Channing roared, whipping round to glare at his daughter for doing such a thing. Knowing she'd definitely gone too far, George picked up her handbag and walked out. 

When the door had closed behind her, Joe Channing cleared his throat. "I think we will move onto something that doesn't involve any soloists. Will somebody retrieve that score please?" Getting up from her chair, Barbara picked up the score, and walking passed the first desk of the second violins, handed it to John. When she'd returned to her seat, Joe instructed them all to turn to 'Awake the harp.' John tried to tune out the sound of the music, playing his own part as if on autopilot. He knew George had the potential to fly off the handle sometimes, but that had even been beyond what she was usually capable of. He glanced over at Sir Ian, observing that the blood from his injured nose had splattered down onto his pristine white shirt. She could end up in an awful lot of trouble for this, but John didn't think so. Ian wouldn't dare pull a stunt like that, not after the conversation they'd had last week. This was stupid, he thought to himself, eventually lowering his violin. He was worried about George, and he wanted to make sure she was all right. As he rose to his feet, leaving his violin on his chair, it also occurred to him that now might be a good time to apologise to her. 

George was sitting on the bench, on the other side of the carpark. It was a memorial to someone she'd never heard of, and its back was nestling in the arms of the hawthorn hedge that bordered the beech wood behind the church. She couldn't believe she'd done that, actually hurled a score in someone's face, possibly doing what amounted to criminal damage. She felt so up in the air today, unable to keep herself afloat, yet unable to reach back to the firm, safe ground beneath her. She felt cut adrift, tossed asunder, though this didn't make any sense to her. What Karen had said meant a great deal to her, as had Jo's friendship and support over the last weekend, so what was wrong with her? The answer came to her when she saw him. She didn't just want John in her life, she needed him. When he wasn't there, everything seemed to become unraveled. She didn't speak to him as he approached, not having the slightest idea of what she could say to him. As he sat down beside her, all John wanted to do was to hold her, to gather her into his arms, and to soothe away all the hurt. But he still couldn't be sure that his advances would be appreciated. He found his thoughts briefly straying to his conquest of the week before. Yes, she had looked like George, and once in bed she had certainly acted like George, but she hadn't touched his heart like George. Nobody, with the obvious exception of Jo, had ever, could ever, touch his heart in the way George always did. As his resolve weakened, and he gently reached for her, she still didn't speak, but she did allow him to put his arms round her. She knew this was his way of saying he was sorry, and for now, it was good enough for her. She knew she would change her mind, once she felt emotionally stronger, but for now, she just needed him. "Did Daddy send you out here?" She asked eventually, her face resting against his shoulder. "No," He said, brushing a strand of hair back from her face. "That was certainly some aim," He added with a smile. "I couldn't have done it better myself." George didn't smile, she couldn't. "I can't believe he called me Georgina," She said disgustedly. John laughed. "I can't have heard your full name since our wedding day." "Who in their right mind would call their daughter, Georgina Rosalind?" "It's very pretty," He said in defence of his ex-father-in-law. She stayed quiet, not feeling remotely pretty, even if he thought her name was. Tilting her face up towards his, he softly kissed her. "I'm sorry," He said quietly. "About last week." "Yes," She said resignedly. "So am I." "You're very subdued today," He observed. "And you look tired." "Oh, don't you start," She replied, thinking that this must be the understatement of the year. "I've had similar from Jo all weekend." "Ah," He said in realisation. "So, is that why she was shouting at me earlier?" "Probably, though I wish she hadn't." It was perhaps the fact that not even the thought of Jo shouting at him could raise a smile in her, which really got John worried. "I love you," He said, stroking her far too pale cheek. "Do you?" she asked dully, almost as if she didn't care. "Yes," He said sincerely, fixing her with his all too penetrating gaze. He looked as though he meant it, and even sounded as though he meant it, but did he? George wanted to be sure, she really did, but John had said this so many times to her, and on every occasion he'd broken his promise. When he kissed her this time, he could feel the need in her, the need to have his love proved to her in some way. Their kisses became more passionate, the spring sunshine seeming to give their love a renewed vigour. When he gently touched her breast, still through her blouse, she gasped. "John, stop it," She said, as he began caressing her with those addictive fingers of his. "You can't do that here." "Do you want to find somewhere, where I can do that, and other things?" He suggested between kisses, clearly feeling her nipple harden under his fingertips. My god, his offer was tempting. But should she do it? "All right," She said after a moment's thought, deciding that with all the sexual frustration and emotional ups and downs she'd had over the weekend, a very forbidden, utterly animalistic screw might be what she needed. 

Taking her hand, he led her towards the trees at the edge of the wood, the path leading away from the churchyard, and away from where all the cars were parked. He seemed so sure of where he was going, that George would have wondered if he'd been here before if she hadn't known better. They'd gone a good way down the woodland path before they reached the clearing, a sprawl of fresh, springy grass, surrounded by trees and bushes of hawthorn and flowering currant. When they moved away from the path, they were entirely hidden from anyone who might come looking for them. They collapsed onto the grass, continuing where they'd left off, their mouths in a perpetual dance, and their hands feverishly undoing clothes. As she reached for his belt, he stayed her hand. "You first," He said, pushing her back on the grass, raising her skirt and swiftly removing her knickers. As he gently parted her legs and lay on the grass between them, it briefly occurred to George that this would surely make a far more compromising photograph than the one of John and Jo in bed asleep together. She half gasped, half cried out when John's tongue inched its way inside her, reclaiming her taste as part of his raison d'être. She knew it wouldn't take much for her to come, her extreme tension making every nerve ending aware of each sensation. "John, please," She almost begged, aching to feel his tongue on her clitoris, desperate to have the rush of feelings overwhelm her. He gave her what she wanted, down to every last swipe of his tongue, every last, gentle nibble. She almost screamed as she came, her cry of abandon frightening away some of the nesting birds in the trees above her head. Whilst her internal muscles were still throbbing from her orgasm, John swiftly unzipped his fly and plunged himself inside her. She could tell how much he wanted her, the enormity of him filling her to capacity. She clung to him as he thrust into her again and again, needing the hard and vigorous treatment as proof that he still loved and needed her. But when John in turn reached his own climax, the words, "I love you," were torn from his mouth. That was when it hit her. He didn't love her, really, she was just kidding herself. He loved fucking her, but that was it. His words left her cold, flat, emotionally numb. They didn't mean anything to her, because she didn't know what he wanted them to mean, especially when they spewed forth at the point of orgasm, just as the seed did from his body. When he withdrew from her and lay down beside her, she stayed still for a moment, allowing the May sun and the spring breeze to play lightly over her debauched flesh. 

They were silent as they put on their clothes, both aware that all they'd really done was to make the situation between them worse. They'd taken their physical gratification at a moment's notice, but nothing between them had been resolved. George didn't believe he loved her, and John didn't know how to convince her. He tried to take her hand as they walked back along the path, but she moved it away from him, knowing that if she touched him again, she would yet again give into his protestations. She held back as he moved to go inside, wanting a minute or two to marshal her thoughts. 

When John returned to his seat in the front desk of the first violins, it could certainly be said that he did so with a swagger. This wasn't intentional, but simply a result of his very recent sexual satisfaction. The male barrister sitting next to him gave him a conspiratorial wink, but Joe Channing simply glared. When George returned a few minutes later, Neil beckoned her over to him, using the cover of the singing from the chorus to tell her that the top two buttons of her blouse were undone. Blushing furiously and fastening them, she moved to take her seat. When the orchestra and chorus reached the end of the piece they were going through, Joe turned round and gave his daughter an assessing look without saying a word. George barely noticed as they waded their way through the final piece of the work, using up the talents of orchestra, chorus and soloists alike. She knew it backwards, and hardly needed to think about her entries. It seemed no time at all before they were putting away the chairs and collecting instruments and handbags together in preparation for leaving. George found that she simply wanted to escape as quickly as possible. But before she could, her father approached her. "Daddy, I've got to go," She said, trying to make her get away before he started. "I've no doubt," He said sternly but quietly, guiding her into a corner with his familiar, heavy hand on her shoulder. When they were out of earshot of everyone else, he said, "I am well aware of your relationship with Deed, and much as you know I disapprove, I realise that I cannot run your life for you. But what I will not have, is the pair of you flaunting your relationship so blatantly, right under my very nose. I neither want nor need to know about what exists between you and Deed, though after today's performance it has become blindingly obvious to everyone here. I will not have my daughter behaving like a common slut in public. Is that understood?" George was speechless. "Yes, I see that it is," He finished a little more gently, seeing that his words had perhaps hit home a little too forcefully. "I'm sorry," She said, feeling utterly disgusted with herself. "Good," He replied curtly, the worry for his daughter's welfare evident in his face. 

When George emerged into the late afternoon air, she saw Karen and Jo waiting for her, sitting on the bench where her little detour with John had begun. "No prizes for guessing where you went during that rehearsal," Karen said with a wry smile as George sat down between them. "Don't," George said tightly. "Just don't make me feel cheaper than I already do. Daddy's just told me that he won't have his daughter acting like a common slut in public." "Ouch," Said Jo in sympathy. "I'm sorry, to both of you," George said, feeling a sudden urge to put an arm round each of them. "I shouldn't have done that." "Sweetheart," Karen said fondly. "It doesn't matter. I couldn't be more aware of you and John than I already am, so it really doesn't bother me." "And think about it this way," Jo said matter-of-factly. "At least it'll stop the likes of Ian Rochester thinking that John's sleeping with me." "Why are you both so nice to me?" George asked wonderingly. Unbeknown to the other, Jo and Karen both opened their mouths to say, "Because we love you," And thankfully thought better of it in time. "Because you're fabulous in bed," Karen said with a completely straight face. "Why else?" This seemed to break the ice, making George laugh and Jo smile. "Well, as I clearly can't testify to that particular quality, I shall have to defer that answer to another time," Jo told her, giving George a look that said she would certainly like to be able to. When they saw John emerge with his Strad, Karen said to George, "Do you want to come home with me?" "Now that really is an offer I can't refuse," George said, as she got to her feet. 

John watched George and Karen leave in Karen's car, and he wondered what they'd all three been talking about. Jo was still sat on the bench waiting for him, and John found himself unsure as to what to say to her. When he sat down beside her, she asked nonchalantly, "Nice afternoon, was it?" "Yes," He replied quietly, seeing the glimmer of laughter in her eyes. "You do realise that you have well and truly confused all the usual gossips, don't you." "Oh, that's good," He said with a smile. "At least they'll really have something to think about for a change." "Can I see you this evening?" She asked, because they needed to talk about George, and the flippant way John appeared to have apologised to her yet again. "Is that so you can finish what you started earlier?" He asked, knowing her too well. "Partly," She conceded. "But I'll try not to shout at you, I promise." As they stood to leave, he tenderly put his arms round her, never feeling quite right if he parted from Jo without a kiss. But when Jo's lips connected with his, she immediately knew that something was different. The taste on him had altered, it having become a muskier, slightly sweeter flavour that was vaguely familiar. Then it struck her, and she reeled back from him in shock. "What?" He asked, wondering what had made her blush quite so beautifully. "You... You... You even taste of her!" She said, her voice higher with embarrassment but quiet because of her need for propriety. "Oh, dear, do I?" He said, beginning to laugh. "I'm sorry," He added, seeing that it had made her feel extremely uncomfortable. "Go home, have a shower, and then come and see me, but not before," She told him firmly, the taste of George's sexual secretion on him having thoroughly confused her. When John had showed her what she, herself, tasted like, on that Sunday of a fortnight ago, it had been very similar to what she'd tasted on him today. She could feel the beginnings of her own arousal at the thought, and she desperately wanted to get rid of him before he could suspect anything of the sort. But as she drove home, she wondered just what it would be like to do that to a woman, to do that to George, and if she, Jo, could ever be any good at it. 


	104. Part One Hundred And Four

Part One Hundred and Four 

Roisin was miles away in her head as she walked the short distance up to her front door. Her attitude towards her fellow beings was to 'live and let live', especially in relation to her still censorious ex-husband and ex-mother-in-law. However much of a tentative accommodation she had made with them it would be as much to expect that they would finally warm to her and Cassie as it would to expect Ian Paisley to become bosom buddies with the Pope. Regarding her fellow musicians, all she wanted to do was to humbly fit in, play her music and be on friendly terms with them. After all, she, Babs and in his way Grayling were relative outsiders. As she mulled things over in her mind, she had a gut feeling that such detachment may be as difficult to assume as part of the orchestra as it was at Larkhall. In this frame of mind, she fumbled with her front door key to open the door for a few minutes until the keyhole swung back gently out of reach and the Cassie's welcoming smile was revealed in the crack in the door which opened up in front of her.  
"You look tired, babe. Take the weight off your feet," Cassie urged as Michael and Niamh welcomed her into her other world of cosy domesticity.  
Michael proudly took Roisin's violin from her while she collapsed unthinking into a chair. "Be careful with my violin, Michael. It's precious," She called out anxiously, scared in case the child might accidentally damaged an instrument that was priceless as the conveyor of music and of past long association. Despite her tiredness from the hard day's work spent in exacting rehearsals, that faculty was still alive within her.  
"I'll look after it, mum. Don't worry," He stopped himself from saying that, as a twelve-year-old, he wasn't a child any more. He was three years older than Niamh and he could tell the difference at that age even if mum and Cassie sometimes couldn't.  
"He'll be all right," Cassie added quietly. "He just wants to help." Roisin smiled nervously but let him place the violin in pride of place on the sideboard with more sense of delicacy than the increasingly larger and more boisterous boy was capable of. Niamh, instead, plonked herself on Mum's lap to welcome her home. From the moment both of them first heard mum practice in the kitchen, they were proud of her.  
Cassie passed her a lovely hot cup of tea, which Roisin placed, carefully on a side table to sip from when she felt like it.  
"So, come on, what's the latest gossip?" Cassie called out jokingly, standing in front of her.  
"I've only been part of Barristers Behaving Badly, nothing much," Roisin answered, grasping at the first snapshot memory image that came to her mind.  
"Hey, and I thought you were mixing with high society who knew how to behave themselves. After all, they judge people or prosecute or defend people for a living." "I stayed out of it. I don't want any trouble," Came Roisin's virtuous reply.  
Cassie rolled her eyes heavenwards at Roisin's elliptical way of telling a story. She did not want to hear how much of a goody goody her beloved was as she knew that already. She wanted to hear the scandal. And her frustrated curiosity was at screaming point.  
"Now Roash, like the kids English teacher say for writing essays, start at the beginning and finish at the end," she commanded.  
"For a start, there was some terrible woman in the chorus line who was screeching away and putting me off my music. Finally George lost her temper and shouted out for someone to take that caterwauling alto out of the hall." "Whew, that was telling her," Cassie said, deeply impressed. In the first trial ages ago, she had seen George in action as a hard faced woman who had a ferocious line of verbal attack. More recently in the very same court, she had seen a much softer, almost diffident woman who was all the more attractive for it and who wanted so much to be part of their company. It touched her that she wished to belong to them when she clearly came from the sort of background that might not have wanted to pass the time of day with them. There was a fair amount of class to all the women in all their different ways but this woman was different league altogether. Cassie noticed that George hit it off with Nikki, the woman who once would have been condemned to the longest stretch in prison as a lifer.  
"If she was so bad, why was that woman allowed to be in the orchestra in the first place. After all, you and Karen auditioned to get into the orchestra," Cassie said reflectively.  
This stopped Roisin short. In her innocence, she had not thought to ask herself the question, as she was preoccupied in making an honest effort to keep up to standard.  
"I'm not sure." "Well," grinned Cassie wickedly. "There's the one obvious answer. She's either married to someone important or……." "Her name is Vera Everard," recalled Roisin from her memory and her husband is the tenor who sings with George and Neil." There was a melee when everyone was taking their places and George smiled kindly at me and made a cryptic aside about her. Reflecting now how stressed George had looked, Roisin had concluded that George had wanted the chorus to buttress and support her solo, and not produce an atonal sound that grated and threatened to put her off her stroke more than she was already.  
"George would talk to you as you're restful company for anyone who's stressed out. That's no reason for Vera Whatshername that to be there," Cassie reflected soberly. "So what happened next?" "One of those men who were at the back of the visitor's gallery in court made a horrible crack about George as she couldn't hit her top notes this time, but just stopped short. The last time she could hit that very high top C note with no trouble." "Hmmn," Cassie said reflectively. It sounded like she was digging in her heels for some reason which was well within Cassie's own range of sympathies." "So she picked up a score and hurled it through the air at him and hit him right in the face." Cassie and the children burst out in laughter at that piece of news. The children had watched too many Tom and Jerry cartoons so that it appealed on a basic level and they had gleaned third hand through George via mum and Cassie just how bad they were.  
"It couldn't happen to a better person, except someone like Bodybag," Cassie exclaimed slowly with a satisfaction which was savoured as she spoke before a thought crossed her mind. "Hey, you don't suppose that hanging out with us and the rest of the gang has lured her off the straight and narrow? She would have been right at home on G Wing." The reality of their present life was that if either of them were torn away either from each other or from the children and ended up in Larkhall, would be the worst nightmare imaginable. When they were in Larkhall, the many horrible periods included Roisin's terrifying slide into drug addiction and how far away she was from her children who she had seen rarely in Aiden's hateful company. It was curious that for all that, they could think themselves back nostalgically to the better times when there was that intense feeling of closeness that they had between themselves, Babs and Yvonne and others like the Julies and Denny and now Lauren who were shut inside that foreign world where everything is done differently, there. "For all the bad times, there were good times, weren't there. And George would have fitted right in there………." Cassie started to say hesitantly.  
"Oh children, don't worry. Everything's fine," Roisin urged with that pure maternal love that had held in the children through the fraught times leading up to their trial and that horrible period when she was gone except in their minds. Many times they had had that repeated nightmare of them crying out to mum and hearing her voice from afar that "Mum's coming" and seeing her outstretched arms and face blown back in the wind only to wake up to hear the iron voices of Aiden and his mother. They did wish that mum and Cassie didn't talk about Larkhall so much as it only had evil memories for them of scowling huge grownups, ugly uniforms and locks, bolts and bars.  
"Hey, we're really sorry, kids," Cassie's incredibly tender voice and big blue open eyes said as much as her words did. They both started to calm down as Roisin and Cassie hugged them.  
"George is more likely to end up inside than we are, kids. She'll have the best to defend her like Jo Mills who defended Lauren." "When's Auntie Lauren getting out?" Niamh and Michael asked in chorus. At that moment, they both loved Cassie as being totally cool and for her very endearingly humourous way of putting things that took away both their fears of losing what had become dear to them. In turn, Cassie and Roisin were instantly overjoyed that that inadvertent reference to Lauren had steered the conversation away from a sticky moment.  
"Let's see," reflected Cassie. "The trial took place in late January and Lauren got a year. If she gets time off for good behaviour, she could be out in August or September." "That's ages away," They wailed but there was nothing like the upset tones in their voices as there was in their thoughts a minute ago.  
"Well, why don't you both write to her so long as you get your homework done as well," Cassie gently persuaded them.  
"We'll do the card first, then homework." Roisin exchanged doubtful glances with Cassie as this wasn't their favoured order of events but they conceded the point.  
"We'll get the dinner while you're working," Roisin called out with a sidelong look at Cassie.

Instantly, a purposeful positive feeling came over the house and Roisin reached for a potato peeler as she started to talk.  
"I hadn't finished my story of what happened today." "You're a sly one, Roisin Connor. You're going to tell me the stuff that is not in front of the children," Grinned Cassie before turning to the fridge to select some beefsteaks which had been taken out of the freezer to defrost. At moments like this, they had this curious way of carrying on conversations in the same way as of every busy mother perpetually on the move.  
"After George left the hall, we carried on with some orchestral pieces which were hard work but enjoyable. It was only out of the corner of my eye that I saw the judge make a very quiet exit out of the rehearsal. I can't remember how long that time passed, as I was busy enough with keeping up with the rest of the musicians…… Anyway, I noticed when John came back after a long time," Roisin explained as she started to slice up the first of the potatoes into the saucepan, "How sort of came back, Roashe. Don't be coy," Cassie probed in her inevitable way. "Well, he sort of swaggered in as if ……." "He'd been screwing George," Finished Cassie before she went to turn the beefsteaks over.  
"How are you getting on with your cards. I hope you're starting your homework," Yelled Cassie the virtuous mother who was only too concerned that the children didn't expend all their efforts on the cards and then skimp the homework.  
"It's OK," Michael called back. "We're starting our homework now." "But in the open air near the church? I'm not a prude but won't there be the risk of anyone passing." "It's easy, Roash," Replied Cassie, that very sexual woman. "I've done it myself in my single days. You've just got to watch out for any thistles. We ought to try it some day." Cassie's smug smile and nonchalant manner could not have help but make Roisin laugh and the idea of it sounded intriguing if the umbilical chords could be safely detached and put on hold. Cassie was one for suggesting interesting possibilities. It was that look in her eye and the smile at the corner of her mouth that had led her to Cassie when she was a so-called respectably married woman. Well, she still was but in a different way. "So what's with, the judge, George, Jo and Karen? It all sounds very decadent." Roisin grinned when she heard Cassie put it this way.  
"I get the feeling that there's a tie between George Jo and John but then again, I thought Karen and George were an item. It gets very confusing." "It's not my scene being bi but many women are. Doing the round of the clubs taught me exactly what is possible and what isn't." "But what about Jo?" "Was she particularly thrown or did she go into a strop when they made their very obvious entrance." "Well, no," Roisin confessed. "Sweetheart, every woman is gay. It's just that not all of them know it yet. You never know even Jo might be or one day she will be." "What makes you say that. There are some straight women around. I meet them every day…………." Roisin started to say before Cassie's big grin gave her enough answer not to presume conventional respectability on surface impression.  
"You were once," Cassie added, quite unnecessarily.  
Roisin shook her head incredulously before breaking off to boil the potatoes and grab for a bagful of frozen broccoli, knowing that Cassie would attend to the gravy.  
"When's dinner ready?" came the inevitable call.  
"Give us twenty minutes or so," yelled out Cassie with that voice that could carry through brick walls. "You'd better have done your homework by then." "The only slightly unpleasant note was when that oily man came sidling up to me at breaktime and started making all sorts of personal remarks. I told him that their personal lives were nothing to do with me and that everyone has the right to be exempt from malicious evil gossip. The judge had been so very kind to a dear friend of mine, Lauren Atkins and I am proud to name Jo Mills and George Channing as friends of mine." Roisin quoted her fierce impassioned reaction with some heat and much pride. She always had fierce loyalties and strong views on petty gossip from when she was a little girl, either despite or because of her conservative Catholic upbringing. However much she had changed in recent years, her God, like Babss', was still very real to her before whom she felt she could hold her head up high with pride. Cassie was not religious but it was that highly moral quality in Roisin which she loved so much. 


	105. Part One Hundred And Five

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Five

As George followed Karen up the stairs to her flat, she could feel the slightly protesting tenderness from where John had thrust into her so powerfully. God, that screw had been good, but she wished she could have felt better about it afterwards. "Darling, do I look like I feel?" She asked, when they'd reached the lounge and Karen had put some music on. "That depends how you do feel," Karen replied with a smirk. "To me, you look disheveled but gorgeous, but then I suppose I'm biased." "Please can I have a bath? I feel as though I've got John all over me." Karen laughed. "Yes, of course, as long as I can join you," She said, running a lazy finger down George's cheek. "Sounds exactly what the doctor ordered," George replied in a low, inviting drawl, leaning forward to kiss her. "Or should I say the nurse," She added, suddenly knowing that she needed to lose herself in whatever Karen might do for her tonight. She needed some thoroughly intoxicating lovemaking, with the added bonus of not one, single complication. She shouldn't have had sex with John like that, and she still didn't know how she felt about having kissed Jo this weekend, but with Karen she could forget all this. Just for a while, she could return to the Georgia Channing she'd been a few weeks ago. 

Asking if she could put the clothes she'd been wearing in the washing machine, George began filling the bath with hot, scented water. As she scrutinized herself in the mirror, she could certainly see why her father hadn't been particularly impressed at her appearance. Her hair was tousled, her blouse not entirely tucked into her skirt, and her lipstick had all quite obviously been kissed off. When she was lying in the blissfully soothing water, Karen asked her if she wanted a glass of wine. "I'd prefer something soft," She replied. "I drank enough on Saturday to last me a lifetime." When Karen returned, she was carrying a glass of wine for herself and one of orange juice for George. Karen's bathtub was possibly her favourite part of this flat, it being just wide enough to comfortably accommodate her and George side by side. "How was the hangover?" She asked, taking a sip from her wine and putting the glass on the corner of the bath. "Not quite as bad as I probably deserved. God, when I get drunk, I really do go all out to do it thoroughly." "I'll assume the alcohol was to help the sleeping pills on their way." "Jo tell you that as well, did she?" George demanded, the guilt at what she'd nearly done, giving her voice the strident quality it had always possessed in the old days. "Yes, she did," Karen told her, not phased in the least by George's tone of voice. "Just tell me this, were you actually prepared for what might have happened to you?" George took a sip of the orange juice, now heartily wishing it was alcohol. "I don't understand." "What do you think would have happened to you, if you really had taken those pills on top of a large quantity of Martini?" "Well, as they were sleeping pills, I'm guessing I would have passed out at some point. End of feeling miserable and depressed, end of George Channing, end of story. Why?" Karen resisted the urge to shake some sense into her. "If you'd been lucky, that's what would have happened, but it's by no means a certainty. A combination of that type of drug and a lot of alcohol could have screwed up your liver, long before it killed you. Bleeding to death via your oesophagus, isn't a very pleasant way to die, believe me. I'm not going to give you the guilt trip, because I suspect Jo has already done that, and it's not as if you need any more. I'm also not going to demand that you never have thoughts like that again, because I know it's not that simple. You undoubtedly will feel like this again, but next time, just remember what I've said." George stayed quiet for a few minutes, just taking in all that Karen had told her. She really hadn't thought that anything so horrific might happen to her. She had assumed that she would drift into unconsciousness, never to wake up again. "I'm sorry," She said eventually. "I'm sorry that I frightened you like that." "I know you are," Karen said, gently kissing her. When they'd simply held each other close for a time, George asked, "Have you ever seen anyone die like that, when you were nursing, I mean?" "Yes, which is why I never want you to consider trying anything like that again." They gently soaped each other's bodies, hands seeking out pleasure points that they didn't appear to have visited in far too long. "I've missed this," George said between kisses, Karen's fingers delicately spanning her nipples. "It's only been less than a fortnight," Karen teased, loving anew the way George's nipples became so hard and erect under her touch. "I know, but it feels much longer." George always found the feeling of Karen's soft, silky skin incredible under her hands, and this time was no exception. Karen's body was now so familiar to her, that George wondered how she could ever have been nervous of touching it. But as Karen moved her hand down George's side, she found herself counting her ribs with the tip of a finger. "I do bear a certain resemblance to a xylophone, don't I," George observed dryly. "You will always be beautiful to me, no matter how you look," Karen told her, wanting George to know that she could see beyond her outer covering. George would have replied, but Karen managed to distract her by slipping a hand between her legs. George groaned luxuriously as Karen slid a long, tapered finger inside her, soon to be joined by a second. "God, I need you so much," George said, her breath quickening as Karen's hand took her to heights of sheer ecstasy. "I'm not going anywhere," Karen said fondly, gasping as she felt George's hand insinuate itself into replicating her own actions. They made love in that warm, scented water, hands creeping into soft, familiar places, mouths duelling in the pursuit of passion. George cried out as they simultaneously plunged over the abyss, and Karen held George to her, desperate never to let her go. "I couldn't bear it if I lost you," Karen told her, brief tears rising to her eyes. "Shh, I know," George said softly, remembering Jo's words of Saturday night. She'd said that Karen felt far more for her than she knew, but didn't want to put any further pressure on her. Well, perhaps she really did. She could see that what she'd considered doing had greatly upset Karen, and for that she was sincerely sorry. Karen was incredibly precious to her, and George would rather do anything than hurt her further. Where that left what may be happening with Jo, she couldn't yet begin to imagine. 

When John arrived at Jo's house later that evening, he found himself wondering just what he might be in for. Something had clearly happened this weekend, something he didn't yet know about, something to make all her protective instincts rise up in defence of his treatment of George. Jo kissed him as usual, their greetings and partings almost always being the same, a familiarity he would never change. Pouring them both a glass of red wine, she joined him on the sofa, but he could feel the lecturing part of Jo working steadily away below the surface. When his curiosity couldn't hold out any more, he asked, "What happened this weekend?" "Before I tell you, let me ask you something," She said, reaching for a cigarette, even though she knew how it always irritated him not to have a similar, time buying prop. "When you took her into the woods this afternoon, did you notice anything different about her?" John thought about it, but couldn't immediately find the answer she was obviously waiting for. "Did George perhaps look thinner to you?" "Oh, no," He said in dawning horror. "Don't tell me she's been doing that again." "Yes, though it hasn't been allowed to get as bad as it did eighteen months ago, because both Karen and I knew what we were dealing with. Do you have any idea why she stopped eating again?" "No way," He said in rising anger. "You are not putting this one on me, Jo. What George chooses to do to herself is entirely her own decision. I don't like what she does, but I can no more stop her than you can. Addicts are a law unto themselves, Jo, you know that." "Oh, how self-righteous you are," Jo said quietly, and he could see in her eyes that he'd gone too far. "Let me remind you," She continued icily. "That George certainly isn't the only one with an addiction in this relationship. What about me? And what about your own little exotic craving? Don't even try to come all holier than thou about George, because you know it won't wash." "At least I can keep the lid on mine," He said stubbornly. "At least I don't revert to type at the slightest sign of crisis." "Oh, and how do I know that?" She countered back. "I wouldn't know if you'd done exactly that after your row with George last week." "Jo, you have my word on that, you always have had." "Yes, and wasn't that exactly what you said to me, just before you slept with Rachel Crawchek?" "That was different," He said quietly. "How different, John? But, that isn't exactly what we need to talk about right now," She added, not wanting to have this particular argument with him. "You need to know just how bad things got for her this weekend." "Jo, I don't like the sound of this," He said, getting a terrible feeling about what she might say. "When you argued with her last week, some of it was about Karen, wasn't it?" "How much did she tell you?" "Not a lot, which does give me cause for concern over what she didn't tell me. John, why does George being with Karen still get to you?" "Does there have to be a reason?" He asked belligerently, not wanting to discuss his intense feeling of insecurity with her. "For George to feel as bad as she did, yes, there most certainly does have to be a reason. She feels torn in two, John. One way by her feelings for Karen, and the other by your continuing jealousy. George did not ask to be attracted to women, just as you didn't. You need to understand that." "But why did she have to go and do something about it?" "Because she found an outlet for her need to express that part of who she is," Jo said reasonably. "Why she waited until Karen, I don't know. But she did find someone who could help her explore that part of her. Is that really so wrong?" "And is it so wrong for me not to want to lose her to someone else?" "No, of course it's not," Jo said gently. "But what you cannot do, is to expect something of her that you don't of me. John, two weeks ago, when I found the sight of Karen and George together erotic, you said it didn't bother you. You said that it was neither wrong nor bad for me to feel that way. Yet, when it comes to George, you seemed to have placed on her, the choice of either staying with Karen and hurting you, or of denying the part of her that finds women attractive." "Are you accusing me of having double standards?" He demanded angrily. "Yes, in this instance, I am. You can't deny it, John, no matter how much you shout and bluster at me. Where George and I are concerned, you do have double standards. In your expectations of us as your lovers, you have one rule for her and another for me. That isn't right, John, you know it isn't. George deserves an awful lot better than this." "I love you both. Where's the difference in that?" "So why," Jo asked, now beginning to lose her patience. "Can you accept my finding the thought of two women attractive, when you still can't live with the fact that George is actually sleeping with one?" "Because you'll never do it," He said without hesitating. "Yes, you might like the thought of two women, you might even fantasise about one in your spare time for all I know, but that's as far as you'll ever go." "Oh, and what makes you so sure?" She knew she was goading him, but she couldn't help it. So, thinking about it was as far as she would ever go was it? That was all he knew. "Jo, it's perfectly natural to have occasional, little fantasies like that, but apart from those odd, few wonderings, you're as straight as I am." "John, do you have any idea what George has been going through?" Jo said, returning to the attack because she wasn't about to actually lie to him and shatter all his illusions. "She has been trying to reconcile herself with either losing you, or Karen. She can't bear to lose either of you, yet just because of your continual refusal to accept the situation, George really was contemplating having to deny part of who she is. When I went to see her on Saturday night, she was well on her way to getting very drunk. I learnt more about your marriage that night than I really wanted to know. She couldn't bear to hurt you, John, but she knew she would end up resenting you if she were forced to give up her relationship with Karen. John, if I hadn't turned up when I did, she probably wouldn't be here now." She saw the shock register on his face, and knew that by telling him this, she had finally hit home. 

"How serious was she?" He asked after a moment's silence. "Very," Jo told him quietly. "Luckily, she hadn't got round to taking the sleeping pills. She hid them when I rang the doorbell." "She never used to be like this, not after a row, not even one like last week." "George has changed, John, mostly for the better, but there is always a negative side to every coin. In bringing her out of that downward spiral after the Merriman/Atkins trial, we have both managed to persuade her to abandon the crass, angry, self-defensive armour she used to wear so well. You can't deny that it has made her a much nicer person, and that we have all become much closer because of it. But at the same time, she no longer has that armour to hide behind. George isn't as emotionally strong as she used to be, or as we both used to think she was. When she hurts someone she cares about, which even you will admit is very rare these days, it is likely to hurt her far more than it will anyone else. You need to be careful with her, John, we both do." "Is that why she was funny with me this afternoon?" Then, at Jo's raised eyebrow, he clarified. "She wanted what happened as much as I did. But afterwards, when we were walking back, she was very quiet. I thought we'd got everything sorted. We'd both apologised, and we'd made up, just like the old days. But it didn't seem to have worked." "John," Jo said in utter exasperation. "The argument you had with her last week, plus your extremely unresolved feelings about Karen, cannot be sorted out with a quick bonk in the bushes." John winced, hating to hear his Jo talk like this. "Let me guess," She continued. "When you climaxed, you told her you loved her, didn't you. That's what you always do with me if we've been arguing." "I might have done," He said evasively. "If you really expect her to believe you, John, you need to say it at any other time, and really, actually mean it. You know something else she said to me on Saturday? She said that you only love sleeping with her, and that part of you loves her for Charlie. She doesn't know just how much you do love her. You don't just need to tell her, you need to show her, and I don't mean by having sex with her." "What other way is there?" "That's for you to find out," She said maddeningly. "Everyone has their different ways. I would suggest talking to her as a start. You need to resolve whatever it was that caused last week's argument, before you do anything else." Seeing that she'd said quite enough, she put her arms round him, offering him the simple comfort she knew he needed. "I didn't mean to hurt her, Jo," He said into her hair. "I know you didn't. But you need to tell her that, not me." Gently kissing him, she added, "Oh, and she did tell me one other very interesting thing about you." "What?" He asked, very wary of the innocent smile on her face. "Oh, nothing of importance," She replied, playing with a strand of his hair. "Come on, I'm intrigued now," He pleaded. "You never told me you liked watching blue movies," She said, her mouth opening in a laugh as he began to look thoroughly embarrassed. "Once, I did that, once," He insisted. "Oh, I believe you," She said unconvincingly. "After all, you are talking to the uninitiated." "Nothing's going to be sacred between you two, is it," He said in resigned acceptance. "Nothing has been, not since this relationship began. You know everything about us, so it's only right that we know everything about you." As she began kissing him again, he spared a thought to the woman he'd seduced over a week ago. He would pray to god that they never found out about her. 

As Karen and George lay in bed that night, cuddled in each other's arms and slowly drifting towards sleep, Karen reflected back on their evening. She had cooked them a very light meal, George having said that if she ate too much to soon, the results would be disastrous. George had been wearing one of Karen's dressing gowns, with her clothes bearing evidence of her afternoon's diversion, being first in the washing machine then the tumble dryer. She'd been wearing the black, silk one, the one that Karen only ever wore when she was feeling particularly sexy. With this providing delightfully easy access to George's body, they had ended up making love most of the evening, either on the sofa whilst listening to music, or later on in her bed. They couldn't seem to get enough of each other tonight, George's inability to become aroused the previous Tuesday, having given her a subconscious wish to make up for lost time. Karen listened to George's deep, regular breathing, her soft, silky curves entwined with Karen's. Her eyes were fully closed now, the long, blonde lashes caressing her cheeks. Pressing a tiny, feather-light kiss to the corner of George's mouth, Karen allowed herself to say those forbidden words. "I love you." They shouldn't be forbidden, she thought. They should never be condemned to be said almost in silence, but Karen wasn't about to make George's burden any heavier than it already was. 


	106. Part One Hundred And Six

Part One Hundred and Six

Gina went to answer the phone call from Karen and felt comfortable enough when she first heard her distinctively mellow expressive voice. She had got to enjoy a closer working relationship with her than she was used to, and had found her feet on G Wing. There was a quality abr friendliest fashion but there was a very slight nervousness about her manner. Gina's senses picked up on that one straightaway. "I'd thought I'd call you in to be the first to hear the news and it isn't good, I'm afraid for either of us…….." Gina started to take a sharp intake of breath but Karen's inclusion of herself in the bad news took the edge off her sense of panic. Fortunately, she had the sense not to hold Gina in suspense and waffle round the point. She preferred it this way.  
"I've had a difficult decision to make ahtaway. "I'd thought I'd call you in to be the first to hear the news and it isn't good, I'm afraid for either of us…….." Gina started to take a sharp intake of breath but Karen's inclusion of herself in the bad news took the edge off her sense of panic. Fortunately, she had the sense not to hold Gina in suspense and waffle round the point. She preferred it this way.  
"I've had a difficult decision to make and I'm afraid that I have only one answer to your shortage of prison officers, and I know that she won't be your favourite choice. It's Di Barker." "You mean that that poisoned dwarf is coming back onto G Wing, to carry on with her evil schemes where she left off?" What there was of Gina's sense of verbal appropriateness was stripped off her by such a ghastly prospect. Even the vision of her smug simpering face was in front of her eyes provoked a violent impulse in her to slap her hard round the face. She would never trust her on her own with the genuine article.  
"Gina, can you hear me out as to why I've made this decision. Please." Karen's courteous low-pitched voice persuaded Gina to at least be quiet even while she was still in shock. Normally her ability to speak her mind was her very last faculty to give out on her.  
"I've tried all the possible options that are open to me and to be equally fair to the other wings. My first thought was an external transfer. I don't take it for granted that just because I've not heard of a request, then none exists. I phoned up Neil Grayling at area, explaining why I was making such a request and he has personally scoured everywhere but the cupboard is absolutely bare. You're going to ask me why don't I move a prison officer off another wing instead of Di but every other wing has far too many inexperienced basic grade Prison Officers, and none whom I can spare at her grade. Even a three-way move won't work. The jungle drums beat very quickly about those two resignations on the spot so that her present Wing Governor lost no time in reminding me of the initially temporary nature of the move, and that it was extended for the foreseeable future against his wishes. Your staff shortage has put me in a cleft stick that way. Now this has come up, you can see that there is no alternative. On the face of it, if Di has nothing else, she has experience, more so than a number of other Officers." "Yeah right, Karen. That drama queen is bloody good at setting staff against each other. Ought to get a bloody degree in it. Her and Sylvia will have a right time moaning away together the second my back's turned." You've made a mistake, Karen thought as she had attempted to improve on what was perfect and spoiled all. She cut in and urged Gina with all the patience she could muster. "Don't I know it, Gina.I won't lightly forgive or forget her despicable behaviour at the Lauren Atkins trial. You saw me………" "I'm sorry, Karen," Gina said remorsefully. She suddenly noticed, as the heat of the moment died down, how nervously Karen fiddled with her hands, something very unusual for such a cool, calm and collected woman. Poor sod, she thought sympathetically. She's feeling it more for myself than she was for her. "I'm forgetting and I should have thought before I opened my big gob. I'll have to manage, that's all. " Karen smiled freely, moved by Gina's loyalty and understanding but knew that there was more to the matter than that.  
"There's more to it than that, Gina. You're right to some extent. You'll have to be prepared for, and expect trouble from the minute she sets foot on G Wing. She'll make Sylvia worse than she is, that you may be certain of, as those two will feed off each other. It's your decision but I would strongly advise you to talk to Di immediately and set the boundaries straightaway. You might be best to encourage her to play ball, but warn her that you'll take full disciplinary action against her the moment she crosses the line. You would be welcome to say that you have discussed matters with me first. I'll leave that up to you. I would urge you to remind her, above all else that, while you're acting wing Governor, you're Wing Governor and not the Senior Officer she used to know. It will work." "Are you sure?" Gina asked. She was fine when it came to telling some stupid sod to pull their finger out but anything smacking of disciplinary procedures made her nervous in case she messed up.  
"It worked with you. Remember when I first saw you?" Karen grinned impishly and Gina remembered Karen laying down the law and giving her a right kick up the backside. They had come a long way since that very first day she barged in while Karen was talking to Sylvia and had tried to give her a load of bull about why she was transferred. She must have seemed a right gobby immature brat and could see how and why Karen took the line that she did.  
"Yeah, that's true but I had the bad habit of slapping around prisoners who fancied my ex. My problem was that I was just mouthy but I was never the evil snake that she is." " If anyone's got a sense of decency, you'll get there in the end. When you get to someone like Di, I'd be kidding you if I didn't say that it is much harder. You've just got to look for the way in. The principle's the same whoever you're dealing with. Get in first before she does. You've no choice." Gina had started listening very closely to Karen's sensible advice and had made a mental note to follow it to the letter. It was when her final words pulled everything together in her mind, that Gina had a plan of action that she had confidence in.  
"I'll do that, Karen only I'll have to make sure I don't lose my temper." "You'll manage," Karen grinned. A feeling of immense relief poured over her when she had sensed that Gina had risen to the situation.  
"I'd like to stay but I've got my weekly meeting to do." "There's just one other thing." Karen interrupted."I meant to tell you that Denny Blood has got permission to visit Shell Dockley at Ashmore.I expect the paperwork for the inter prison visit and I'll pass it to you as soon as I get it." Gina's fired up feeling of self confidence rapidly drained at Karen's casual announcement and the smile disappeared from her face.  
"Sylvia's going to go off the deep end," Came Gina's gloomy reply, eventually after deep thought. She could handle telling the POs these two items separately but not together. Sitting on the news felt out of the question as hadn't she moaned in the past at not being told what was going on? "And if most of the others are relaxed about it, Di's return will put the mockers on the atmosphere." "Look here, Gina. Would it help if I sat in on your meeting? I have left you to it partly, as I felt self-conscious coming back to the wing where I was Wing Governor. I'm still learning my way in when to intervene and when to keep in the background." It somehow reassured Gina in a peculiar way that Karen had her occasions of self-doubt, something she thought was impossible. She weighed everything up in her mind and nodded in agreement.  
"I'll stay in the background to make it easier on you," Added Karen helpfully.  
Gina was back in command of herself, words and phrases being pulled from the back of her mind as she mentally roughed out the meeting. She grinned, grabbed her papers and led the way to the door.

Gina could see Bodybag's mouth opening and closing like a fish taking in air as she led the way to the door, the way her head turned round to spot Karen coming as well and her lips tightening.  
"Hi everyone," Gina breezed in, papers tucked under her arm while Karen made a subdued entrance, smiling briefly. "Yes I know by the clock, Sylvia, what time it is. Time we started this meeting. Karen's sitting in on this meeting just to get out and about amongst us. Now if everyone is comfortable then I'll begin." Karen smiled at Gina's very individual yet effective style of grabbing the meeting by the scruff of its neck leaving Bodybag to glower into the carpet that her planned opening little ploy had been brushed aside. She sat right in the corner, far to one side of the centre stage position that she had adopted and was highly conscious of being an onlooker which gave her a strange feeling. So many times, she had briskly run through the agenda of the meeting chipping the conversation back and forth between those more vocal PO's. How peculiar it was to see another person in her role that she once wore, in her shoes and metaphorically speaking, her outer garb. She had passed on and if she hadn't known before, it was made plain at this moment. "….and for your information, I'm picking two volunteers to do prison escort when Denny visits Shell Dockley at Ashmore this Friday….." Gina started to announce when Bodybag had to stick her oar in.  
"Hmmph. Might as well fix up for her to spend the day at Butlins, all expenses paid. That evil woman deserves no favours for what they did to me and my Bobby." "One thing I got to hand it to you, Sylvia, you always come out with the most original punchlines. Let's get it straight, Denny Blood's been bending our ears to visit Shell Dockley and it makes sense as she's behaved well enough by my book to deserve it." "And what strings did she pull, I wonder to get this free holiday?" Bodybag muttered.  
"I arranged it with the powers that be for the reasons Gina's explained. That makes me responsible for giving Denny a pep talk before she goes," Karen intervened quietly, stealing one of Bodybag's favourite cliches. "I am perfectly aware what happened to you and Bobby all that time ago and I don't expect you to forget it but there will be no open-ended revenge trip around here. Not in my prison." "I want to be kept up to speed on how Denny is after the visit and Karen also," Gina concluded to which Karen nodded in agreement. "Now, next business since everyone who's going to be involved with the visit will get to know what's going on. " Bodybag glared down at her stout shoes while the smart way that Gina dealt with the meeting impressed Karen. She observed with interest that Gina had a real snap in her delivery and was much plainer and blunter than ever she was. Gina, shrewdly, left a long gap in the agenda for the ripples to calm down before broaching the matter of Di Barker "…..and before I forget, we're getting a prison officer transferred from another wing, date to be arranged. She's no stranger to G wing as it's Di Barker." An evil smile of satisfaction spread across Bodybag's face. A shining vista opened up before her that she would no longer be on her own with these young upstarts. She pictured all that time she and Di could have a good moan and, between them, turn G Wing around.  
"We're grateful for another pair of hands to take the pressure off us but this place has changed since she was last here. I hope she fits in." Karen suppressed a smile as Selena's crisp voice sailed as close to the wind in directly insulting Di and also at the murmured agreement with one significant exception. Her smile was harder to suppress as the opening in the conversation was immediately filled by Gina with slick precision. "As soon as Di sets foot through the door, I'm going to have a nice friendly chat with her to make her feel right at home. Wouldn't want her to miss out on all the latest gossip, would I?" Karen definitely smirked, as did all the others, at Gina's highly effective brand of plain speaking, entirely different from her own style. Gina would never be accused of being overly politically correct but she thrived on her own style.

"There might be a few changes round here when Di comes back," Bodybag sniffily observed.  
"Not if I can help it, Sylvia. Why should this place change for one prison officer? Those who shout the loudest don't get special favours, in my book. Life's a bitch that way." Gina's frozen smile changed by degrees into a glare straight between Bodybag's eyes. Unknown to all but Karen, she marvelled to herself at the way she had persuaded herself that Di Barker could be dealt with if she handled her cards right. The reality of it might be different when it came to the crunch but she would have a good stab at it. It reassured her to run a swift glance round the room and saw just how well her thinly disguised hatred of that evil cow went down. "Now the usual locks, bolts and bars. Chop chop everyone," Gina concluded.  
All the prison officers offered brief but sincere friendly greetings to Karen as they went out with one exception. Bodybag could swear on her mother's grave that this scheme had clearly been cooked up between the two of them. It was at moments like this that she missed Jim Fenner but she was the only mourner on G Wing. 


	107. Part One Hundred And Seven

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Seven

On the Wednesday morning, George felt thoroughly out of sorts. Nothing had been resolved with John, she felt pathetic at not having been able to sing her part on Monday, and one of her richest clients had just informed her that he was going somewhere else for his legal work in future, meaning that her one appointment for this afternoon had been canceled. It made her smile slightly, to realise that what she really needed was a good, long, whinge. When, before her world had been figuratively turned inside-out, had she ever longed for the opportunity to do nothing more than have a good gossip with one of the girls. But that was the problem, everyone she knew was working at this time of the day. Karen, Jo, Cassie, Helen, even Roisin would be busy, stuck at home looking after the children as it was half term. Taking a mouthful of cold coffee, she suddenly remembered the one person who she'd not considered, and who, more than likely, would be at a loose end. Most of Nikki's work was centred around the nightlife of her club, meaning that her days were possibly a little emptier than most people's. Flipping through her address book, she hoped she wouldn't sound quite as feeble and pathetic as she felt. When Nikki answered, her voice was deeper, sounding half awake, and to George's ears, really quite sexy. "Nikki, it's George. I hope I didn't wake you." "No, not quite," Nikki said with a yawn. "This is a nice surprise." "Did you have a late night?" George asked, immediately kicking herself for the inanity of the question. "A very late night, enhanced by the sheer delight of having to go through the club's CCTV cameras some time today, because I think one of my bar staff is pushing drugs." "Not nice," George sympathised. "No. Trish always manages to leave the hiring and firing to me. So, what can I do for you?" "Erm, as lame as it sounds, I'm not sure," George found herself saying. "Is everything all right?" Nikki asked, instantly on the alert, hearing a woman who desperately wanted a chat, but who didn't know how to ask for it. "No, not really," George replied, seeing no point in saying otherwise. "George," Nikki said reassuringly. "You didn't phone me up in the middle of a working day, seriously in need of a talk, only to bottle out at the last minute." George gave the Munnings above her desk a watery smile. "No, I didn't," She said. "Apart from the detective work, are you busy today?" "No, not at all. Do you want to come and see me?" "Yes, I would, if that's all right." "Tell me," Nikki said with sudden inspiration. "Have you ever seen inside a gay club?" "As Karen is my first in that line of discovery, no I haven't," George said with a laugh. "Then maybe you can learn something at the same time. I've got to go through these tapes of last night, but I should be finished around three." 

When George followed Nikki's directions later that afternoon, she had to admit to feeling a certain sense of intrigue. She hadn't been near a nightclub since the seventies, the brushfire smell of pot, clouding both the sight and judgment of everyone in the room. She'd worn her skirts barely coming to mid-thigh in those days, with her long, blonde hair streaming out behind her. As she drew her sleek, black BMW into a space behind Nikki's, she glanced up at the club's sign. "Chix!" It was called, with the X forming the parted legs of a woman. George couldn't help laughing to herself when she saw this. It some how signified that a sense of humour was vital, if one's obviously different sexuality wasn't going to cause too many problems. As she entered the foyer of the club, she could see a line of very wide panes of glass separating the foyer from the main part of the club. Before she could wonder where to look for Nikki, a brunette looking no older than fifteen approached her. "Are you George Channing?" She asked. "Yes," George told her, wondering what a girl as young as this was doing working for a club. "Nikki asked me to show you up to her office." As George followed the young girl up some carpeted stairs, she could feel the beginnings of a lecture forming in her head, about the employment of under-aged schoolgirls. When the girl showed her into a large, spacious office, lined floor to ceiling with windows, some looking out onto the street and some onto the dance floor downstairs, Nikki was scrolling through a CCTV tape. "Hi," She said, looking up with a smile. "You found it okay then?" "Yes. I like your sign." Asking the girl to bring them some coffee, she said, "What happened to you? You look a bit under the weather." "Anorexia happened to me," George told her, immediately putting a hand to her mouth in shock. Yes, it was true, she did still look tired, pale, and definitely too thin, but she hadn't meant to say something like that. "I'm sorry," She said, "I didn't mean to tell you that." Seeing that George needed something to put her back on track, Nikki gestured George to look at something on the TV screen. "What do you make of that?" As she watched, George was greeted to the sight of a hard-nosed, black-haired woman, clearly handing over a small plastic bag of something to another. "What do you suppose is in the bag?" George asked, moving away from the TV and sitting down on the leather sofa. "Could be crack, could be pills, I'm not sure." "And that's definitely someone who works for you?" "Oh, yes," Nikki said firmly. "She's not due in till tomorrow, but when she is, it'll be the shortest stay she's ever had. I could wring her neck for bringing drugs in here, never mind bloody selling them." This time, it was Nikki's turn to look a little uncomfortable. "And given what I did once do in this club, I really shouldn't say things like that." Then, at George's raised eyebrow, she added, "This is where I killed Detective Sergeant Gossard." George opened her mouth to speak, but unable to find anything to say, she shut it again. "How can you still work here, knowing that?" She asked eventually, thinking that Nikki had far more stamina than she would in such a situation. "If I couldn't have come back here," Nikki told her quietly. "He would have won, and if Trisha could do it, when the bastard had been trying to rape her, so could I. Besides, every time I look at that bar, I remember that I've got my freedom, and that I wouldn't have that freedom without Helen." It was very rare that George was stunned into silence, but this time she was. Nikki was so sincere in her determination to succeed, and her appreciation of everything those around her had achieved, that it made George feel extremely humble. The things that worried and angered her on a daily basis, seemed so superficial in comparison. 

When the girl came in with the coffee, it seemed to break the ice. As Nikki sat in the leather armchair opposite, George said, "That reminds me, just how old is she?" As she said this, she gestured in the direction of the door through which the girl had just left. "Yeah, I know, looks about fifteen, doesn't she. But don't worry, she was nineteen last week. Her name's Rhiannon Dawson, Julie J's daughter." "Julie, as in the two Julies?" "Yeah," Nikki said with a smile. "They managed to persuade Rhiannon to get off drugs, go back to college and make something of herself. So, when she turned eighteen, I said if she wanted it, she could have a job here. She's under a strict threat of instant dismissal and grassing up to her mum if she doesn't stay clean, and so far it's worked, and no, before you ask, it definitely isn't her who's bringing the drugs in. It was Rhiannon who put me onto it in the first place. She doesn't usually work behind the bar, but we were short staffed last night, and I'm bloody glad she did." "She looks so young," George said in astonishment. "She looked even younger a few years ago, and she was working on the streets in those days." 

They talked for a while about their mutual friends, until Nikki said, "Sweetheart, why are you really here?" "It sounds so stupid," George said, reaching for a cigarette. "I thought I'd stopped feeling like a fifteen-year-old, when I got used to being with Karen, but the older I get, the more adolescent I seem to behave. My life is already quite complicated enough, and I don't want to hurt anyone else, least of all Jo or Karen." Nikki held up a hand. "George," She said with a slight laugh. "Start at the beginning." "I'm sorry," George said, smiling at her. "Everything's just getting a bit on top of me, and I think I need a sounding board." "Is that why you stop eating?" Nikki asked gently. "Yes," George told her, looking slightly away from her. "I started doing it when I was fifteen, stupid really. But it only became very noticeable and therefore a problem, after my daughter was born. But that's another story, and definitely not one for today." "I take it your daughter is also John's daughter?" "Yes, perhaps the one thing I gave him that he actually wanted, and I didn't even manage to get that right. But I'm not here to talk about that. I know you know about the slightly insane arrangement I have with John and Karen." "Yeah, creative if nothing else," Nikki said dryly. "It wouldn't be my cup of tea, but if it works, then great." "It's supposed to, and if I hadn't pushed things a little too far, it probably would have stayed that way. A couple of weeks ago, the four of us almost ended up..." She didn't seem to know how to phrase it. "Jesus," Nikki said, sounding impressed. "That's not even something I've ever done." "We didn't," George said, looking relieved that she hadn't had to be more explicit. "But it uncovered something between me and Jo, that neither of us had ever expected to find." "Many a truth spoken in jest, eh?" "It was more by actions than by words, but yes, something like that. I wasn't surprised at my attraction to her, because Jo is perhaps the closest friend I have, and I've found women attractive ever since I can remember. It just took Karen to make me do something about it." "Why wait so long?" "My father wouldn't have understood," George told her simply. "I don't think he would quite have disowned me, but it would have driven an enormous wedge between us, and I couldn't bear that. My mother died when I was ten, so daddy is all I have in that respect." "Aha, the threat of parental disapproval," Said Nikki bitterly. "My parents kicked me out when I was sixteen because they discovered I was gay. It didn't quite fit in with their middle class, middle England lifestyle. Have you ever flirted with Jo?" "Yes, I suppose so, occasionally, probably because I always thought it was safe, that it would never achieve anything." "So, what happened to throw everything up in the air?" "I got very drunk last Saturday. I'd had a pretty awful row with John the week before, and when I say things that are well and truly uncalled for, they usually hurt me far more than they do the recipient." "Don't I know the feeling," Nikki said in sympathy. "The countless times in Larkhall, when I said things to Helen that I immediately regretted." "Jo came to see me when I was already half cut, and did her typically sensitive and entirely accurate routine on me by making me talk. That's why she's so good as a criminal barrister, she can extract confessions out of people before they know what's hit them. Anyway, something I told her, made her both concerned and furious with me." "Don't tell me," Nikki said in dawning realisation. "You kissed her, didn't you?" "No, actually it was the other way round. That was what shocked me, because I've always assumed her to be as straight as you get. Mind you, when I woke up the next morning and remembered it, I couldn't quite believe it was Jo who had initiated it." "It's always the quiet ones," Nikki said with a broad smile. Then, turning serious again, she asked, "How do you feel about this?" "I don't know. I shouldn't feel anything. All it should be is something I did in a drunken moment of insanity." "That's what Helen wanted to believe, the first time I kissed her, only neither of us were drunk," Nikki said with a fond smile of memory. "She'd had a really bad day. One of her officers had been caught smuggling drugs for Shell Dockley, the Governing Governor was on her back every second, and Crystal had sent a letter to the Guardian about the drugs problem in Larkhall, and in particular, on Helen's wing. She came up to my cell, probably just looking for a bit of tea and sympathy, and instead she got more than she bargained for." "What did she say?" George asked, always fascinated by the very personal stories she was told of life in Larkhall. "She was furious with me," Nikki said fondly. "She called me into her office, warned me as to my future conduct, the works. Every bloody time I did something that threatened her professional security, she'd pull rank on me. Every time I pushed it that little bit too far, all in an attempt to convince her that what she was feeling wasn't wrong, she'd use the keys and the bars to put me in my place. But do you know something, the more she fought it, the more I loved her. The harder she tried to prove that she didn't have feelings for me, the more I knew she did. I'd wait a whole week for a smile from Helen, and if she gave me a smile, that would get me through another week." "Every time I stop eating, or end up feeling stupid, drastic things like I did this weekend, Jo always manages to pull me out. It hasn't even been two years since we started being nice to each other, yet I don't know how I ever got through everything without her." "It got really bad for you this weekend, didn't it," Nikki said quietly, knowing with that instinctive sensitivity of hers just how bad. "Please, don't go there, Nikki," George pleaded. "Okay," Nikki said to calm her down, seeing in an instant that George was desperately ashamed of having felt so low. "You know something Jo said to me? She said, you're not normal, you're not abnormal, you're just you." "I remember saying something very similar to Helen," Nikki said in wonder. "Ever since we called a truce, and this slightly odd relationship began with John, Jo has always just accepted me for who I am. Even when she found out about Karen and me, she hardly batted an eyelid. I can't explain how I feel about Jo, but I do know that I don't want to hurt Karen. She doesn't deserve that." "I don't know that Karen would be all that surprised," Nikki said reasonably. "There isn't much she doesn't see. Well, except for her total blind spot with Fenner, but I guess we all have to have those once in a while. But I see what you mean. I think you need to give any feelings you might have for Jo, a lot more time to either surface or die, before you make any major decisions. The same goes for her too. If you keep this going with Karen, because I'm assuming you still want to, it'll keep any pressure off both you and Jo." "I know that really, I just think I needed to talk everything out with someone." "Any time," Nikki said with a smile. "Barbara used to say that I was the best listener on the wing. Mind you, she listened to me going on about Helen often enough, never mind covering up for me when I got out on the night Fenner was stabbed." "Did you hate it, going back, I mean?" "I think that was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I had all these plans, I was going to get out of the country using Trish's passport, and go to San Francisco of all places. Helen persuaded me to let her drive me to the airport, and when I realised she was heading back to Larkhall, I almost got us killed in a car crash. She wasn't very amused to be pulled by the police for reckless driving, but even then she didn't give me away. But yeah, the few weeks that followed that night were hell. I was going slowly and not so quietly mad. But she knew she was doing the right thing, and eventually I had to agree with her." "You said that Helen used to pull rank on you? Well, John frequently does the same. He's banged me up in a cell for contempt, on no less than three occasions. It is strictly forbidden for a barrister to appear before a judge with whom they are having any kind of affair. Sometimes I can't decide whether he's pulling rank on either me or Jo to keep the LCD off the scent, or simply out of sheer bloody mindedness." "There isn't much to choose between me and Helen for stubbornness," Nikki said with a smile. "We're both as bad as each other. You will sort this out, you know, because things like this always do, you've just got to let it ride the course. But if you ever want to talk, about anything, any time, I'm always here." As she reached forward to give George a hug, she could feel the far too prominent Channing bone structure. "Crystal did that once," She said, holding George slightly back from her. "Did what?" "Starved herself to almost skeletal proportions. She did it to prove a point, but that didn't make it any less lethal. It was when Di Barker switched the drugs tests so that Crystal's would come out positive. She looked even thinner than you do now." "Believe me, Nikki, I've been far thinner than this in my time." "It might not feel like it when things get this bad," Nikki said, looking deep into George's eyes. "But there are people who care for you, really quite a lot of them when you think about it, and every single one of us would be there if you wanted to cry, or to shout, or just to stop you from staring at the four walls when things get a bit too much. Just remember that." "Thank you," George said, hugging her back with a few stray tears in her eyes, and wondering just how she'd coped before she discovered the true meaning of real, sincere friendship. 


	108. Part One Hundred And Eight

Part One Hundred and Eight 

Denny had been keyed up about the visit for days and days but the big unknown in her mind was who would accompany her. Gina was in charge and she was great but Denny had a belief in Sod's Law, which meant that bad luck would dog her at crucial moments in her life. Burnt into her mind was the way that Shaz had been ghosted out of Larkhall just when things were good between them, and the way she was spaced out of her mind on magic mushrooms and was more worried about the sharks swimming close by their boat instead of jumping off their upended table and getting out of their room before the flames poured through the hole in the door. That was the one-day of the whole frigging year that Shaz had come over for the day. Her visit to see Shell might just end up the same way.  
"Who's taking me to see Shell?" Denny asked a very distracted Gina for the second time that morning. Gina's mind was very distracted by that very same problem and was only half listening to Denny. After a few seconds, her mind registered the voice, which turned into words after a further delay.  
"I'm sorting it out, Denny. Can't be everywhere at once all at the same time. Just give me a bloody break and shut it," Gina snapped. Denny glared at this fat cow. Surely she should understand that something that she had been planning and replanning in her mind, day after day, meant more than some frigging bits of papers being shuffled about. Zandra was right. In her overheated mind, they did these things deliberately to her just to wind you up.  
"Look here, Denny. Everything's sorted but I need to find someone to go with you. You're going to a maximum security prison and not Yvonne Atkins house. There's a difference between the two." "Like what?" Denny asked with a trace of belligerence.  
"Like I'm less worried about you being in Yvonne's hands. Now just wait out on the wing and let me get on with sorting this mess out." The concentrated glare in Gina's eyes and the realisation that she was trying her best made Denny feel sheepish and a little ashamed.  
"Sorry, man."

Karen sat staring into the width and depth of the computer screen as the figures of how her budget allocation was being spent. This was the least pleasurable part of her duties having reluctantly acquiesced to Grayling's regretful tones that there was no more money to be had for Larkhall. Her mind went back to the time of Grayling's very first speech where he came out with the all time tired cliche of HMS Larkhall and him as the captain. The way the ship was steaming, she ruefully reflected, it was going to run out of fuel fifty miles short of harbour and she was going to need a tug to tow them all in. She ran her fingers through her hair and her eyes felt tired even first thing in the morning. Whichever way she went, someone was going to protest to her in the same way that she might have done at one time, and with good reason.

The shrill discordant tones of the phone took five rings to penetrate Karen's deep train of thought.  
"Gina here. I've hit a problem for escort duty for Denny to Ashmore. The only officer I can spare to go is Dominic. Even though Denny's basically a good kid, I don't like the idea as it's asking for trouble in case anything kicks off." "You're right. It isn't safe, not by a long way," exclaimed Karen to Gina and the mathematics of the computer screen. All the books on financial management are only worth so much until you have a real situation on the ground. After that 'calculated risks' blow up in your face like now if she took the easy way out and from how she remembered hearing how the riot on G Wing started when Helen was short staffed in her turn and especially when she was away.  
"Can you think of anyone from another wing we could get at short notice to help out?" Gina asked.  
"You need look no further. I'll do it," Karen's decisive tones gave Gina at least one solution, herself rather than make promises to look into an overstretched budget. "I was the one who arranged the visit in the first place, so I might as well see it through." "You sure you can spare the time?" Gina asked anxiously. She was finding herself creeping into the habit as Wing Governor, of taking work home with her and she figured that Karen was far worse a workaholic than she was. Working in prisons didn't do much for relationships with anyone on the outside. She did not want to see Larkhall Prison cited as causing a breakup in Karen's relationship with that very good-looking barrister of hers.  
"I'm getting nowhere doing what I'm doing so I might as well be doing something totally different." Gina nodded. That made sense.  
Karen came to Gina's office where Dominic and a very excited Denny stood before Gina.  
"It's nice to have your company, Karen, but how are we getting to Ashmore?" Dominic queried on a practical note.  
"Simple. We use my car. Can you two squeeze in the back if I push the front seat forward?" "Wicked." This time, luck was on her side for a change.

Karen pulled the seats as far forward as they would go so Dominic's long legs wouldn't be through the roof of her soft-top. Denny squeezed in beside Dominic and both were tucked into the space, which was as secure as anything was. Karen's sporty looking green MG sports car revved up and she pointed it at the direction of the gates.  
"Are you two comfortable in the back?" she asked. God, this seemed a little like her taking kids on holiday. She couldn't help but reflect that she had known Dominic on and off for a few years and had seen him grow from the 'all fingers and thumbs' shy young prison officer into the mature and balanced slightly older young prison officer. If only they all grew up as steady and responsible as him, mused Karen with regret.  
"We're fine in the back, me and Denny. All we need are the buckets and spades." "I wish," came Denny's joking reply.  
Karen smiled in satisfaction, glanced at the roadmap on the passenger seat balanced precariously on her briefcase and headed her car out onto the open road. She relaxed into her car seat as much as she could with the reduced legroom for Denny sitting immediately behind her. The steady hum of the car soothed everyone as the journey wore on although the giant juggernauts loomed over them like huge cliffs. It was a nice spring day and the green fields either side of them stretched into the distance. She was away from Larkhall almost as if she were escaping from her own prison, her fancies told her.  
Suddenly, her mobile started to ring relentlessly. Oh God, can't I be allowed to be away for one day in my life, she thought first until she switched it to hands free.  
"Hello darling." "This is a nice surprise," Karen told her, thinking that George must be at a loose end to be phoning her in the middle of the morning. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" "Well, I just wanted to say how nice that was on Monday," George's most alluring tones could be clearly heard in the car. At her end, George was looking out of her office down on the busy streets below on a nice sunny day. She wanted to share her better spirits with the woman who was dearest to her so she had clicked on her mobile and, not getting an answer from Karen's direct line, tried her mobile only to hear muffled background sounds which puzzled her. I can't believe it, Karen thought in turn, as all those rehearsals for George to play her version of Eve throughout her range right up to top C had sharpened up her ability to project her voice. She was only too right as the unmistakable sounds of George Channing could be heard clearly in the cramped space in the back seat of the car. "Oh, which part of it?" Temporarily, Karen was confused as to where she was, next to George in her dreams or trying to be the responsible Governing Governor in charge of a prisoner and one of her prison officers.  
"Darling, don't be coy. You know which part of it," George retorted in a teasing, bantering tone of voice.  
"What exactly are you doing right now?" She enquired in a more restrained, lower pitched voice as she was starting to hear more distinct human voices over and above a regular low drone.  
"I'm taking my car up to Ashmore to take Denny to see Shell Dockley." Karen answered in her most inconsequential tones while keeping a sharp eye on the oil tanker she was overtaking. "Am I ringing at an inconvenient moment, darling?" "No great problem, George. But I must warn you that every word that you are saying is being taken down and remembered by Denny Blood who I can see in my rear view mirror and is smirking at me. Dominic is trying to turn a deaf ear but is obviously failing." " Hey posh bitch," Denny sang out from the back. "You come to G Wing and us girls will make you welcome any time you want." "If you want to cover a night shift any time, you would always be welcome," Dominic said in his best well-meaning fashion. All the time, Karen kept her eyes on the road while letting all the bedlam carry on all around her. It definitely felt like one of Ross's birthday parties years ago when he was wide-eyed and innocent and never knew at the time that children could ever grow up. "Oh well, thank you," George responded and laughed at all the sounds of bedlam that was clearly breaking loose in reply. She knew that if there were anything seriously amiss, Karen would have made that clear.  
"I'll phone back later and we'll fix up a time to meet, darling. I can see you're busy." "I'll come and see you some time," Karen said, her voice not altogether sounding like the dutiful Governing Governor she was half trying to be. The feelings of sexual arousal conjured up by that delicious memory of the feel and the texture of George's soft skin in the dark were definitely coming out on top. Even at a moment like this, she was not in a hurry to draw the conversation to a close. The eavesdroppers in the back of the car were intrigued to hear Karen's husky voice, which was a long way apart from her very proper official tones. Denny was sure she had heard that line of Karen's before somewhere and made a note to ask Lauren later on as she was clever and sure to know the answer to that one.

Karen discreetly put a CD on and some quiet chill out music accompanied the journey with fairly unspecific lyrics. It helped to mask the sudden exposure of Karen's private life and also to pass the time while they drove up the motorway and sign after sign announced the distance to far off towns and cities. In the back, Denny and Dominic felt dwarfed by the size of virtually everything on the road in Karen's low slung little sports car. At last, Karen saw the turnoff and her car curved to the left and climbed up to the roundabout and the more ancient roads which linked one community to the next. She had not driven far when she spoke over her shoulder to Denny, her voice thankfully back to normal.  
"Denny, we're getting near to Ashmore and I do not need to remind you that we'll be under their jurisdiction especially in relation to internal security. At Larkhall, I'm the boss. At Ashmore, I'm just a visitor on their terms and that goes for the rest of you." "Have you heard how Shell is? Denny asked eagerly. Now they were off the motorway, the place they were going to wasn't something abstract and the question came uppermost in her mind.  
"I asked her psychiatrist and Shell's progress is satisfactory." Denny's stomach lurched at Karen's careful, considered reply. That was what they told you to palm you off with a load of bullshit. "I'm sure she's fine," Dominic added helpfully but the grin was wiped off Denny's face.  
Karen spotted the entrance on the left and swung past security to their allotted car park spot.  
"I'm sorry, Denny, but until and unless the hospital say otherwise, me and Dominic have to be handcuffed to you." Denny's face was expressionless and no one spotted her train of thought as to the light regime that Karen ran that far off time when she had taken her to Yvonne's, what sort of frigging place was she being taken to?

When they approached the receptionist, they passed into an airless almost claustrophobic atmosphere that was immediately different to the fresh spring air outside. "Who's that cow giving me the evil eye, Miss Betts?" Denny muttered under her breath.  
Karen smiled sweetly as she remembered the neighbourhood dragon whom she had had to slap one of John's court orders on her which could bust loose anyone from Alcatraz let alone Ashmore.  
"I can see you remember me from last time I saw you." "Just sign the register and I'll phone through to say you've all arrived." The woman's face was blank and expressionless, and her voice was as unfriendly as she dared. She knew better than to use her repertoire of stalling tactics, starting from asking that all the 't's' be crossed and the 'I's' are dotted when these intruders had signed in. She wanted them in and out as soon as possible. For that reason alone, they spied the nurse come through the silently opening door and when they passed through, it silently closed behind them.  
"This place is weird," Denny muttered and Dominic silently agreed with her as they walked slightly behind the young nurse.  
"The last time I was here, Denny," Karen clarified. "that all time dragon receptionist barred my way to see Shell until I produced a court order signed by the judge who Lauren was up before. She changed her mind but she will hate my guts for the rest of her life." "You're going up in the world, Karen," Dominic grinned. "Wicked," Chorused Denny briefly. After passing the usual miles of aisles, they came to the last security door and handed her over to the ward sister who told them that Shell Dockley was coming to meet them.

"Mr. McAllister, fancy seeing you back as a screw. I thought you'd stay in Greece." Shell Dockley called out to him in a disturbingly vacant tone and walked up to them.  
"Couldn't stand the heat and the ouzo. I came back for good English bitter and the weather," Dominic added in his dry humour. To Karen, she was no different in her tracksuit and jogging bottoms but Denny reacted differently. To her, Shell was the woman who had all the glamour and smart talk and was inseparable, in her mind, from her gold jewelry, bright red lipstick, short skirt and low cut top. Dressed that way, Shell was her old self that she could remember. When she 'dressed down', Denny got worried about her and thought that she was cracking up. She always used to when she dressed that way. Immediately, Denny was guilty for not thinking more of her and therefore angry with everyone around her. In a weird nut house like this, Denny felt constrained and couldn't say too much.  
"You promised you'd get me out of here, Miss Betts," Shell said reproachfully, her blue eyes looking reproachfully at her.  
"Did you, Miss." Denny muttered.  
Immediately, Karen felt uneasy. There was a world of difference between trying to do something and delivering the goods where long-term psychiatric prisons were concerned. They were a law unto themselves, probably even for Grayling let alone her.  
"I said I would try, Shell. I made some enquiries but I was not able to get very far." "Lauren Atkins sends on her best wishes," Dominic added helpfully.  
"And my old mate Denny. I've not seen you for ages." Shell flung her arms round her and drew her close to her and held her for a long time.  
"How are all the others from the old days like the Julies and Bodybag?" "The Julies send their love, and Bodybag, well you can guess, man," Denny grinned.  
Shell's manner was more animated as ancient memories penetrated her rather fogged mind. She couldn't remember stuff from yesterday with all the dope they were feeding her but all her memories of Larkhall started to flood back.  
"If you don't mind, miss, I would rather talk on my own to Shell," Denny said curtly, when she had detached herself eventually from Shell's embrace, her feelings of guilt only increased by Dominic's well meaning words and the strange feel of Shell's body next to her.  
"I have no problem with that if the hospital don't." Dominic's expression indicated to Karen that going along with this request might not be the best course of action even though it was in the spirit of the request. Presently, Denny and Shell were led into a sideroom, which was austere and simple, and there was a glass panel outside which a nurse was on duty to keep an eye on them. Karen and Dominic began to feel like spare parts standing in the middle of the ward where strangers passed by on either side. "Do we need to be on hand or have you got sufficient security here?" Karen asked the sister. "If anything does kick off, there are enough here to restrain them before you can say Jack Robinson," Came the businesslike reply. "You might as well go to the canteen where you can chat as long as you like till you are ready to collect your prisoner. One of my nurses will show you the way." Karen nodded respectfully at the other woman as one professional to another, especially as she once wore a nurse's uniform.

"Do you think we're doing the right thing?" Karen suddenly posed the question to Dominic as they sat at opposite sides of a cheap Formica table.  
"You wouldn't have asked my opinion years ago, it would have been the other way round," Dominic cheerfully reminded her.  
"You've changed a lot since the old days," Smiled Karen as memories took her back of the man who was more shy and awkward and, well, younger. "The trouble is that Denny hasn't changed, or at least not entirely." Karen raised one eyebrow, inviting him to develop his point.  
"I knew Denny Blood before you came to Larkhall. That was when she was right under Shell's influence. Denny still doesn't really know deep down who she is or she wouldn't change so much depending on who she's with. Denny was quite happy doing Shell's dirty work for her and seemed to get a kick out of bullying anyone who was weaker. When you got here, she had come under Yvonne's wing and she was pretty well the Denny Blood you think you know now." "But that was years ago," Protested Karen. "She's had a long run of behaviour varying from at least half way good to exemplary behaviour. I took her out to Yvonne's house one time and I never thought I could let down my guard as I did nor did I expect her to." "That's because either Yvonne or Shaz or Lauren were around her. They aren't here right now. Someone like Denny doesn't forget, and she and Shell go back a long way. She feels guilty for having forgotten Shell. You can see it in her face." "What do you think we ought to do?" "First of all, we ought to keep our ears to the ground as to what they are saying. Don't forget, she shares a cell with Lauren. She's like her mum, keeps her ear close to the ground and you'll hear soon enough from her if there's any trouble." "If or when?" interjected Karen.  
Dominic reflected for a while. In that moment while he was silent, Karen could not help feeling buttressed by this young man's common sense and insight. He had picked up effortlessly where he had left off and had made steady progress. It wouldn't be long before he would become fitted for promotion if he wanted it. He showed no signs of being overly ambitious but neither was she when she first started off in the prison service. It was the dependability of a man like this that made her job easier. It was a pity that her own son didn't have that sense of grown upness about him.  
"I'd say when." He said at last.  
Karen took the honest opinion without flinching. She had asked for his opinion. She sought to change the conversation fast, lit another cigarette and began to talk about something more congenial in a more relaxed situation than normal.

"I ain't wanting to put no pressure on you, miss, seeing as I'm grateful for you taking an interest in me," Shell said in her most guileless fashion as they came to collect Denny and make their departure. "Still, you can't have everything and at least you have always taken an interest and someone else could have come instead. It's that seeing everyone from the old days makes me wish I was back at Larkhall, and I'd make sure I'd make Denny smile, as she's my bezzy mate, aren't you, Denny." "Sure am, Shell," Denny swaggered with that touch of bravado that contact with shell always brought out in her.  
"I expect you'd be looking to go now," Shell said in a slightly downcast fashion.  
"I'm sorry, shell but we have to go." Why did her dealings with Shell always make her feel guilty, she wondered? It all went back to that time when shell opened up to her and when she was ghosted out of Larkhall thanks to, wait for it, Jim bloody Fenner.  
"At least Fenner's not around at Larkhall. I suppose I ought to thank Atkins's daughter for that," Shell said with a hint of a sneer like the old Shell.  
While Shell and Denny embraced one last time, Karen and Dominic said their awkward good-byes and left her gradually starting to diminish as they walked away.  
"I'll write to you Shell and I'll keep my promise," Denny's last words to Shell left her more agitated and upset than ever.

They made their reverse journey back through the endless corridors while Denny seemed to pull on the handcuffs. They had not noticed this on the way in to the ward. Presently, they were out in the cold clear spring air, which stung their cheeks and blew away that slightly drowsy hospital air.  
"You've got to get Shell out of there. You just have to," Denny urged Karen passionately as they crossed the car park.  
"I'd be happy if Shell came back to Larkhall.To get her there isn't as easy as I've explained, Denny." "I'm telling you, Shell doesn't belong there," Denny repeated in a sombre tone of voice before she was wedged, as before, in the back seat of Karen's car, next to Dominic. 


	109. Part One Hundred And Nine

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part One Hundred And Nine

On the Saturday evening, Karen invited John over for dinner. They hadn't spent any quality time together as friends, really since the rehearsals for 'The Creation' had begun. Karen didn't want to lose his friendship, and she knew that as a result of her relationship with George, she was occasionally in danger of doing this. John was pleased to hear from her, because although he would never admit it, he missed Karen's company. He still hadn't spoken to George since Monday's rehearsal, and though he knew he was probably treading on very thin ice, he wanted Karen's advice about her. He couldn't help but appreciate that so far, Karen had refused to get in any way involved in the argument he'd had with George, keeping her distance from it and giving her loyalty to no one in particular. But as he drove over to Karen's on the Saturday evening, he briefly wondered if this was all about to come to an end. 

They'd eaten a pleasant meal, and were sitting on the sofa with a bottle of wine John had brought. "John, are you up for hearing a novel idea?" Karen asked carefully, wondering what his reaction would be. "Aren't I always?" He said with a smile. "Earlier this week, I came up with a slightly radical solution to my staffing crisis. I'm trying it out on you first, because I know that you won't dismiss it without considering it." "What makes you think anyone else would dismiss it?" "Because it's never been done before, at least not to my knowledge." "And as George was so fond of telling me when we were married, that's the best reason for trying anything." Karen laughed. "I've been looking out for a new Wing Governor, to take over G wing, and so far, there's no sign of anyone on the horizon who wants to take up the job. Gina is pretty good at it, but she doesn't want to stay in the job full time. She's like you in a way, wants to keep her hand in at the front line. The thing is, I was trying to work out exactly what I wanted in a new wing governor." "Well, I'd have thought experience with prisoners might be a start," John said dryly. "Precisely," Karen said, as if she'd been waiting for him to say this. "Experience of dealing with prisoners, experience of dealing with both the system and its officers. Some kind of management experience is essential for a job like that, which means that previous career choices can be taken into consideration. But the most important thing, is a drive to make the prison service a successful, secure, and sympathetic working environment, both for those who work within it, and for those it supports." "What are you working up to?" He asked carefully, seeing the light in her eyes that always appeared when she got on her soapbox, and especially when she had a captive audience, not unlike himself when he came to think about it. "Let me ask you," She continued. "Who do you think has the most in-depth experience of both the prison system and of dealing with its inmates?" "Other than someone like yourself, I couldn't say." "Think about it, John," She cajoled. "It's actually staring you in the face, if you consider it long enough." "That's because you've been thinking about it for days on end," He told her with a smile. She watched him, his knitted brows telegraphing the mental acrobatics that were going on inside his head. When his eyes widened, she realised he'd worked it out. "Not an ex-prisoner?" He said in shock. "Of course," She said, as if the idea was obvious. "Who else knows exactly what it's like to be behind bars? Who else can truly empathise with the whole series of shocks and indignities that all prisoners have to suffer, even in this country? I can't, not entirely, because I've never been there. The same goes for every other officer and governor, I've ever had the pleasure or misfortune to encounter. Only someone who has been through those exact procedures, can understand what every prisoner goes through on being taken into custody." "You'll never get that passed area management," John told her glibly. "Ah, but that's because you haven't yet heard the rest of it," Karen said without ranker, knowing that everyone she told about this would take an awful lot of convincing. "The particular ex-prisoner I'm thinking of, no longer has a criminal record, at least not in the official sense, because it was eradicated on her second appeal." "Nikki," He clarified. "Nikki Wade." "Her conviction was overturned, which even I know means that her official slate has been wiped clean." "The Lord Chancellor's department would have a fit," John said with a broad smile, thinking that if Karen really managed to pull this off, he would be the one to personally inform Sir Ian Rochester and his associates, just for the sheer delight of rubbing their noses in something so novel, yet so obvious. 

"So," He said, taking a sip of the chilled white wine. "Tell me how Nikki fits into your plan." "Well, her experience of the criminal justice system speaks for itself," Karen replied, lighting herself a cigarette. "She spent three years behind bars, a lifetime compared to living on the outside. I dug her prison file out of the archives yesterday, just to make sure I knew everything. It's funny, but no one ever seemed to notice that one of Nikki's requisite photographs is missing. I might be wrong, but I think Helen might have taken it the first time she resigned." "It's funny the things that go on under your nose," John said philosophically. "I remember, when all my officers went on strike, when Shell Dockley was put back on the wing after stabbing Fenner, it was Nikki and Yvonne who kept the rest of them in order. There was something going on, something I couldn't put my finger on at the time, but whatever it was, Nikki and Yvonne sorted it out between them. Then, when I was on holiday, with Fenner, there was a riot. Helen had been made Governing Governor by this time. It resulted from a sit in that got out of control. Nikki organised the sit in, because a Nigerian woman with absolutely no grasp of the English language, had been put on G wing, without any possibility of anything resembling an interpreter. From what I could gather when I returned, the officers took advantage of this, to be a bit rougher with her than was really necessary. Nikki and the others were protesting against the way this woman had been treated, and were demanding fair conditions for her." When a broad, satisfied smile spread over John's face, Karen added, "I thought you'd like that. Anyway, Maxi Purvis and her sidekicks took the situation out of Nikki's hands, using it to their own advantage, which is why everything spiraled out of control." "How did it end?" "Nikki and Yvonne locked the Purvis sisters in their cell. The point is, she managed to deal with the problem, in a far more successful way than the officers would have dealt with it. They were all ready to go in with batons and riot shields, which could have resulted in an awful lot of damage to officers and inmates alike." "What management experience does she have?" John asked, thinking that maybe, just maybe Karen had something here, as outlandish as it sounded. "Before she ended up in Larkhall, she jointly ran a club with her partner for several years." "What sort of club?" John questioned guardedly. "A gay club, nothing either illegal or out of the ordinary. She still does run it, but I know she's on the look out for something new." "So, you think she might be ripe for the picking?" "Anything's possible. You think it's completely mental, don't you," She said, suddenly feeling unsure of her reasons. "Of course not," He said fondly. "But I think you need to be much clearer about your argument when you take it to area management. You need to tell them everything they need to know, leaving out anything that isn't necessary, and also leaving them no gaps to raise questions. They will have questions, lots of them, but if you get in first, you can refer them back to things you've already said." "Okay, but if I do that, really plan out what I'm going to say, will you look it over for me, because I'm beginning to think that a few months of your bar school tuition could come in handy." "It would be a pleasure," He said seriously. "I would have sincerely enjoyed the opportunity to teach you a thing or two." As he said this, their eyes met, the one powerful gaze sparking off the other. Karen could feel the electricity in the air between them, the tingle of anticipation that had so often called her to the bed of too many men of his kind. She took a sip of her wine to break the tension, but the action of her running her tongue along her top lip only fuelled his desire further. John didn't know why he suddenly wanted to make love to Karen, but he supposed it was because he wanted something beautiful, uncomplicated, and yet something that he knew. But Karen wasn't uncomplicated, not by any means, not where his sex life was concerned. Karen had put some soft music on earlier in the evening, and in the silence that ensued between them, they listened to the soft, crooning words of the singer. He found himself playing with a tendril of her hair, gently winding the strands around his finger, as he had so many women, Karen thought to herself. Karen could feel her body reacting to his sensual touch, but she knew she mustn't give into it. Yes, she did want him, right here, right now, but she knew it would only cause a whole host of problems. When his finger softly grazed her cheek, she had to rein in all her instincts, which were telling her to take advantage of what he was clearly offering her. 

"Don't," She said softly, taking his wandering hand and imprisoning it in her own. "Why?" He asked, just as softly, entwining his fingers with hers. "I have just as good a memory as you, John," Karen said with a nervous laugh. "And considering that I haven't been to bed with a man since you, I can't say that your utterly transparent offer isn't extremely tempting. But I would end up regretting it, and so would you." John looked unconvinced. "I can't do that to George, or to Jo, not again," She clarified. "Not now, not as things stand." "I'm sorry," He said, the mention of Jo and George's names having brought him back down to earth. "You've no need to be," Karen told him, not wanting to hurt his feelings in the slightest. "Your occasional attraction will always be incredibly flattering to me, John, but with things being the way they are, close friendship is all there can ever be. However, you have, in a way, reminded me of the other thing I wanted to discuss with you tonight." "Oh, let me guess," He said defensively. "George." "Yes," Karen agreed. "Though not in the way you're expecting." "Now this I have to hear," He said dryly. "John, the argument you had with her, is absolutely none of my business," Karen told him clearly. "I think too much of both of you to even consider getting involved in that." "You've got no idea just how much I appreciate that," He said, a look of relief passing over his face. "I know some of the things I said were wrong, but that's what you do when you row with someone, that's what happens." "Yes, I know," She said fondly, feeling the pain emanating from his every pore. "And Jo seems to expect me to put it right, in a different way to that which has always proved successful on previous occasions." "John, what I need to talk to you about," Karen said carefully, wanting to get him off the subject of any recriminations. "Is why George does what she does." "You know why," He told her impatiently. "Because of what happened with Charlie, at least that's where it started." "That's only a recurring trigger, it's not the actual cause. John, do you have any idea what Anorexia actually is? I mean, do you know why it isn't George's fault that she does what she does, and why she feels as low as she did last weekend?" "I probably don't know as much as I should do after all these years," He admitted. "So, enlighten me." 

"As I try and explain this to you," Karen said carefully. "It might be better if you try not to think of it in relation to George. I will try to establish what it means with respect to George, but I think you need to understand it clinically and impersonally, before you try to fit her into any particular category." John took this seriously, because Karen spoke as though she knew what she was talking about. "Did you deal with this when you were nursing?" He asked, guessing that this was where her knowledge had sprung from. "Yes. The first thing to realise with any addiction is that there needs to be a genetic predisposition to it. It doesn't mean that the same addiction would run in a family, though that obviously does happen. There then needs to be a trigger, some traumatic event that sends the addict's world spinning out of control. This can be anything from bereavement to the loss of employment. The third and final contributory factor, is for the person to discover what works for them, to stumble on the one thing that keeps them feeling vaguely sane. With some it's alcohol, others it's drugs, and with others, it can be starving themselves. Now, if you think about Anorexia specifically, it's usually about control. If a person's emotional state is out of control, or they are going through various life altering circumstances that are beyond their control, the one thing that does remain within their own personal jurisdiction, is their eating. Nobody can force them to eat, so they don't, purely and simply because it appears to be the one thing they can control. They become adept at concealing their little bouts of not eating, coming up with never-ending excuses, all of which could actually be true." "George used to tell me she'd eaten with Charlie, before I got home from work." "That's no surprise. It becomes second nature to them, when you ask when they last ate, to give you the wrong answer. George did that to me last week, and only later on did I get the truth out of her. It's very common for someone with Anorexia to become an expert in food, rigorously counting every calorie they eat, which is usually followed by the mental distortion of assuming they aren't as thin as they actually are. Thankfully, George doesn't appear to have gone that far. The point is, once they've discovered that it works as a coping mechanism, it becomes a way of life. One of the best surgeons I ever worked with, once described it to me as the intrinsic desire to destroy oneself. This is primarily because the pain inside them hasn't ever been resolved. Yes, they've found a way to control it, but they haven't found a way of banishing it. John, you mustn't ever be cross with her for doing what she does, because to some extent, she can't help it. I think that George's first life changing trauma, was when her mother died." "And have you noticed that that's the only thing she never ever talks about?" "Yes, which means that it's the most unresolved issue she has. Unless she is persistently forced, which would likely cause far more harm than good, I don't think she ever will deal with it. I can't really comment on the whys and wherefores of when she occasionally did it at school, because I don't know enough about that, but with Charlie, I think she did subconsciously want to destroy herself. She couldn't forgive herself for not loving her own daughter, so slowly starving herself to death appeared to be her only option. Your forgiveness and understanding wouldn't have made all that much difference. Then, when your marriage went through its various phases of not going to plan, she kept returning to the one thing that made her feel human again. So, whenever anything greatly upsets or confuses her, she will take it up again. It's not a conscious decision on her part, she doesn't simply wake up one morning and decide to starve herself. It's a far more engrained reaction than that. Just as I automatically reach for a cigarette, or you automatically pick up a woman, George will automatically avoid food. The row she had with you did upset her enormously, as I'm sure it did you, which meant that her old prop came out of hiding. I'm not sure what sent her down hill quite so quickly, but then I know very little of what was said between you. All I do know is that she loves you more than anyone, and she always will. I might be wrong, but I think she thought that if she couldn't live up to what you wanted, there wasn't much point in existing. I know that probably hurts you a great deal to know that she felt like that, but I think you need to know why. I'm not going to tell you to put it right, because most of it, you can't, and as for the rest, only you can decide how you deal with that. But I suppose I just wanted to explain to you, exactly what she almost certainly goes through on a daily basis. Yes, most of the time, she does remain within a barely acceptable weight, but that takes effort on her part, I know it does. George might appear as though she is eating lunch, or dinner, or whatever with you in a perfectly normal, amicable fashion, but she isn't. Every single day, she will go through the internal battle of whether she will eat, or whether she won't. The most important thing you can do is not to blame her for it. On the whole, George does extremely well to stay as healthy as she does. I know that you've found it extremely difficult to stay faithful to Jo and George over the last eighteen months. They may not say so very often, but it hasn't gone unnoticed. What you need to understand, is that George has just as hard a fight on her hands as you do. Yours is to stay out of other women's beds, including mine, and George's is to stop herself from giving up altogether. You need help in staying on the wagon, which is why you have both Jo and George to keep you occupied, and partly why you have me to talk to when you want someone a little more removed from the situation. In her turn, George has the kind of support Jo gave her last weekend, and whatever she wants from me and from you at other times. Just occasionally, we all need someone who isn't as close as George is to you, or as you are to Jo, because they can usually offer a different perspective on things. Last weekend, George needed someone she didn't need to be quite so afraid of hurting. Even you've done that before, such as on the day of Lauren's verdict when you told me exactly what you thought of my involvement with George. Yes, you went a little too far and yes, it did hurt me, but it was far safer and much easier for you to risk hurting me, than to even think of doing the same to George." 

John was quiet for a long, long time after Karen finished speaking, taking in every word she'd said. Eventually, he ran his hands through his hair, and said, "How do I put this right?" "Other than telling her how much you love her, and actually meaning it instead of its being the precursor to making love, I don't know. I can't tell you how to convince George of your love for her, because we all have our different ways of doing that." "I can't believe she nearly left me last weekend," He said, again revealing the true depth of his pain at the thought. Moving closer to him, Karen put her arms round him, recognising the need for comfort from an uncomplicated source. "She nearly left me too, John," She told him, her face very close to his. "And I don't suppose I dealt with it any better than anyone else might have done. On Monday evening when she came back here, I asked her if she knew exactly what might have happened to her if she really had taken those pills." "And did she?" "No, so I told her, hopefully in enough detail to stop her from considering it again, but I doubt it. This isn't going to go away, John. Yes, she can deal with it, and she can live with it, but sometimes she will feel as bad as she did last weekend. You need to get used to that." "Thank you," He said, "for explaining it to me. As painful as it is, I think I needed to hear that." They were back to being just friends again, Karen realised with sincere relief, back to normal, at least for the time being. 


	110. Part One Hundred And Ten

Part One Hundred and Ten

"What's up with Denny?" Julie J asked Lauren in passing. She had just seen Denny mooch past on her own, her face grim and avoiding any communication. "Search me," came the laconic reply. "No reason why I should know what goes on in her brain." Julie J's eyebrows rose at Lauren's response. That was a non-answer if ever she heard one and she wasn't much better than Denny right now. "But you two have been so close since you first came here, like me and Julie," She persisted.  
"Well, that's the way it goes." Lauren's shrug of her shoulders accompanied the deadpan words. As Lauren paused for a second, her words hung in the air and made her feel uncomfortable at how cold and unfeeling she sounded. This is the typical Atkins way of talking, she thought, as she shook her head to clear her mind and reached out for the Lauren Atkins she wanted to be.  
"Look here, Julie, I just can't get close to her these days to even talk about the weather outside, much less ask her about her feelings. I've tried but it's not working. In fact, I'm getting really worried about her especially as mum is due to visit this afternoon." Her voice had become more animated as she opened up to this very kind hearted woman who was patiently waiting for her to become herself. Mum was dead right to say of the Julies that they were the salt of the earth.  
"Well, there you are. Problem solved once Yvonne gets to see her. She knows Denny inside out and she'll get Denny to talk." Lauren's expression failed to respond at Julie Saunders' big beaming confident smile. She saw herself cast in the big sister role if not nagging mother versus truculent aggressive daughter and it made her nervous to even start trying to get through.  
"You might lead a horse to water but you can't make her drink it. That's the problem. Denny can easily cop out and probably will." "Is that what's getting you down in the dumps?" Lauren nodded. Despite all the restrictions of prison, the daily regime of life that she could not call her own, the same day in day out monotony, she warmed to the feeling that there were women only a cell door or so away she could turn to. All it took was to reach out beyond herself.  
"Well, if there is anything we can do, just ask." "Just ask," Came the delayed echo response as Julie Saunders, who had just come up, plugged herself into the gist of the conversation and offered her words of comfort.  
Lauren smiled for the first time in days at the unselfconscious generosity, which these two golden hearted women offered. "Can I come back with you to your cell?" Lauren asked. She realised that there were too many prying eyes and generalised eavesdroppers around. She had talked deliberately in a low-pitched voice so she couldn't be overheard and this was another reason why she had felt uncomfortable. She needed someplace else where she could talk properly but wanted the Julies to be around her.  
"It was Dockley wasn't it," Julie Johnson's sensitivities worked that one out. She had been racking her brains as she saw that Denny had changed. This was no easy matter when one day went past like another in a generalised bored haze. Automatically, she flipped open a cheap pack of Lambert and Butlers and offered a cigarette to the other two. Immediately Lauren's memories fell into place and she recalled the way that Denny stalked ahead of her and disappeared to some other part of G Wing. Improbable though it might seem with a brief one off visit, the events were far too perfectly tied up to provide any other explanation. It was just that she didn't want to admit to herself that Shell Dockley had such a powerful hold over Denny after the long period of time they had been separated.  
"That's about the size of it. But how could Denny change so quickly from the nice kid that she is to….." "……the way she used to be before Yvonne ever came here. We saw her then and remember what she was like. That's why we've got worried and asked you. You see much more of her these days than we do." True, thought Lauren, but it still didn't mean that she sees more. Something can be right under your nose but if you don't want to see it, you won't notice it. At last she could see a way out of the problem that had been bothering her.  
"What was Denny like years ago? There's a lot that you've seen of her that I don't know." She was all ears as the Julies filled her in on everything, going way back in time, even before the time when Helen Stewart first came to Larkhall as Wing Governor, burning with her ambition to turn the prison system around.

"You know that if you don't see mum, then she'll be on your case. She doesn't give up as you know very well." From closely looking at the expression on Denny's face, Lauren sighed with relief as she had seen that she had found the knack to turn the key in the lock of Denny's mind after a bitter resistance. It was a very tense battle of wills and Lauren had been as nervous as hell before she summoned up the courage to ever so casually suggested that they had a quiet chat. It was as well that Lauren had the Atkins knack of covering up her feelings as if her face were painted over with the most immaculate makeup.  
"All right Lauren, but I swear if you mention one frigging word about it, I'll never speak to you again," Denny glared at her.  
Denny, you have a very eloquent way of not speaking to anyone else for the rest of your life, Lauren thought to herself with a touch of humour. It was as well that she could see the joke and Denny couldn't.  
"It's a deal. I'll talk to mum about the weather, what a cow Bodybag is and how lousy the food is and let you talk," Lauren said lightly.  
Despite Denny's extreme tension and her frustration at being gently manoeuvred into this deal by this smart talking woman, a tiny part of her smiled inside for the first time since this black cloud had descended on her and blotted everything out. She kept that resolve tight hard inside herself that Shell needed to get out of that nut house or she'd crack up completely. She could see it coming a mile away so why didn't even that know all, Miss Betts see it?

Yvonne's eyes were lined by her mascara to perfection as always but they flitted around the crowded waiting room as always, wondering what she would find. She had happened to talk to Lauren a few days before and Lauren had been a bit cryptic about Denny in particular and that had tipped off the Atkins early warning system that there was impending trouble.

She took in at a glance Lauren's big smile and wave, which assured her that there was nothing, wrong with her. The expression on Denny's face told her a completely different story. She gave each woman a big hug and a kiss on the cheek and the different physical feel of each of them reinforced her belief in her instincts.  
"Hi mum. It's great to see you," Lauren started chattering at breakneck speed. "The sun's shining outside and all the girls are getting on with each other, well all except Natalie Buxton who scowls at me every so often." "That evil tart," Yvonne snorted scornfully. "You want to watch her." "Well, I'd sooner that two faced bitch is scowling at me rather than smiling at me. Conniving tart though she may be, I can always keep one step ahead of her and I get to hear of everything that's going down on G Wing.So long as she can't get anyone else to do her dirty work for her, she's history. You've only got to watch out if she makes use of someone else that starts all the trouble and you can't see who's pulling the strings." Yvonne smiled fondly at her daughter, seeing in her a younger version of the woman she had been on G Wing. A sidelong glance at Denny told her that Denny's anger was boiling up as Lauren's spontaneous outpourings were quite easily taken the wrong way, especially by a poor kid like Denny who has always been paranoid and insecure.  
"And how's my other daughter?" Yvonne asked very gently and softly, her voice caressing Denny's jangled nerves to reassure her not to worry as mum's here.  
"I went to see Shell the other day," blurted out Denny, almost aggressively as if daring anyone to criticise her. "Not that I suppose you're interested as you never liked her." "I'll be straight with you, I didn't. But you know as well as I that nothing that Dockley did in her life….." "Her name's Shell," Denny interrupted aggressively.  
"……..As I was saying, nothing Dockley has done in her life deserved what happened to her. When she came back from sunny Amsterdam, she was a pain in the arse sometimes but nothing more. I could have lived with her if she had stayed at Larkhall. The real evil bastard mentioning no names was the one who had her ghosted out to Ashmore and separated her from her baby. Whenever I think of him I hope that he is rotting in hell. You know me, that in my book, that is the worst crime ever, maybe worse than anything even Charlie has done." Yvonne's voice rose in intensity to a climax and she knew she had pulled out all the stops. She could only tell it the way it was and that no fancy verbal footwork would work with Denny. "Well, anyway, Miss Betts and Mr. McAllister drove me up to Ashmore. The place is weird, as if you were stepping into something out of Star Trek. I got to talk to Shell for a bit on my own." "And how was she?" Yvonne asked.  
Denny shrugged her shoulders.  
"'Satisfactory' they called her. Well, I suppose to someone who didn't know the old Shell, she might have looked that way. I mean they've got all the shrinks there with long words and fancy titles, who am I to say different?" The suppressed anger in Denny had only halfway come out in her. Both Lauren and Yvonne did not like the feel of the way Denny was talking. It was as if she were still in shock from some terrible accident.  
"Do you really want us to shut up and talk about something different?" "You're all right," came the more subdued, more depressive response. "She sounds as if they're doping her up and she only sounded half here. She's dressed up in that tracksuit get up that she used to wear here when she was feeling down." "That doesn't sound good," Lauren said, feeling her response to be lame and hollow and not as sympathetic as she felt.  
"She'll be getting three meals a day, same as anywhere. The place is dead weird, man. Everything looks flash and looks like a posh hotel, or as much as I know what one looks like and it makes this place seem a dump. Larkhall has got bolts and bars everywhere but Ashmore has doors which shut dead quietly but you know that you're locked in. Anyway, I'm glad I'm not there, at least in one way. Never thought Larkhall would feel like home from home…….." Denny started chatting away on more impersonal matters, which Lauren started to join in with. Yvonne's sharp ears picked up on the fact that Denny never referred to Lauren in her conversation and certainly not as her sister as she used to do. Yvonne was grateful to the way that Lauren gracefully slid unobtrusively into the background but it disturbed her that the more attention that she gave Denny somehow wasn't coming back to her in any real way. At least it was better than hostility but there was something deeply wrong. "I'm afraid visiting time's up," Dominic's polite tones cut into the hubbub. Instinctively, all the prisoners and visitors exchanged hurried hugs and last words with each other.  
"You look after yourself, Denny," Yvonne urged with all the tenderness within her.  
"And you, Lauren, watch out for that snake in the grass, Natalie Buxton." "Don't worry, I'll be on the case and I'll look after Denny too," Lauren grinned.  
Denny grimaced slightly at the thought of being 'looked after.' She had quite forgotten that she had done precisely this for Lauren right up to the final verdict in the trial. When she was in this sort of mood, nothing good that she might have done in her life would cheer her up. All she could think of was Shell being shut up in that place and anything else was a distraction.

As Yvonne headed for the exit, the crowds built up and a thought crossed her mind. She had to act on it right now while she had the chance.  
"Hey Dominic?" She asked. "Could you do me a favour?" There was something in the way Yvonne spoke that grabbed his attention, even while his eyes followed the rest of the departing visitors. "I'm listening" "Can you pass word to Karen that I want to speak to her about something that's bothering me." Dominic gestured with his head to Lauren and Denny whose backs were turned to them, as they stood in single file ready to go back to the wing.  
"You mean?" "You've got it." "I'll see to it personally." Yvonne smiled warmly at this response. His few quiet words meant far more than some of the men in her life had promised her with all their flannel and smooth talking. 


	111. Part One Hundred And Eleven

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part One Hundred And Eleven

When Karen received the call from Dominic, saying that Yvonne wished to see her about Denny, she was surprised. "Could you bring her up to me?" Karen asked him, thinking that this must be bad, if Yvonne would voluntarily spend another moment in this place than she had too. "As soon as I've got rid of all the other visitors, yeah," He told her, gesturing to Yvonne to wait till he could escort her. Yvonne must have seen her car in the car park to ask for her directly, Karen thought. It was quite unusual for Karen to be here on a Sunday, but after having taken Denny to Ashmore on Friday, she had some catching up to do. When Dominic knocked, and showed Yvonne in, Karen stood up and went to meet her. 

"This is a nice surprise," She said, moving to give Yvonne a hug. "Or not, as the case may be," She said, seeing the look in Yvonne's face. When Dominic had left them to it, Karen said, "Do you want a drink?" "Yeah," Yvonne said darkly. "And you might need one too." Karen poured them both a scotch, and they sat down on the sofa opposite her desk. 

"It feels weird, being up here," Yvonne said as Karen offered her a cigarette. "The last time I was in this office, was when me and Fenner found out who Virginia's killer was." "Yvonne, what's happened?" Karen asked as she took a long drag. "You tell me," Yvonne said belligerently. "First you take my Denny to some bloody nut house to see Dockley, and the next thing I see, is the Denny she was when I first met her, which means angry, unpredictable, and with very little that's nice about her. So why not tell me, why you thought taking her to see Dockley was such a good idea." Getting up, Karen began to prowl round her office, whether marking her territory, or as a way of avoiding Yvonne's eyes, Yvonne didn't know. She picked things up, put them down again, and eventually sat down behind her desk, needing the professional barrier for this particular conversation. 

"Back in February," Karen began, taking a sip from her scotch. "When Denny was going a bit off the rails again, she was doing it because she didn't feel as though she had anything to get out for. I know you love her, and I know you would do anything for her, but I think Denny sometimes needs reminding of that, as we all do. It was just after Valentine's Day, and that made a lot of memories of Shaz, begin to resurface for her. She knew that Lauren would probably be getting out some time this year..." "What's this got to do with Dockley?" Yvonne interrupted. "Let me finish," Karen said patiently. "I think this reminded Denny, that Shell didn't have anyone, at least no one to fight her corner for her." "I thought you fulfilled that role years ago," Yvonne said dryly, never having quite understood Karen's need to always put herself out for the psycho. ""One thing I have learnt about Denny," Karen continued, ignoring Yvonne's jibe. "Is that punishing her doesn't achieve very much. All it does is to make her come back from the block, far more bitter and angry than she was before I put her there. So, the only other option left open to me, if I didn't want to pursue the usual vicious circle, was to make a deal with her." "Oh, what, like the deal over Fenner, you mean?" Yvonne demanded. "Denny did that deal with me, because she wanted Fenner putting behind bars for Shell. It always was for Shell, Yvonne, even back then." "And whose fault was it that got shot in the foot, albeit indirectly," Yvonne bit back, looking straight into Karen's eyes. Taking a long, slow breath, Karen had to exhibit an enormous effort not to let the pain at that particular insult show. She'd often wondered when this day would come, when Yvonne would finally bestow on her the blame for her daughter's conviction. Yvonne seemed to realise that she'd gone too far, but she didn't know how to put it right. "You didn't come here for this, Yvonne," Karen said eventually, keeping her voice as quiet and noncommittal as possible, unwilling to reveal the pain this remark had caused. "I took Denny to see Shell, because Denny gave me a catalogue of very valid reasons why she wanted to do it. It was something to aim for in the future back then, something she could focus on, something that would keep her behaviour at an acceptable level. Now, I'm sorry that it didn't quite work out as I'd planned it, and I'm sorry that it appears to have affected Denny far more than I ever thought it would. But I can't turn the clock back. I will talk to Denny, and I will keep a very close eye on her, and do whatever I can to sort this out. You're right, I probably shouldn't have done this, but I did, and all I can do is what I thought I was doing in taking her to see Shell, and that's to keep on doing my job. Yes, I've clearly screwed up, and I will take full responsibility for that. This particular mistake, I can try to put right, but I can't do that with all of them." This last statement, Yvonne knew, was about Ritchie, not Denny. 

They were silent as Karen walked Yvonne down to the gate lodge, after locking her office door. When they stood by Yvonne's car, Yvonne put a hand out to her. "I'm sorry," She said, knowing that what she'd said had really hurt Karen. "No, you're not," Karen said quietly. "You're sorry that I heard you say it, but you're not sorry for thinking it." "I shouldn't have said it," Yvonne told her, seeing the brief flicker of pain in Karen's eyes. "Don't you think that I've regretted getting involved with your son, every day that Lauren's been in here?" Karen told her vehemently. "Don't you think, that every time I go down onto the wing and see her there, it haunts me that I am why she's here? So don't you ever try to tell me where my responsibilities lie, because I am perfectly well aware of them, both the professional and personal ones. I am prepared to try anything new with either Lauren or Denny, and do you know why? Because every time I do something right with either of them, I'm doing it for you. Grayling would have me sacked if he heard me say something quite so unprofessional, but that's how it is. Every time I'm a bit too lenient with a punishment, or sanction something a little out of the ordinary because it seems to be a good idea, I'm doing it because of you. So don't you ever try to tell me how to do my job, not ever. I know I've screwed up with Denny, and I know that if she starts slipping back into her old ways, it'll be entirely my fault. But if it's the last thing I do, I will sort her out." Finally coming to the end of her tirade, Karen turned on her heel and strode back towards the gate lodge, feeling Yvonne's eyes burning into her back. Yvonne just stared after her, knowing that Karen really hadn't deserved some of the things she'd said to her. But where had all that come from? Getting into her car, she drove thoughtfully away, with Denny now not the only one she was worrying about. 

When Karen was walking down the corridor to her office, she was accosted by Dominic. Her outpouring of words to Yvonne had brought the tears to her eyes, and once inside, they had begun streaming down her cheeks. With only the bare minimum of staff about on a Sunday, no one had seen her. But now here was Dominic, and he was far too perceptive not to notice. "Karen, I was looking for you," He said, coming up to her. "Are you all right?" He asked, seeing her face. "Fine," She said curtly, furiously scrubbing at her face with a tissue. "You don't look it," Dominic told her. "Just something me and Yvonne needed to get out in the open, that's all," She told him cryptically. Ignoring the look of surprise on her face, Dominic moved forward to give her a firm hug. He had an enormous respect and feeling of fondness for Karen, she having been just one of them when she'd started. She'd always listened to him, always taken him seriously, not like Di and Sylvia, and even Fenner in his time. "Yvonne Atkins always did speak before thinking," He said, giving her one, last squeeze before he let her go. "You'll get yourself a rep for fraternizing with the Governor," Karen said with a watery smile, Dominic's sensitivity having surprised her enormously. But as he followed her into her office, and began talking about the latest problem with Natalie Buxton, as Gina wasn't in today, Karen felt incredibly grateful for his friendship. Dominic was one of those very unobtrusive people, someone who wouldn't be noticed unless you made a special effort to notice him, but he was brilliant with the prisoners, and she knew she couldn't have done without him. He'd been the one to give her the most support when she'd first become G wing's Governor, being pleased that one of them had got the top job. She would have to make sure she always made his job as worthwhile as possible, because she refused to lose him to a rival prison. 


	112. Part One Hundred And Twelve

A/N: Betaed by Jen. All lyrics come from complicated by Carolyn Dawn Johnson. 

Part One Hundred And Twelve

When John arrived at George's on the Sunday afternoon, she was out in the garden. It was really quite hot for early May, the sun seeming to infuse life into everything it touched.t, closing it as quietly as possible. He didn't want to disturb her just yet, because he could hear that she was happy. She wasn't singing anything remotely classical, but the sort of mildly country thing she might have done in the early days of their marriage. He walked stealthily along the wall at the side of the house, passing the open kitchen door, and reaching the garden. Here he stood, just watching her, waiting for her to notice that she wasn't alone. George was filthy, but he still thought she was beautiful. She was happy. She wasn't singing anything remotely classical, but the sort of mildly country thing she might have done in the early days of their marriage. He walked stealthily along the wall at the side of the house, passing the open kitchen door, and reaching the garden. Here he stood, just watching her, waiting for her to notice that she wasn't alone. George was filthy, but he still thought she was beautiful. She was clad in an almost indecent pair of shorts and an old T-shirt, obviously taking advantage of the brief heat wave. She had leaves in her hair, smudges of dust in places he wouldn't have thought possible, and was clearly boiling. She was standing on the garden bench in her bare feet, trying to prune the roses that had grown almost to the top of her very high fence. The lawn had already been cut, leaving the fragrant tang of freshly mown grass in the air, and there was a rubbish bag on the patio that clearly contained any amount of weeds, and plants that had outlived their usefulness. The pruning of the roses was obviously the last job she had to do. Standing as she was, stretching up to reach the tops of the roses, she was giving him a delightful display of her extremely pretty legs. The T-shirt had risen up slightly, to show him a glimpse of her elegant back. She had the French windows open, and was singing along to a CD that appeared to be fairly familiar. That was it, he realised, it was one of Karen's. 

"I'm so scared that the way that I feel, is written all over my face. When you walk in to the room, I want to find a hiding place. We used to laugh, we used to hug, the way that old friends do, But now a smile and a touch of your hand, just makes me come unglued." 

George seemed to be putting such feeling into the words, that John briefly wondered if they really meant something to her, rather than simply being the lyrics of a favourite song. 

"I want to hold you close, I want to push you away, I want to make you go, I want to make you stay." 

She sounded so in love as she sang these words, that if he hadn't known better, he might have wondered if she was having feelings for someone else that he didn't know about. But she couldn't be. George had him, and she had Karen. She didn't need anyone else. 

"Just when I think I'm under control, I think I've finally got a grip, Another friend tells me that my name is always on your lips. They say I'm more than just a friend, they say I must be blind. Oh, I'll admit that I've seen you watch me from the corner of your eye." 

When she'd moved to the end of the bench, trying to lean at a slightly odd angle to reach the roses that weren't quite in line with her, John thought it was time to make his presence known. "Would you like me to do that?" He said, walking up to her. "Jesus Christ," She said in shock, wheeling round to face him, the sheers poised for any necessary action. "Where did you spring from?" "Well, if you had anything resembling awareness," He said, removing the sheers from her hand. "And weren't singing your heart out, you'd know that I've been here for a while." "Yes, well, I didn't exactly expect to be disturbed in my own back garden, now did I, especially as both my neighbours are away." When she'd stepped down from the bench, he put his arms round her and kissed her cheek, feeling her taut hot body against him. "Karen not with you today?" He asked, finally letting her go. "No, she's working. Quite where she gets the dedication from is beyond me. So I thought I'd make use of the weather." Picking up the sheers, John finished pruning the roses for her, the simple task reminding him, of when he'd done this years ago when he'd actually lived here. "Would you like some lemonade?" She asked him. "It's home made." "I haven't had your lemonade for years," He said, glancing at her over his shoulder. 

When George returned, she was carrying two glasses of the ice cold, still lemonade that she'd made that morning. They sat on the bench, both wondering how to begin a conversation that they instinctively knew would be difficult. "You look beautiful like that," John found himself saying as he gazed at her. "No, I don't," George scoffed. "But then, you even managed to tell me that after I'd just given birth to Charlie, so god knows why I ever believe you when you say it." "You were," He protested, remembering every moment of that day as if it had only happened a week or so ago. "John, no one is remotely beautiful after giving birth, least of all me." "You were beautiful to me," He said quietly. "How could I be?" She asked, without the slightest hint of flippancy in her tone, and he realised that this was one question she'd probably wondered about, ever since Charlie was born. "You were utterly exhausted, red in the face, and calling me more names than I could have learnt at the local comprehensive," He said with a smile. "But you were still beautiful, because I loved everything about you, and because you were giving me Charlie. No matter what came later, I won't ever forget how much I loved you that day." "I think I just feel, that I can never quite live up to what you want me to be," She said quietly. "You either want me to be something I can't, such as a normal, loving mother, or you want me to stop being something I am, such as being in love with Karen. I love you more than I could ever love anyone else, but I can't be who you want me to be." As he put out his arms to her, she held up a hand. "No, John, please don't touch me, because if you do, I probably won't say half the things I need to say, and I'll almost certainly give into anything you ask of me. I can't give up Karen, no matter how much you might want me to, because she makes me feel good about myself. She doesn't expect anything of me, and she doesn't ask me to change who I am. She can even accept my not eating as a part of me, just as one of my little quirks. I don't have to fit into any particular category for her, because she doesn't make any direct or indirect demands for me to be something I'm not. Even when I'm not entirely honest with her, telling her I've eaten when I blatantly haven't, she isn't remotely cross with me. I know that sounds a very minor thing to appreciate, but it's really quite a big thing for me." "I know," He said, thinking that he hadn't heard her be this open about her problem with food for a long time. "How do you know?" She asked, looking him straight in the eye. "I had dinner with Karen last night," He told her. "And she gave me a very thought provoking verbal treatise, on the cause and effect of anorexia and addictions in general." George couldn't help smiling. "Oh, dear," She said, taking a sip of her lemonade to hide her laughter. "I hope it didn't shatter too many of your illusions." "Enough," He said seriously, bringing her gaze back on him again. "What she said, made me realise that I need to approach the relationship that exists between you and me, in an entirely different way. I know that I love you, but I somehow need to convince you of that, but I don't know how. When it comes to showing you that I love you, I'm used to doing that more by actions than by words, yet that doesn't seem to be good enough any more. I understand why it isn't, at least I think I do, but I'm not sure how to go about it in any other way." George was incredibly touched at his openness, because John hated admitting he didn't know how to do something, especially something as fundamental as telegraphing his feelings to her. "Darling, it's not that I need you to tell me in some other way," She said, a slight tremor in her voice. "Because sometimes I can't believe it, no matter how much you're saying it to me. Some days, I can't believe anything good about myself, which means that I can't accept anyone else's positive feelings for me. Making love always has, and always will be your primary way of telling anyone you love them, and I wouldn't ask you to change that because I know how difficult that would be. But occasionally, as on Monday for example, I can't get past the fact that you might just love sleeping with me. I can't usually understand that I may have given you a reason to love me, except for Charlie. That's why, when I say things like I did when we had that row, they hurt me more than they do anyone else. When I compared you to Fenner, I saw your urge to slap me." "I'm no Neil Haughton, George," He said firmly. "I wouldn't have done it." "No, but you wanted to do it," She said seriously. "And if I'm honest with you, part of me wishes you had." "Why?" He asked, staring at her in aghast amazement. "Because I knew I deserved it. I haven't said something quite so despicable since the Diana Hulsey trial. I really wouldn't have blamed you if you had slapped me. I felt so guilty for saying that to you, but like you, I didn't really know how to put it right." "Is that why you stopped eating again?" He asked, feeling that they were finally getting to the heart of the matter. "Partly," She admitted, steadily avoiding his gaze. "But it's never that clear cut. I think I stopped eating, because it hit me that I couldn't ever give you what you wanted from me. I loathe having to admit that you are what makes my life worth living, but you are, and after that argument, I thought I'd probably lost you for good." "Is that why you felt like dying?" He asked gently, making her look at him. Her eyes widening, George stared at him in shock. Her expression was one of pure humiliation. "Did you really expect Jo not to tell me?" He said, seeing that she had hoped exactly that. "No, not really," She said resignedly. "But I wish she hadn't. I didn't want you to know about that. I feel so stupid, and no doubt Jo thinks I am as well. But at the time, it seemed like the only sensible thing to do." "Don't ever, ever, see that as a sensible solution to a problem," He said vehemently but hoarsely, pulling her to him, almost as if to keep her safe for the rest of her life. "Even when we were barely speaking, you were a constant part of my life, and no, not just because of Charlie. You would always irritate me to distraction, every time you appeared before me in court, but I would never have had it any other way. Unless your sparring with Jo became particularly bitchy, which you are both quite capable of, it always amused me. My life wouldn't feel complete without you, ever. It crucifies me to think that I could have been the cause of you feeling so desperate. I don't know how I can possibly convince you of how much I love you, but I will do it, no matter what it takes. You probably won't believe you're hearing me say this, but it was extremely wrong of me to expect you to give up Karen, though I'm not sure that's the right way to put it. It just hurt me that I couldn't give you everything you wanted. But I really shouldn't have said the things I did, and I'm sorry, more sorry than you could ever imagine for making you feel like that." "Shh," She said, gently touching his cheek. "I know." They both had brief tears in their eyes, not having exchanged such emotional words in far too long. 

They sat like this for some time, just holding each other close. No more words were necessary, all their hurt having been torn out and disposed of. He didn't attempt to kiss her, but her nearness was making him want to show her that he loved her. Burying his face in her hair, he breathed in a long, slow breath, his nostrils twitching at the combination of grass, sweat and perfume that was present in her hair. "John, I'm hardly a bitch on heat," She said with a laugh, detaching herself from him. "I wish I could make love to you," He said, the words escaping him before he could stop them. "Right here and now." "Well, you can't," She said as he drew her back into his arms. "If your neighbours are away, why not?" He said mischievously. "Because Mother Nature said so," She told him, knowing that even he couldn't argue with this. "I thought that was last week," He said, inwardly cursing the creator of the female body. "Well, not eating for a few days, tends to jerk things like that around a bit. So I'm sorry, but you'll have to keep your lust in check for now." Lust or no lust, he thought, he still needed to be close to her. She fitted so snugly against him. When he kissed her, they could both taste the sharpness of the lemonade on each other's lips. "I know we can't actually..." She began, always unable to find quite the right words to describe their lovemaking. "...But, please will you stay?" "Yes, of course, He said, feeling an immense feeling of love and protectiveness towards her, for the way she had so tentatively asked him. She still felt unsure of needing his company when she couldn't provide his usual avenue of pleasure for him. It wasn't that she thought him fickle, it was just that she didn't believe enough in herself, to think that he might want to be with her no matter what they did or didn't do. As she went upstairs for a shower a little while later, John put the bag of rubbish in the garage, thinking that spending a normal, Sunday evening together, without the possibility of making love, wouldn't do either of them any harm. 


	113. Part One Hundred And Thirteen

Part One Hundred and Thirteen

That conversation only seemed like yesterday, Karen thought as she stared wide-eyed looking into the far distance through the cigarette smoke, which wafted in front of her. Her mind took her back to that gorgeous meal with George, and Nikki and Helen for company, a very low-key dinner for four. "Well, I'm working every night this week, so Trisha shouldn't get funny about me taking Saturday off," she remembered Nikki saying almost in a tone of defiance. "You're really not enjoying working with her, are you," she could hear herself saying.  
Nikki sounded pretty pissed off with her job. "No, but until I get any bright ideas about what to do next, it's all I've got." Nikki had seemed resigned, philosophical, as if knowing that she was stuck inside a bad relationship. That did not mean that she or any other long suffering partner, would up sticks and move out at the drop of a hat.

Karen inhaled deeply on her cigarette while her hand hesitated as to whether or not to press the buttons on her phone which would link her in to Nikki's place of work. It was one thing to feel dissatisfied with your job but quite another thing to contemplate jacking it in and taking up a line of work which she had seen at the sharp end, especially when that sharp end cut her on many occasions. It was these doubts, which caused her to back off putting her proposition to Nikki, which she had planned, and then continuing to edit and reedit her words, which ran round at the back of her mind.

Time was not on her side in finding a permanent wing governor. Gina, bless her, had held down the job brilliantly but she had made it clear that she was not cut out for long term responsibility in general and she was dreading the idea of the prospect of conducting all the annual reports. That event was creeping up on Karen. Gina had made it clear that she hated the thought of doing the interviews and writing up the reports when she knew that she would eventually end up amongst the very prison officers that she would otherwise sit in judgement over. Telling Sylvia to piss off face to face was one thing, but to put it down in writing that Sylvia was no bloody good and make it stick was another matter altogether.  
"Was Trisha all right about you having the night off?" she remembered asking her that night.  
"I expect she whinged about it, but to be honest, it goes in one ear and out the other these days. I'm so bored, that I'd even consider applying for a job at Larkhall if there was one going." It was that magic word 'Larkhall' which had switched the light bulb on in Karen's mind and, by degrees, the plan had evolved so that her pressing vacancy of a permanent Wing Governor, had been sitting right in front of her on the opposite side of George's dining table. It had seemed such a brilliantly inspirational idea at the time, but one which the proverbial morning after, she started to have her doubts as to whether she could pull off. It might have been a throwaway remark of Nikki's that she forgot about the next day. 

But then she was talking about Nikki. All the time she had known her, her reputation was for the bold, radical plan of action and as a leader bar none. She had even made her feel uncomfortable when, long ago, she had pointed out that it was not the very fearful Babs who had scrawled graffiti on the walls but Shell Dockley. That memory gave her a brief burst of confidence that, even then, she had that shining quality that lifted her out of the ordinary. Unquestionably, she was beyond the reach of the plodders that were possible rival candidates for the job of wing governor on G Wing.The question was, as she finished the cigarette and stubbed it out in her ashtray, was whether Nikki would see it that way and want to apply for the job. What Helen's reaction to Nikki being willing to take the job on would be, was something that Karen dared not contemplate. Suddenly, Karen stubbed out her cigarette with as forceful a gesture at the dawning of the moment of decision. What the hell, she had nothing to lose by trying, certainly not Nikki's friendship. Secretly, she knew that she would rise to the occasion when she was plagued by self-doubt. All it took was that length of time to work it through in her mind.  
"Is that Nikki?" she heard her own crisp voice with no hesitation in any syllable.  
"None other than me," That well modulated voice answered.  
"I wanted to put a proposition to you that you might be interested in. Strictly business, not personal"  
Karen's voice as she heard it sounded a bit blunt but how else could she put it? Her heart jumped in her mouth as she waited for the reaction.  
"I'm intrigued. How do you want to take it further?" "Can I come and talk about it in person." "No time like the present. What say you come over to the club." With perfect aplomb, Nikki rattled out the directions to the club, which Karen scribbled them down, not trusting to her memory in a situation like this. When Karen put the phone down, she was zooming skywards in her spirits on a high. When Nikki put the phone down, her mind was ticking over the possibilities. Karen had given away more than she thought she had. There was an obvious work connection that concerned either her or the club or both faint suspicions lurked at the back of her mind but that was too fantastic and absurd to contemplate, wasn't it?

Karen pulled her car up outside the club, which up till then was an abstraction, the symbol of what had first lifted her out of the ordinary even when she was at Larkhall. She spotted the round purple sign with "Chix" very stylishly inscribed on it. She pushed open the front door and she made her way up the flight of stairs to Nikki's office. The door was wide open as she heard angry voices raised.  
"Trish, we've had a deal that you deal with all the promotional work and new ideas, hiring and firing is down to me. That's the way we've always run the club….since before I was inside, in all the years that we were together." A brief spasm of pain contorted Nikki's face as ancient wounds were brought to the surface and unsteadied her voice before she brought it under control. "That's the way it's always been. You're better at your side and I'm better at mine." "This is a one off, Nik. I don't normally interfere but……." "…….this time you will interfere." "I have my reasons," Trisha said coldly, her eyes not really looking directly at the other woman.  
"Oh yeah? They had better be total blinders," Nikki answered scornfully. "You're getting emotional and starting to get things out of proportion." Jesus, this woman is like an emotional iceberg. She's got harder and colder in the last few years than I realised. Perhaps, I've had so little to deal with her that I've never noticed, Nikki thought ruefully.  
"Let's look at the facts," Nikki said evenly. "She's worked only for a few weeks but I had a tip off that she was pushing drugs in the club. I left it until I could check over the CCTV camera and sure enough, you can see the money changing hands into her pockets and it wasn't smarties that she was selling. To make it worse, she went sick on Wednesday, guess what, overdose of smarties. I had to persuade Rhiannon to cover for her. She wasn't really ready to do it but she helped pull us out of the shit. I had it out with her on Friday and it was crack cocaine that she had been selling. She was guilty as charged and I gave her the push and now I hear she sneaked behind my back and has told you a sob story……" "She saw me this morning and said that she was really sorry and wouldn't do it again and, all things considered, I thought I'd give her one last chance." "You cannot be real in wanting to give that tart who was pushing drugs in the club just a slap on the wrist?" "We've run through far too many barmaids in the past year or so because they don't come up to your exacting standards. It's affecting our profits…." "Oh, so this isn't a one off?" "Like I say, times have changed in the club scene. You might not have noticed it while you were …away, but 'clean' drugs have become quite normal these days. If you kick out every barmaid and punter who takes a little Charlie every so often…." "Clean drugs? You've been reading too many magazines. My three years inside told me that drugs are anything but clean and they wreck women's lives…" "You're talking about all that horrible stuff with needles. That's for the down and outs. A little Charlie helps make any party go with a bang. It's a normal and average in clubland, dear." Nikki saw red at this one. If there was anything that could be calculated to rouse her anger, it was that mind numbingly empty headed prattle about being normal. Jesus, she had fought against that with all the fire in her soul for so many years, right from when her enquiring mind started to take her outside the cosy boxed world of her childhood.  
"So, Trisha, are you planning to join the world of the average woman, the one who is married with a man and has two point four children. God knows how it is possible for any woman to have a point four child, that always beats me. Only thing is, you're gay so you don't quite fit." "I just don't see any need to flaunt my differences. I can get along quite nicely by joining in with the crowd and where the party is, these days. You make your sexuality something to be a martyr about. I just want to let the punters decide what they want…." "Oh punters, Trish. Is that what you call them. They all used to be our friends, women who could come and be themselves and we provided a place that they could do that….." "….yes, yes, yes," Trisha butted in, eager to consign the past to the past. "The club has got bigger, that's all and a lot of the old timers have moved on. We're running a business or hadn't you noticed? I simply want to save all the hassle in having to rush around getting a replacement barmaid every so often just because you've got some kind of puritan hang-up about …….." "Drugs. That's what they call it. In case you don't know it, I did time and saw quite enough drugs and what they do to women. I've got a mate whose late husband had half the drugs trade sewn up. She told me a thing or two about what goes down." "I'm not changing my mind, Nik," Trisha said, her blue eyes looking through that over blond hair that fell in curtains either side of her face. Nikki had been standing up, facing Trisha while their row echoed its way through the screen of glass windows. The direction she was looking was a little angled away from where Karen was rooted to the floor. Nikki wasn't conscious of her while she fought this ding dong battle and all her anger and contempt spilled out and resounded round the plush office and echoed down the staircase.

At that last comment, something snapped within Nikki and she stormed out of the office and straight into Karen's line of vision. Visible signs of furious anger and huge relief chased each other across Nikki's very expressive features. "Thank God you're here, Karen. We're going to the back room to talk." "What are you doing, Nik.We haven't finished getting the club ready for tonight." "Oh yeah, we've finished all right I'm going with a friend of mine away to the downstairs room. Don't ever think of coming after me and keep out of the way for the rest of the day." "Wait till I tell Helen about this one," Trisha said nastily, all her pent up jealousy over the past few years finally boiling up to the surface.  
"Don't worry, Nikki will tell her," cut in Karen in her best self-composed fashion. All the time that the row went on, natural reticence held her back from joining in a row that wasn't her business. Once this unpleasant woman had pulled her into the argument then she got what was coming to her.  
"Come on," Nikki urged, desperate to put as many feet as she could between her and Trisha. They clattered down the staircase, Nikki pushed open the door wide and they entered the dance floor.  
Even in daytime, it suggested enough of a magic world with a high ceiling, overhead spotlights and an opulent bar behind which were recesses surrounded by lines of lights which must transform the club into a magic wonderland, and one which must be tantalisingly different from the run of the mill club. Karen was truly impressed with it. Nikki hurried on, opened the hatch and let them through to a small cosy room. "I'm the only one to use this room so I guess it's mine," Nikki said conversationally as she dropped into a chair and gestured for Karen to do the same. "I'm sorry for that drama, Karen. You should get a better welcome to this part of my life. You deserve it." The simple words were pure Nikki and touched Karen to the core. In all the angularities of her present life, her solid friendship was something that would never change, like Nikki herself. It was something that she was grateful for, as she was far too conscious that she had inadvertantly dropped in at a time when Nikki might make a quick impulsive decision far too easily. If Karen had anything to do with it, Nikki had to take her time to think the whole idea through for both their sakes. "I'm not sure how to say this, but have you ever thought of changing your career?" "After what you've seen, very easily. This row has been a long time coming Karen. You happened to drop in at a time when everything was just waiting to explode. I can't see myself running a gay club for the rest of my life. In fact, I can't see myself being involved for very much longer…..." Nikki's voice was calm and level as she plucked these rock bottom truths out of thin air and fell into a reflective silence as she mulled over the implications. Then her memory retrieved the phone conversation she had with Karen earlier on and her very clear brown eyes focussed in on Karen as she spoke.  
"You didn't come round to pass the time of day, Karen. I remember that you had this mysterious proposition to put to me." Karen's mouth was dry as she felt Nikki's expressive eyes focus in on her. This was make or break time, in some ways worse for the gradual build up than if some medical emergency had broken out on the wing, triggering in her the surge of adrenaline for immediate action. She licked her lips to moisten them.  
"Ah well, what I was leading up to Nikki…" "…it's the longest intro that I've ever heard," Nikki interjected mischievously.  
"………is how would you feel about the possibility of being G Wing's next Wing Governor?" A strange feeling flooded through every sensation feeling part of Nikki's body. So she was on the right lines with that off the wall possibility which had lurked earlier at the back of her mind. She felt as if the foundations of the club had slid slightly askew but no, it was her foundations, which had shifted. Karen looked anxiously at Nikki's wide-open mouth and distant eyes till she found her voice.  
"Can I fly to the moon?" Nikki heard her own lips utter the words faintly.  
"I mean it, Nikki. There's a vacancy for a Wing Governor for G Wing and I feel certain, no I know that you would be the best person for the job." Karen was everlastingly grateful for the way her own voice gathered firmness and conviction while her repeated words began to sink in on Nikki's consciousness.  
"I can see why you didn't drop that one on me over the phone. I mean it's a huge compliment you're paying me, but……." "……would you want to do the job?" finished Karen for her. "That's the first question." Nikki said nothing as she breathed deeply and she started to run over the possibilities in her mind while Karen respected her silence and kept her vow not to crowd her.  
"Can you tell me why you think I would be up to the job?" Nikki asked quietly as the way opened up in front of her.  
"If you don't mind me saying so, you demonstrated better than my words could say just now why you are up to the job. I hope you think that I'm not trying to take advantage of the situation." "No, go ahead," Nikki reassured her. "The first thing is that you care about people. You've got principles, which you'll stick by and will go to the wall for, where you have to. You've got that ability to reason with people that's second to none, and you have that infallible grasp of what's around you, of people and business organization. I can see that you've had years of responsibility, and I cringe when I think how badly underrated you were, by people we knew who I don't care to mention…….." Karen paused as she collected her thoughts and to wish away unpleasant memories which her words had conjured up. "You've got that spark and drive which I can't put into words, but I know in my own mind that I can just see you doing the job like no other person could." Karen's words came from the heart with as much intensity of conviction as if she were testifying in court from the witness stand. In turn, Nikki couldn't believe what she had heard as those kind words flowed down her like honey and released so much of the tension within her from the row with that cold mercenary stranger who was a million miles away from her in spirit. She had got on great with Karen ever since the run up to the trial had steered her back into hers and Helen's lives. In her usual self-effacing modesty, she had no idea that Karen thought so highly of her. "I can see what you're getting at, Karen," Nikki said with a half smile as these words came straight up from her unconscious as she whittled away at her barriers to accepting Karen's offer. "But I can see myself having an odd crisis of conscience or three." It was that brutal honesty with herself that forced buried memories of her past to test this decision to the limit.  
"Listen darling, I don't even know how people like you can sleep at night, if you believe in a system which locks up pregnant women." That cold anger with which she had flung these words, yes, into Helen's face echoed in her mind.  
"Well, you're just going to have to trust me. I don't." Even she could see that Helen's passionate anger was directed, not at her but at herself. Could Nikki trust herself that another angry rebel would hurl that very same question in her face sometime in the future? How could a future Nikki as Wing Governor ever answer that question and how can Karen answer that question that Nikki now laid before her?

"I can see that I could end up as part of an organisation where sometimes, I'll not only disagree with what I'm supposed to do, but also with what I'm supposed to make those for whom I'm responsible do as well. How do I work my way round that?" "There's no easy answer," Karen started to say as the highly probing questions forced her to draw upon the full depth and detail of her career in the prison service. "If you have a problem, you can always come to me, and if I can't find an answer, I'd go to Neil Grayling at Area. Besides, you have the idea that you always have to work officially. There are times, very rarely, but they do happen when you have to be prepared to work unofficially where you have to. No book about the prison service will tell you this but it's true. Remember the sit in against that attempt to privatise Larkhall that Yvonne organised with all the old lags on G Wing…..." At this point, Karen smiled fondly at the memory.  
"……By that I mean all those with nerve and determination to act rather than let everything roll over them with barely a whimper. Well, I was at the back of that as I gently hinted to Yvonne that she sabotaged the presentation." "You really did that?" asked Nikki in total wonder, not sure who she imagined herself to be at that point, the rebel prisoner of old or the wing governor she increasingly hoped that she would be.  
"Just don't forget, you're not on your own like…" Karen started to say but cut off the comparison with her present situation where, at work, she could see that Nikki was on her own no matter how helpful Helen might be at nighttime to talk things over. Nikki shuddered at the thought as the reality of her present situation came back to her with a wallop. That week or so at Lauren Atkins' trial had been blissful in a bizarre way as she was back with an extraordinary mixed crowd of women but all with a similar sympathy. After the trial, she had lost that sense of community as the workaday trudge through week after week of late nights at the club had taken over. She was sort of her own boss but dealing with Trisha where, as she now saw, a subtle battle for control had crept in and now finally, she was losing that battle. She laughed quietly to herself.  
"What's up, Nikki?" "Just that Larkhall could be my freedom and I have to make a break from being trapped in a job and a situation that I don't believe in any more. It's time to say farewell to that part of my past. Just give me a little while so that I can think this through in my mind." Karen knew that it was no earthly use than to let Nikki work in her own way on this. She sat back in her chair while a companionable silence descended on the two women in that little room. The club seemed a mile away where, somehow, things were being taken care of. At least nobody disturbed them.  
"All right, I think I'm basically convinced," Nikki said at last, to Karen's total incredulity. She never thought that Nikki could move that quick and expected to have to wait a day or so at the least. "There's one question. Haven't you got to sell this idea to this Neil Grayling? Isn't he going to think that you've taken leave of your senses, I mean looking from his point of view?" "That's my problem, Nikki," Karen said with perfect aplomb. "Where there's a will, there's a way." "Well," grinned Nikki for the first time for what seemed years. "I'll drink to that. My version of this is in telling Helen and hoping she won't have a heart attack." "Are you sure that's going to be all right?" "Absolutely. If I had been only half convinced of this idea, there's no way I could convince her of it. Now that I am convinced, I stand a chance." An idea started to whizz round Karen's mind about how she might help out in this respect but she couldn't pursue it right then as Nikki had to get her whole attention. A dawning smile of understanding spread across Nikki's face as her sharp memory picked up on Karen's passing retort to Trisha upstairs.  
"That's why you told that tart that I'd be telling Helen all about what we're up to." Karen nodded her head impishly, a little smirk at the corners of her mouth. She was starting to come down off that frozen peak of sheer nerves and she felt good and relaxed inside as she senses the reality of the way the future might unfold.  
"You've heaped a lot of bouquets on me that make me feel that, yes, there's something else that I could be doing with my life. It took me a long while after I left school to at least get this club together. It was an important part of my life but I can see that it has moved on and away from where I started, thanks to Trisha." "I meant every word I said. There's one thing I forgot to say and it's that I admire the way that you're better at admitting your mistakes than I am," Karen added earnestly.  
"Like me saying 'piss off like I told the other tart.' That was me opening my big gob," Nikki grinned.  
"I said that you're better than me that way, not that you're perfect," Karen laughed. That first ever dramatic three corner clash of wills down there in the segregation block was transforming through time and friendship into what could be their standing joke. "To be fair to you, you had your reasons as Helen filled me in on eventually. Just as an example, I've just had a big argument with Yvonne who criticised me in her inimitable way in letting Denny Blood have her way in seeing Shell Dockley at Ashmore. She's afraid that it will set Denny back into being the way she used to be and went on to accuse me of overcompensating towards Shell Dockley." "And were you?" Nikki asked in her direct fashion.  
Jesus, it's like having a spotlight being trained in my eyes, Karen thought. Maybe it might do me some good.  
"There might be something in that point of view," Came Karen's elaborate answer.  
Suddenly Nikki looked at her watch. Jesus, the afternoon seemed to be ages long but everything had happened in just one hour. Her eyes and ears flickered between Karen and the world on the other side of that door.  
Karen sensed Nikki's unease. She had Trisha and the club to deal with however much her world was changing.  
"I know that you've got a club to run in the meantime." "So what happens now?" "I'll get on to Neil at Area, drop him the news and hopefully you'll have an interview." "The boot's on the other foot." Smiled Nikki."I normally do the interviews." "I'll keep you posted," Karen said in her brisk businesslike fashion. Then she added in a more reflective tone. "I remember shaking your hand last time you were at Larkhall saying that you had a lot to offer the world and I hoped you had a chance to prove it. Little did I know." "And me too." Nikki showed Karen out into the echoing space of the dance floor and escorted Karen out of the front door. She wished she could join her but she had a job to do till then. First thing to do is to find another place for Rhiannon Dawson to work with any decent friend she could remember from the past. The way drugs were creeping into the club, she might as well be at Larkhall. "Coming, Trisha," She called back as that voice called after her. She had work to do but her future pointed elsewhere if she could persuade Helen that she was doing the right thing. 


	114. Part One Hundred And Fourteen

Part One Hundred and Fourteen

Nikki's front door key fumbled for the slot in the lock, pushed it in and twisted it to let herself in. She never wanted to disturb Helen who was sometimes asleep by the time she got in. This time, she could here her light footsteps coming to meet her and to bring the blessing of melting into her arms and letting the aches and pains in her body be soothed away. She feared that tonight would be different. 

The last few hours had been a sustained grotesque pantomime of hypocrisy that made Nikki want to throw up to make herself feel pure and uncontaminated once again. She had been very nice to Trisha and Trisha had been very nice to her. Nikki conceded that the barmaid would have one last chance and, if she were caught again, Trisha would hand out her marching orders personally. It was the least she could do to show willing and take a little of the responsibility off Nikki.That little disagreement was surely a misunderstanding which could be easily rectified, given good will on both sides. Nikki smiled her tightest smile so much that her facial muscles protested their pain in sympathy. Trisha was definitely moving in on what was left of her pitch. On that one evening, they both worked at the club to help make the party go with a swing one more time.  
"Night, Trisha, I'll see you when I see you," Called out Nikki's very carrying voice from the passageway to the front door. Once she would have picked her up to take her home as she did that fateful night. "We must meet up again, Nik.It was fun for both of us to work together for a change." Trisha's voice could be heard trailing faintly in the distance as Nikki pushed open the front door to let the fresh air in from the outside darkness.

Helen spread her arms wide, dressed in a short nightie as a dog-tired Nikki stumbled into her arms and their lips met in a long deep kiss. It seemed to Helen that she was part holding Nikki up in case she dropped to the floor. She had been looking peaky recently as Helen's experienced eye told her that work pressures were getting to Nikki. Last Sunday, that blissful day in the week was already a day away and it seemed that they lived for that precious amount of quality time. At least, Helen reflected sometimes, they had that assurance they would get it which was a big step up from life at Larkhall.  
"Helen, there's something important I want to talk over with you." The advantage with Nikki's tiredness was that she hadn't even got the energy to devote to worrying what she would say to Helen. She trusted that her words would fall into place at the right time. With a last tender caress of Helen's bare skin on her shoulders, Nikki collapsed into an armchair and let a few moments pass while she collected her thoughts. Helen raised her eyebrows but said nothing.  
"I've been thinking over my future some time, I mean what I do for a living and I can't see a future in the club. I want to pack it in." There it was the words right out there in the open, a more precise formulation of what she had first said to Karen.  
"I've got the feeling that it doesn't mean the same to you as it once did." Helen's tactful reply edged closer to the heart of the matter. "but you've got a half share in it and half the right to make of it what you will." "The problem is that it doesn't feel that way half the time, in fact most of the time, believe me. This has been a long time coming and I had an almighty row with Trisha tonight and that has put the tin lid on things," Nikki said bitterly and paused as the tiredness in every bone in her body swept over her in a huge tidal wave.  
"That can't surely be it? There must be more to it than that," Helen pursued. She knew that Nikki would sometimes complain about Trisha from time to time but this seemed to have blown up from nowhere. "You're right, Hel, it goes deeper than that. Let's put it this way, one reason is that the club has just become an impersonal money making machine when once it was for our friends. The second reason is that I'm fighting a losing battle to stop drugs spreading into the club, aided and abetted, I might say by Trisha. The third reason is that I can't stand to work with that tart any more as she's on a completely different planet professionally and the fourth reason is that I worked hard to get my degree and I could be doing something better in my life than smiling false smiles at someone else's party. I've had enough." Helen was amazed that even though the words dragged their way wearily out of her mouth, that incisively reasoning mind of Nikki Wade still functioned. "That sounds like all the reasons in the world, Nikki, but what will you do instead?" Nikki swallowed and became very nervous. She knew how Helen felt about Larkhall even to the point of ducking out of getting involved with a civil court case to settle scores with that bastard Fenner once and for all.  
"What's this leading up to?" Helen asked anxiously.  
"I've had a possible job offer if everything pans out right. It is Wing Governor job at a …a…prison," Nikki stammered.  
"You're joking, Nikki." The words escaped from Helen's mouth and her face was frozen with shock as sheer panic made her deny the evidence that her ears were telling her mind. "Not Larkhall?" Helen added in a whisper, barely articulating the words.  
Nikki nodded, unable to speak for a second before she was compelled to add the final words, which had a grotesque precision to this nightmare.  
"And it's on G Wing, Helen." Helen sought refuge from her growing panic by reaching out for facts and figures. It was just as well that she found something to bind herself down to the earth as otherwise she would have wanted to crawl her way through the armchair to some foetal position where nothing could harm her.  
"You didn't find this out by browsing round the local Job Centre in your lunch break. Someone came to you to ask you about it. It was…." "Karen," Nikki finished for her. As she related the bare facts of the story, she began to get a tenuous grip on herself. "She phoned me up at work and said that she had a proposition I might be interested in. Karen came round when I was in the middle of an almighty row with Trisha and explained the situation." "And how in God's name is she going to sell this one to area personnel. No disrespect to you Nikki but I know how narrow minded people like them are and that they have long memories." "Karen will put this to Neil Grayling who used to be governing governor and is now at area." "She must be mad. Wait till I catch up with her. No matter how much she wants a good wing governor, she has no right to lug you into a job at that place. She knows how badly treated you were when you were there last time." "I'll have to have an interview first and get over that hurdle before I even think of jacking it in at the club. If you think I'm mad for even thinking of taking the job, Karen's equally mad by your logic for trying to fix it for me to have an interview with people who are bound to know every bit of my past. She's got the courage of her convictions to try, and if area blow her idea away, then there's no interview, no job at Larkhall." Nikki's tired but faultless logic brought Helen up short. Nikki was surely right in all these points but the idea was mad and dangerous.  
"I mean it, I'll give Karen a piece of my mind when I see her next," Fumed Helen. "I don't want you to be put through what I went through at Larkhall. I barely got away with my sanity even if it left me free at last to love you." The full range of emotions ran through Helen's words, anger at Karen, that fierce protectiveness for Nikki at even contemplating this act of folly. "You can't blame it all on Karen. If I wanted to, I could have told her very nicely that she was wasting her time." Helen couldn't answer as it was easier to direct her anger at Karen as a very convenient target. Nikki, bless her, was being her very sweet self and standing up for Karen. That made it harder for Helen. Her passionate love for Nikki made her never cease to bless that fortune that set her on the path that joined them together. "You're thinking of Larkhall the way it used to be and not the way it is now," Gently urged Nikki.  
"It will never change. I swear the place is cursed and so is everyone who goes there." "It brought us together." "That's true." Helen gave a half smile as it reminded her that she and Nikki hadn't been always together. After these years, it just felt that they had been together all their lives but hadn't known it. It wasn't only Nikki who was an open romantic these days. "Tell me how hard it was, Helen. We don't often talk about that side of Larkhall, only our love and the laughs." "I felt a frozen fear in my guts all the time I came up against those backstabbing bastards. I had the whole sodding mafia against me, devious bastards who would gang up against me and go behind my back. I remember looking at the expressions on their faces trying to peer into me for any sign of weakness, anything they could use to twist and turn back on me later on. There was something about them that made me angry even before they spoke. I had to build up an iron wall in front of them rather than show any weakness. The wonder of it all was that I lasted the course as long as I did without cracking. And, yeah, I was naïve when I started. Remember my crusade against drugs." Nikki pulled a face. "How could I forget? You actually thought I was taking drugs only because I was that gobby, stroppy bitch determined to give you as hard a time as possible and not give you an inch." "But that's how it was, Nikki. Strong as you are, the job could break even you," Helen replied allowing herself the brief detour of a faint smile at Nikki's droll description of herself before pressing her intense concern at the foolhardiness of Nikki's idea.

"That was then, Helen. Things have changed since then. I'll have Karen as Governing Governor and not a lazy waste of space like Stubberfield." An idea was forming in Nikki's mind. Helen ought to see Larkhall for herself and lay some ghosts that had never lain in their unquiet graves, as they should have done. The difference was that these ghosts were of the people as they then were, whether living or dead. She resolved that this idea can only come from Helen. It was not up to her to try to impose it on her and it wouldn't work on someone as stubborn as Helen anyway.  
"You're forgetting another thing and that is that Fenner's dead. We went to the trial, remember?" Helen's eyes went glazed. She had forgotten that very basic fact. Nevertheless, her mind refused to function. She could never see in her mind's eye the PO's room without that presence. Where she had fought such bitter battles, she could picture that brooding figure, sometimes standing at the back, sometimes sitting in a chair next to Sylvia and always plotting. Sometimes his voice was smooth like honey, seemingly compliant and other times cold and contemptuous, trying to cut her down. She couldn't imagine Larkhall without him.  
"All right, I'll give you that one. But Fenner did not originate all the evil that took place at Larkhall. Someone must have initiated him into it, so that it stretches back till who knows when. Do you know who you'll have to deal with on G Wing?" "I'm not sure. Bodybag will be there for sure but I know I can handle her. She's a cow but she's stupid. She needs someone like Fenner to feed off." A brief gleam of hope dawned in Nikki as Helen was unconsciously talking as if she were in the job and discussing details. "Don't be too complacent, Nikki. You ought to be very careful what you're letting yourself in for……." Even at this late hour, the wheels in Helen's mind started turning over as at least temporarily, she was starting to reduce this paralysing living nightmare into a dealable problem, bits of which could be unravelled.  
"I tell you what, Nikki. If you ask my opinion…." "….I'll get it whether I ask or not," smiled Nikki.  
"OK, you've got my opinion whether you like it or not," Helen responded playfully touching Nikki on the end of her nose. "I've got the strongest reservations about you taking on this job always supposing that Karen gets area onside and that is a big 'if.' I know that I can't stand in your way in going for this job so I'll put a question to you, which you'll get asked later on in spadefuls. Exactly why do you think that you are suitable for the job of wing governor at Larkhall prison." Nikki blinked at the challenging smile on Helen's face. Jesus, I might as well explain Einstein's theory of relativity at three in the morning. With her last reserves of strength in her mind,  
"I've always been good at helping people, talking to them, understanding them. That goes back to when I was a teenager. I know as no other wing governor does how prisoners think and feel, and I am sure I've got the practical abilities to help them and to help prison officers do their job properly. I've got strict standards of what is right or wrong and I'm perfectly able to impose discipline when I need to on both sides of the wire, only it will be based on reason." She had to hand it to Nikki that the sheer simplicity and sincerity sounded good. She knew that, unlike anyone else she knew, Nikki was promising less of what she could deliver rather than more.  
"Well, Nikki Wade," She said at last, reaching forwards to slip Nikki's jacket off her shoulders. "In a totally detached mad sort of way, a part of me understands your reasonings but I can't do anything about my gut instinct about this. You have to give me time while I get my head round this. It makes me angry with myself," and here she grinned slightly,"that here I am, a practising psychologist and I can't get my own feelings together when my girlfriend wants to change her job, nothing exactly life threatening." "I wouldn't expect anything less, darling," Nikki's soft voice caressed her in return.  
If there was one thing that they were both sure of, it was for Nikki's clothes to be shed as quickly as possible and for them to make love briefly before Helen had to face the next day. They needed the feel and taste of each other's bodies if only to reassure each other and themselves.As she lay in Nikki's arms, Helen's mind was immediately made up that it was down to her to scout out the ground and at least see what sort of hornet's nest Nikki was intending to walk into and see for herself what the place is like on her own account as she'll never put the nightmare that was G Wing behind her. The visit was half for her benefit as well as half for Nikki's. 


	115. Part One Hundred And fifteen

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Fifteen

On the Tuesday morning, after a very interrupted night's sleep following Nikki's revelation, Helen drove to work feeling very out of sorts. Her mood wasn't improved any further, to arrive at work, finding that two of her patients for the morning had either cancelled or changed their appointments, and that the one she was really worried about, simply hadn't shown. She could have done with an extra few hours in bed, and now she was at a loose end until the afternoon. She couldn't quite get her mind off what Nikki had told her the night before. From what Nikki had said, Karen really was serious about this. It wasn't some pie in the sky thing that Karen would dismiss at the first hurdle from area. It was something Karen had clearly thought about for a while now, something she really believed she could put into practice. It would be a marvelous opportunity for Nikki, Helen knew that, but could she really let her do it? Could she really allow Nikki to go back into the place that had given them both so much hell? Not, she realised with sudden clarity, without discussing it with Karen first. Glancing at the clock and seeing that it was just after ten, Helen picked up the phone. When Karen answered, she sounded business-like and professional, just what Helen would want in Nikki's future boss. "Karen," She said, not really knowing how to ask the question that was uppermost in her mind. "I thought I'd be hearing from you," Karen replied, after recognising the gentle Scottish burr that she could never mistake. "Are you busy?" Helen asked. "Yes, but it's nothing that can't be postponed." "Can I come and see you?" "You want to come here?" Karen asked, astounded at Helen's veiled request. "I think," Helen told her slowly. "That for me to be able to support Nikki in doing what she wants to do, I need to lay a few ghosts." "Of course," Karen said gently, understanding in an instant Helen's need to lay the past to rest. "Could you come in about half an hour?" "Sure," Helen said, feeling a little more certain of what she needed to do. "Is this really all right?" "Yes," Karen told her gently but firmly. "I think it'll do you good." 

As Helen drove the familiar route to Larkhall, she wondered if she really was doing the right thing. She hadn't driven this particular route for years, not since she'd left, threatening to take Fenner down with her, but she still knew it like the back of her hand. As she approached the barrier, she remembered the day she'd arrived to the news of Carol Byatt's miscarriage. She'd been applying her mascara whilst sat in a traffic jam, and had arrived at the gatelodge with it smudged in entirely the wrong places. There'd been an interminable delay before they'd let her through, and she knew they'd all been laughing at her. But this time, she gave her name to the officer on duty, and the barrier was raised forthwith. Karen had obviously run down and told them she was coming. Driving into a space marked for visitors, Helen switched off the engine. The old place hadn't really changed, not in all the time since she'd last been here. Her eyes strayed up to the familiar cell window, almost as if she expected to see Nikki's face behind the bars. When she got out of the car, she saw Karen walking towards her, having obviously been alerted by the gatelodge. As Helen stood, her eyes again straying back up to the window that had once held the answers to her dreams, Karen reached her. "That was Nikki's window, wasn't it," She said quietly. "I used to look up at that window, every single morning," Helen said almost wistfully, giving herself a mental shake. She was here to bury old memories, not resurrect them. "It feels strange," Karen told her, as they walked towards the gatelodge. "You being here again, after all this time." "And it'll feel even stranger if Nikki comes back to be Wing Governor," Helen replied. 

They were silent as they traversed the corridors up to Karen's office, and Helen briefly wondered if she would have changed it much since she'd been in residence. But when Karen pushed open the door, Helen could see that very little had changed. The only real differences were the ashtray on the desk, accompanied by a photograph that immediately caught Helen's attention, and a couple of pieces of furniture that were clearly of Karen's personal choice. Saying that she would make them some coffee, as her secretary was away, Karen briefly left Helen to it. When the door had closed, Helen picked up the photograph, examining it in great detail. How like Karen he looked, with the same blue eyes and fair complexion, and with his thick blonde hair flopping over his face. How healthy and alive he looked, nothing like the patient who had refused to show this morning, who was of a similar age to the boy in this picture, but who was a million miles from him in looks and temperament. When Karen returned, she smiled when she saw Helen looking at the photo of Ross. "Have you heard from him lately?" Helen asked, putting the photo back on the desk. "No, not for a while," Karen said, handing her a mug of coffee and sitting down on the sofa. "Which means he's obviously not desperate for money." As Helen sat down near her, she wondered how to brooch the subject of what she was doing here, but Karen introduced it for her. 

"So, tell me why you're here," Karen invited, reaching for her cigarettes and offering Helen one. "Last night," Helen began, taking a long drag of the cigarette. "I couldn't believe what I was hearing. You, one of my closest friends, were actually suggesting that Nikki come back here, that she come and work in the place that made her life hell for three years. I was so angry at what I thought you were asking of her, of both of us, that I could have wrung your bloody neck when she first told me about it. But gradually, as she very slowly and carefully explained the logic of it to me, I began to see that you were right. Nikki does want to do this job, because she feels she can do it. I can't stand in the way of that, I wouldn't want too. Nikki has a drive to improve the lives of others, that you and I can only dream of. She will put everything she has into this job and more, and I'm not about to stop her doing that, just because the thought of her coming back here scares the living daylights out of me. It doesn't matter that Fenner's dead, because the fear I have of this place is completely irrational." "It is perfectly understandable that you feel like this," Karen said, gently touching Helen's hand. "You wouldn't be human if you didn't have some reaction to coming back here after everything that happened. But if seeing the crime scene of one of your worst nightmares is what you need to do, then fine, we'll do it. I know you want to support Nikki in doing this, but I also know that if you've still got the threat of Larkhall and its inhabitants hanging over you, you won't be able to support her decision." "I wouldn't blame you if you thought I'd completely lost it," Helen said with a self-deprecating smile. "Of course I don't," Karen said fondly. "And I bet there's the odd place that will trigger good memories as well as bad." "There are a couple," Helen said, not quite meeting Karen's eyes. "Then we'll visit those as well, and you can fill me in as to their secrets." 

The first place they needed to go was to the G wing Governor's office, because it was only polite to inform Gina that Karen was taking a visitor down onto the wing. Gina was surprised to see Helen, and wasted no time in asking if Helen was coming back to work at Larkhall. "Not as such, Gina," Helen told her evasively, which made Gina instantly curious. "I think I might have found a replacement," Karen said, to try to assuage some of Gina's insatiable need for information. "But I can't tell you any more at the moment." Saying that it was perfectly all right with her if they went down onto the wing, Gina had to be content with knowing little more than she had before they'd appeared. 

When they'd left Gina's office, Karen asked, "So, where do you want to go first?" "The art room," Helen said decisively. "Start somewhere good." "Now I really am intrigued," Karen said with a smile, leading the way through the familiar corridors, locking the gates behind them with the ever resounding clink of metal on metal. As they passed through the library that had been refurbished after Snowball's bomb, Helen felt a brief surge of fury that someone could have so ruthlessly kindled the most culturally diverse part of the prison. But when they stepped into the art room, a slow, gentle, utterly soul deep smile spread over her face. Karen watched as Helen walked meditatively round the room, taking in every inch of its space. "Not long after I came back," She began. "Me and Nikki came here for a bit of time together. It was on the day Yvonne tried to escape. I remember Nikki saying that we'd be quite safe here. Nikki started kissing me, and I told her we needed to talk. She said that talking was what you did afterwards. That was the first time we really did talk about what we were doing. Apart from when she got out on the night of Sylvia's party, I think here was one of the happiest memories I have of when Nikki was here." When Helen returned to Karen's side, they walked back through the library in silence, Karen realising that she was about to learn the answers to a whole host of unanswered questions. 

When Karen let them out of a side door, and they began walking across the prison gardens, Helen said, "Nikki was always happy when she was out here. She has the same affinity with plants as Sean. I brought him here a couple of times, to give gardening classes to some of the women. He wasn't an unmitigated success with the likes of Shell Dockley." Karen laughed at this. "Nikki always used to retreat out here when everything got a bit too much." As they neared the potting shed, they saw Denny, sweat running down her face from the sun, and clearly weeding one of the flowerbeds. Taking advantage of the short heat wave, Denny had removed her T-shirt, which left her top half clad only in a very grubby bra. "Denny," Karen called out to her as they approached. "T-shirt back on, if you don't mind." "I'm just getting some sun, Miss, innit," Denny replied, grabbing her discarded T-shirt from where it hung on the open shed door, and pulling it over her head. When she was again suitably attired, she took note of who was accompanying Karen. "Miss Stewart," She said in surprise. "Are you coming back to work here?" "No, Denny, I'm not," Helen told her. "How are you?" She asked, wanting to deflect any further questions. "I'm still here, innit," Denny told her bleakly. "Do you like gardening?" "Yeah, it gets me outside, only it's still inside. Shaz used to do it. So, when she died, Miss Betts let me take over." 

A little while later as they walked towards the door that led onto G wing, Karen could feel Helen's nervousness. "Are you sure you want to do this?" She asked. "I've got too," Helen said with determination in her voice. "The longer I put it off, the harder it will be." The first people they met on closing the gate of G wing behind them, were the two Julies who, having recognised Helen, had come over to see what was going on. "You remember Helen, don't you, Julies," Karen said by way of introduction. "Course we do," Julie S said in reply, giving Helen one of her broad smiles. "You come back then, Miss?" "No, Julies," Helen said with a fond smile of her own. "I'm afraid not." "Oh, that's a shame," Julie J put in. "This place wasn't the same after you left." "How's Nikki these days?" Julie S asked innocently. "We ain't heard from her in a while. Will you tell her to write to us?" "I will," Helen said with a wry grin. Nothing had ever been sacred from these two. "Julies, where's Mrs. Hollamby?" Karen asked, wanting to diffuse Helen's slight embarrassment. "Oh, she's in the office as usual," Julie J replied. "Probably got stuck into the chocolate fingers by now." "Nothing changes, does it," Helen said in an undertone as they walked towards the officers' room. But before they got there, they were accosted by Dominic. "Helen," He said in flabbergasted amazement. "What're you doing back here?" "Nice to see you too, Dominic," Helen told him in mock affrontedness. "I thought I'd come back and pay some of my old friends a visit." "You're never coming back as Gina's replacement," Dominic said in awe. "No," Helen told him in a stage whisper. "But I do know someone who might be." "But for the moment," Karen put in with a mischievous smirk. "Let Di and Sylvia think she is." "Your secret's perfectly safe with me," Dominic said, in gleeful anticipation of both Di's and Sylvia's reaction. 

As they approached the door to the most formidable of Helen's battle grounds, Helen briefly hesitated. Laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder, Karen said, "He's really not still there, I promise you." When they entered the officer's room, both Di and Sylvia were taking the weight off their feet, and Karen couldn't help but smile. The Julies had been absolutely right, Sylvia was well stuck into her usual dose of chocolate fingers. But when she saw who Karen had with her, Sylvia choked on a mouthful of tea. "Miss Stewart," She said, wiping her mouth with a tissue. "The one and only, Sylvia," Helen told her dryly. "How are you?" "Oh, we're fine, aren't we, Di," She said, forcefully dragging Di into the conversation. "Still too many prisoners and not enough hours in the day, but then you left that all behind, didn't you." "So I did," Helen said with a certain amount of satisfaction in her voice, having not taken her eyes off the other occupant of the room, who had been mouthing ineffectually since their arrival. "Are you not pleased to see me, Di?" She asked, far too innocently. "After the stunt you pulled on me at Lauren Atkins' trial, I don't think so," Di responded bitterly. "You just couldn't wait, could you. I've never done anything to you, but you just had to drag up all that rubbish. That do-gooder of a barrister, wouldn't have known where to lay her hands on any of that, if you hadn't told her." "Well, Di, what ye sew, so shall ye reap, as Crystal would say." There was a stunned, awful silence, with the colour draining from Di's face. Clearly knowing that she'd lost this particular argument, Di got hurriedly to her feet and left the room. "Can you give us a minute, Sylvia?" Karen asked, jerking her head in the direction of the door. "Yes, of course," Sylvia stammered, getting up immediately and leaving the room. "You don't like to leave things unsaid, do you," Karen said ruefully, closing the door after Sylvia had left. "She was part of the reason I left the service in the first place," Helen told her. "She helped Fenner set me up. So no, I couldn't quite leave that unsaid." "Oh, it's not a criticism," Karen said lightly. "She's had that coming for a long time. How do you feel, being in here?" "You know something," Helen said firmly. "It's just a room. Yes, this is where Fenner ruled supreme, and yes, this is where he assaulted me, but it's just a room. I was so scared of coming back here, because I couldn't escape the thought that even though he was dead, his influence would still be here, still tainting everything it touched. But it's not. Fenner might still haunt my nightmares, as I'm sure he does yours, but he doesn't haunt anywhere else. He did everything possible to try to keep Nikki here, and to keep her from me, but he's lost, and she's won. Nikki coming back here in a professional capacity, would be the most fitting type of exorcism I could think of. If you were waiting for my approval before you went to area about this, you've got it. Nikki wants to do this job so badly, that I'll do anything it takes to make sure she gets it." "That was certainly some speech," Karen said softly, knowing that she and Helen were one and the same when they got onto their respective soapboxes. "I'll pay Grayling a visit this afternoon, and put everything in motion." 


	116. Part One Hundred And Sixteen

Part One Hundred and Sixteen

Karen stubbed her cigarette into her ashtray, which was rapidly filling up with dog ends as testimony of her strenuous efforts to secure Nikki as wing governor. She picked up her phone, which again was going to act as electronic postman for another yet surprise message. This time, it was Neil Grayling's turn.  
"Neil, I think I've found the answer to the permanent wing governor vacancy," She announced breezily.  
"I didn't know that you had added to your skills such as magically pulling rabbits out of hats. I've scoured the breadth of the country for a possible transfer wing governor to Larkhall and to no avail, yet you find one right under my nose." "It's nothing," Karen lied through her teeth, doubting that Nikki could be seriously described under that inoffensive metaphorical description. "As I'm popping into area on another errand, I might as well drop in if that is all right and talk about my idea. It is a bit radical." Grayling pricked up his ears at Karen's over elaborately casual manner. It sounded like a style of delivery he had used in the past when he had a bit of smooth talking to do. There was more than met the eye on this one but he blandly agreed.

Once Karen had gone through the same culture shock that Grayling had experienced when he had set foot in area for the first time, she soon found herself in his starkly decorated yet comfortable office where Grayling courteously offered her a coffee. "So what mystery are you going to unfold before me? I am sure it will be up to Larkhall's standards. Sometimes I miss the announcements of some crisis in some perverse fashion." Karen could have done with another cigarette, both as a prop and for the nicotine but, out of deference to Grayling, she resolved to make the best of the situation.  
"There's someone who I know who is keen to have the chance to work as wing governor at Larkhall. She is uniquely gifted for the job." "Go on." "Her background is that over ten years ago she and her ex partner founded and built up from scratch a lesbian club. Because of that, she has built up considerable business skills and experience of handling staff." Grayling's initial reaction was a frozen horror and desperate hope that Karen was pulling his leg. Unfortunately, Karen's facial expression and voice were perfectly serious. "You surely cannot expect the prison service would take someone with no previous experience of the prison system straight in at such a responsible level because, for some reason which you have not yet explained, she wants to do the job? She must have more to offer than this?" "She has a B.A. Honours degree in English." "No doubt gained from the more cloistered corners of academia." "Hardly that." Karen's smooth delivery showed signs of cracking as she approached the tricky bit of her proposition.  
"She has experience of the prison system in a way that neither you nor I have quite experienced. She spent three years at Larkhall as a …." "….prisoner?" gasped Grayling. He seemed to rise in his seat and sink back in shock.  
Karen let him take time and get over the shock.  
"How long have you been Governing Governor at Larkhall, Karen?" He said at last.  
"About six weeks." "And after hardly spending time getting settled in with your feet under the table, you come out with a proposal that is either sheer genius or total madness." "I must be following your style of leadership as you came out with very radical ideas the moment you came to Larkhall." "But those ideas were bollocks," Groaned Grayling. "I was talking out of my arse from reading too many management textbooks. I haven't got around to asking them for a refund from the bookshop but I should do. The worrying thing is that there is something I haven't grasped as I have never known you not to come out with considered proposals………………." Suddenly his guardian angel planted the thought in his mind that he had been desperately searching for.  
"Do I know the name of this woman, Karen." "You'll have seen her at the trial. Her name is Nikki Wade." A whole series of emotions flooded through Grayling's mind, half worry, half relief. He knew very well that Mrs. Warner regarded him as virtually a Bolshevik and if he steered Nikki Wade into the prison service, his reputation as a maverick would be sealed. He could place where he had seen her before on the day that he sat in on the Atkins trial.  
"Neil, I might have presented this rather badly. Let's look at the facts. You agree that Nikki through her second court of appeal judgement, has a clean slate, as clean a slate as mine or yours." "Legally you are right. Such is the Tardis effect of the court of appeal." "Wouldn't you agree that Nikki has experience of the prison system from the inside without the normally associated criminal act. She knows how prisoners feel, what they talk about and both Helen and I can tell you that she has the real knack of leadership and she gained the respect of some of the prison officers. She had no fancy title or any official position of any description but did it all because of who she is." "And led a couple of protests, one of which ended up in a full scale riot. Don't expect that that event is not forgotten at area," Warned Grayling grimly.  
"I wasn't around on both occasions but Helen filled me in on the details and both events were down to Sylvia Hollamby's initial mishandling of the situation, sloppy and inefficient on the first occasion and putting in the jackboot with a hefty dose of racial prejudice the second time around." "Which brings me to my first major question and big reservation. How would such an appointment go down with her fellow officers?" Karen suppressed a smile. Grayling's very understandable fears were battling with an instinct, which was secretly attracted to the idea. The very mention of Sylvia Hollamby's name helped tilt the balance in favour of Nikki.  
"Your question is closely connected with the second question which springs to mind and the answer to one may answer the other. Nikki would have to be clear in her own mind as to how she would treat prisoners some of whom she may well know from when she was there last time. Nikki will need to set her stall out where she stands and she sinks or swims on this. What it comes down to is this. Why not give Nikki the chance of an interview, no special favours and let her fully answer for herself these questions. It is not as if there are any suitable candidates or that you have been overwhelmed in the rush. Please, Neil, just give her the chance." Grayling let the slow, measured tones of Karen's explanation insinuate its way into his thinking and saw the hopeful expression in her eyes. They soothed away the panic and a strange reckless feeling overtook him that was willing to take a gamble. Above all else, he reflected on his past when his so called hunch had placed his faith on the likes of Fenner to tell him what was going on and how bitterly he had regretted. He had made serious blunders when he had disregarded what Karen had to say in the same period. He was not one for succumbing to feminine charms but he placed his trust in Karen one more time. Besides, ideas were being peeled off his unconscious as to how Alison Warner might be prevailed upon to grant the interview.

"You must be mad!" The formidable battleaxe burst out when Grayling and Karen between them had smoothly unreeled the facts of the matter. "What on earth possessed you to present this utterly preposterous idea to me. I shall not hear of it. I wonder why you, Karen Betts, have initiated such a proposal." "The desire to have a well run wing, Mrs. Warner," Karen responded in dry, flat tones. "Don't forget that if the idea backfires, I shall be the one facing the consequences, both of my own personal position and any trouble on the wing. I shall be painting myself into a corner from which I cannot escape." Grayling's face remained impassive while secretly admiring the skill with which Karen turned back the argument on itself. She had sharpened up her ability in this respect.  
"You will do more than that. You would be straight out the door if ever anything happened in the way you describe. That is however, not the main point. We have a public duty to preserve the good name of the prison service and we are all answerable for our actions…..". The initial ferocity of Alison Warner's attack softened as she meditated on what was the real arguments were in her mind. A sacrificial victim which had stepped forward announcing her candidature for the post which was normally decided on the "musical chairs" party game principle had much to recommend it, telling both the sharp listeners that this was a predominant argument in Mrs. Warner's mind. A sacrificial victim which had stepped forward announcing her candidature for the post which was normally decided on the "musical chairs" party game principle had much to recommend it. "It is not just that the prison service is much in the public domain these days but for our own internal discipline which is hidden from public scrutiny." Bullshit, thought both Karen and Grayling. All she cares about is the Eleventh Commandment,"Thou shalt not be found out." Nevertheless, they chose to humour her.

"We appreciate your concern and I subjected Karen's idea to the most rigorous scrutiny as to its soundness and only then did I dream of putting this before you. I asked Karen to accompany me so that you had full chance to ask her the most searching questions yourself rather than rely on my own direct knowledge of the candidate concerned." Karen admired Grayling's smooth unctuous tones, which had the same effect of tickling a cat under the ear so that it purred. The tactic, though one which he had used for bad purposes, was now used for the good.  
"What's Ms Wade's attitude towards the Home Office policy to reduce the incidence of illicit drugs infiltrating into Her Majesty's prisons?" she shot at the two of them after a pause in the conversation. "From what I know of her, she has been conducting a one woman crusade against drugs from infiltrating the club which she runs and has not hesitated from sacking staff if they are implicated themselves." Karen slid her contribution in a perfect two-handed operation. Good thinking, Karen, Grayling thought approvingly. Alison Warner's reading paper of choice alternated between the Daily Telegraph and the Daily Mail and any suggestion of total lily livered wet liberalism caused her blood pressure to rise.  
"There's one question that was at the back of my mind and that is this one. What possible motive could there be for a candidate who had spent three years at Larkhall to go out of her way not only in applying for a job in the prison service? Either there is a criminal intent and there is nothing in what we know of Ms Wade to suggest this. It has been my experience that no one chooses to pass through the gates of any prison voluntarily unless they choose to do so. From what I understand- and you may choose to disagree- we have every reason to suppose that Ms Wade's application for the job is for perfectly good reasons. It is not as if I have been trampled in the rush of suitable candidates for the job and the use of a temporary cannot be continued indefinitely." Grayling continued the drip drip effect of gradually wearing Mrs Warner down in the way he played his pauses and Karen watched him in fascination.  
"We might as well grant her an interview, no special favours, on a level playing field and see what she has to say for herself."

"All right, Neil You have your way but I promise you that she will be out on her ear if she doesn't come up to standard and it will reflect on your next appraisal interview," Mrs. Warner finished spitefully. "I insist that you, for one, are on the interview board so that if this mad idea goes wrong, you will be right out in the open." Grayling's smooth words thanking her was in the best spirit of Sir Humphrey Appleby out of "Yes Minister" and he carried on smiling until they were out the door.

"I can't thank you enough, Neil for what you've done," Karen said in heartfelt thanks.  
"I must be mad," He sighed to himself as the full implications of what was in store for him sank in. "bloody hell." He murmured to himself as he was in shock and he cast his eyes heavenwards. They walked down the corridor, both of them feeling that their legs were made of rubber. As they neared his office, a thought struck him.  
"By the way, what was that other errand you were coming here for? Perhaps I can direct you where to go?" Karen's hand shot up to her face and she fractionally turned pink. She had forgotten all about that slight fabrication she had told Grayling.  
"Perhaps another day," he grinned broadly, seeing her discomfort plainly written on her face. "You are welcome anytime but try to come on a more conventional errand. A cat may have nine lives but I've just used up my eighth." "I'll keep both promises.I'd enjoy it." Karen smiled as her temporary shock melted away into the start of an enormous high. Against all the odds, she had pulled it off. 


	117. Part One Hundred And Seventeen

Part One Hundred and Seventeen

Helen picked up the thickening file of the next patient with a sinking feeling inside her. All sorts of tributaries floated so many troubled people to her front door but the stream with the deadliest undertow was that of drug addiction. He was the most difficult patient of all but she promised to devote that inexhaustible patience of hers to seek a solution somewhere. The superficial picture was clear enough of a weak father, strong mother and a fatally imperfectly developed glimpse of adulthood, let alone masculinity. It was a glib one liner, which explained nothing or, at most, left vast gaps, which it was up to her to bridge and that was the hard bit. She was unsure how to motivate him, or, to be more precise, get him to motivate himself, to do what he had to do in life. The trouble was that the inexorable courses of his past actions were leading him down a dangerous blind alley. She could never persuade her other difficult patient to follow her advice for love nor money however politely she behaved but Helen had come to realise that she possessed a crazy sense of self preservation which this man obviously did not. Helen's bright smile greeted the surly man as he slouched his way into her room, ten minutes late. He was tall and thin and was dressed in a dirty pair of green combat trousers, tee shirt and scuffed boots. He failed to meet her eye.  
"Take a seat." She received a monosyllabic grunt in return and paused before carefully selecting her opening gambit. "We were talking last time about what makes you take drugs." "Were we?" he asked vaguely, his eyes flicking across hers very briefly. If she said so, it must be true. A lifetime had passed by since the last time he had called. He has spent morning after morning lying in an unmade bed in his clothes, which he never used to take off the previous night. His mind remained in a dull fog until he leaned over to the cluttered bedside table upon which old broken cigarette lighters, empty cigarette packets and cigarette ends were littered. Somehow, he found the rollup tobacco and the last Rizla to light up his first cigarette of the day. Long ago childhood days of a good breakfast to start the day were a long way behind him. With nothing else to structure his time, it was drugs, which filled the gap and where he would go to for the day. Somehow, he had found the crumpled card on which she had written down the day and time of the appointment and he had trudged his weary, reluctant way to the clinic.  
"Can you remember that we were talking about just what leads you to take drugs and what you hope to get out of them." "That's simple. My life is boring and I need a buzz every so often," Came the sullen reply.  
This line of talk wasn't helping anyone, least of all this man. All she got was this sullen, frozen faint feel of aggression, which covered up the despair of his soul. "Hmm, a dangerous buzz. As dangerous as the injury to your arm judging by what I can see of it with the bandages," Helen said reflectively. The only thing, which puzzled her, was that he had not taken the obvious step of trying to conceal it by wearing a jacket over the top.  
"It was just one of those things that happened. I fell over on something sharp while I was in the flat. I was lucky that a friend of mine got me in to the doctor's and patched me up," Came the perfect non-answer from him.  
"So what's the difference between what gives you a buzz and what is potentially life threatening?" Helen probed gently. He had that disturbing habit of describing to others events that happen to him, as if he had no control over them and never in terms of what he had chosen to do. The man shrugged his shoulders, uncaring. He was alive now and that what all there was to it.  
"How do you feel about what could so very easily have happened to you?" "No point asking me as I was too out of it. Next thing I knew, I was at the doctors, being pumped full of morphine. At least I wasn't hanging out." His sullen reply was phrased a little more aggressively than before and made her wince. His idea of purpose in his life was narrowed down to that one craving, not to be suffering from withdrawal symptoms. That said everything about how much he had withdrawn from all the multi faceted forms of self-realisation that walked past his window every day, unrecognised. The patient was only conscious that this woman was really annoying him, nagging at him, asking too many questions like all women he had ever known ended up doing, his mother first and foremost. "It sounds that you were so out of it that you might never have come back, at least not to this world," Helen intervened, seeking to uncoil the screwed up thinking right in front of his eyes. "Can you really tell me that there is no one who would care about you?" "Who do you mean? My mother?" "She's as good a place to start. Perhaps you could tell me about her." Helen's reply was as cool and calm and very softly spoken as she tried to erase out of her emotions any trace of impatience and anger that she might have felt for this man.  
"You really want to hear about her? You're not going to like what I'm going to say." "If I didn't want to hear what you have to say, I wouldn't be asking you." He's more worried in trying to explain how he really feels about her, her inner voice told her. He is certainly not thinking about how I might feel about the matter whatever his words.  
"My mother was never around for when I wanted her. All she ever cared about was being a career woman," and here he almost spat the words out as if they were a blasphemy. "She wasn't really married to my father and she made him feel small, weak and scared, It's no wonder he got fed up and left home……." You're talking about yourself, that inner voice told her. Never mind, if he can only handle his feelings in this distorted form, let's leave it at this, at least for the moment. That front he puts on may fool his friends but Helen could see that crude theatrical staging for what it was.  
"……….she is so hard that she can never see how frightened that men get and if she did get to know, would only despise them. I knew that from when I was little and I could have told how he feels. Anyway, it doesn't matter." The patient hesitated for a second before cutting short his fantasy, shaking his head.  
"Why doesn't it matter?" "Because he died a long time ago. I never knew my father. When I was growing up, there was my mum's boyfriend, for what good he was." There was a wealth of bitterness in those last few words that spoke volumes.  
"And what was he like?" "He was one of those creeps who could wrap my mother round her little finger with all sorts of smooth talking words. He conned her blind, time after the time and it took her ages to see through him. I could tell the moment I first saw him. At least she did one thing right in her life when she chucked him out." This boyfriend made a very safe, very convenient focus for this man's anger. After all, it was easier to direct his anger upon someone who was real than someone he had never known.  
"Did your mother talk much about your father? What did she say about him." "Just that she met him when she was too young and that their marriage was a mistake. She never did talk that much about him." He clearly resented the fact that his mother knew so little about his father. On the face of it, it was a reasonably considered remark and she didn't put all the blame on him to her patient, this wasn't enough. "Didn't she look after you and show you some sort of affection for you." "The childminders did that for me. They were there and my mother wasn't," came the chilling response. "Of course, she had all sorts of ambitions for me. She made that clear. The only thing was whatever I did in school wasn't good enough for her however much I tried. She always thought that I could have done better." She knew how that felt. Her own father was a past master in the art of running her down, This is where she parted company with this man as her reaction to her father was that determination to prove him wrong and to stand up proudly for herself. It was what had given her that manic determination to get to the top of the ladder. Only when Nikki had turned her world upside down could she see her life for what it was and she achieved that sense of balance without which she could not possibly have set about helping others with their own private hells. Her degree in psychology was the key to that abrupt change in her own career, something that had already dropped into place before she knew that it could be the means to her future. In this case, the trouble with the patient's wallowing in psychology was that he neglected the severe practicalities of what it took for a single working mother to bring up her child and what it took for her to overstretch her life twenty four hours a day to look after him. He wasn't giving up a clear picture as to how his mother was actually like. "Did she actually say that to you?" "She never needed to, don't you understand. I could tell it in the tone of her voice, in the look in her eye. It used to make me feel pathetic and stupid." It was extraordinary, how the dam had suddenly burst and the torrent of feelings had rushed out and she was hearing far more about himself than she had heard for months. From what she knew of his mother, Helen suspected that she demanded the high standards of herself in the same way that she asked of her son. The only thing was that he refused to see that the world demanded such standards as the price of survival and inflicted very much harsher punishments than his mother could ever do. "Perhaps you might have been reading more into her than she ever intended." "Don't give me that," Came the scornful reply. "You're taking her side like everyone else does. You wouldn't say that if you knew her like I know her." "So how did you get to university in the first place. Not everyone goes there or is capable of getting there." He looked blankly at Helen as if he had been totally caught by surprise by that thought, as if it had never occurred to him before.  
"I had mum breathing down my neck all the time I was at home. I thought that if I went to university, I would get her off my back and have a life of my own." "That's fair enough as long as you are ready to take responsibility for your life," Helen started to say in a mild mannered enough tone of voice until her reflections were cut short.  
"You sound just like my mother. You're all the same. Do you know just how patronising you sound?" "Well, just for the record, I don't. I could tell you about someone I know who was only sixteen when she was thrown out of boarding school and not allowed to go back home. She had to make her own way in life, doing whatever job she could turn her hand to so that she could make ends meet. It was a hard enough struggle but she's running a club with a friend of hers. Oh yes, along the way, she studied for a degree in English and got it." "Until she's come your way so that you can go reading her mind for a living like you're trying to read mine." "Yes, she has come my way but not as a patient." "So who is this superwoman then. Are you trying to tell me that she is for real." "Don't worry, she's as real as they get and I can back everything I'm saying up to the hilt. I'm only talking about her as an example of what can be done with your life. She wouldn't think that she is special, just that she's always done what had to be done." Helen's angry eyes locked with the unsteady weak petulance of her patient who gave way. He was losing the ability to sustain his emotions for any length of time as his perseverance in life in so many ways. His only fixed purpose in life centred on drugs. In turn, Helen was starting to regret that her anger had broken through her professional demeanour and hesitated for a second while she bottled her anger down. It was not easy as she had heard from Nikki so much about her early days and his attitude had touched her on a raw nerve. This man was so full of self-pity and self-centredness and he was not the martyr to life that he thought he was. "Yes well, it might be easier for your friend but she's straight, not using stuff like I am." A curious smile played at the corners of Helen's lips as she reflected on the curious multiple meanings of that word he used to describe Nikki of all people, all disconnected from each other. He noticed nothing of this, locked inside his own misery. "So why did you drop out of university?" "Same reason I got into drugs. I couldn't be doing with wasting my time on hanging around lectures hearing some idiot drone on when I had other things to do." He was glossing over a huge amount in one curt sentence. Never mind, she reasoned, another time, she would have only got a bellyful of aggression that meant nothing. It would have to wait till another time.  
"It's not too late. You haven't irretrievably blown your future," She urged him, trying to transfer some of her own strength of will to this vacillating young man. She could afford it as she seemed almost driven by her ability to persevere against the odds. "If you are really sincere about at least setting some limits in your life, you could make something of your life." Instantly, she realised from his very body language that she had made a mistake. She had been too eager and the thought should have come from him, not from her. The sheer thought of changing his life terrified him more than anything else so conditioned as he was to failure. He had given up on life, as if he were an old man, just when it was only starting. She was at least ten years older than him and felt vital, alive in comparison. "I saw your mother recently," she blurted out as she had temporarily lost track of what new tack she was going to try.  
"You can't tell her what I'm doing here. It would make things very difficult for me." You and me both, thought Helen sardonically as she spotted the unmistakable look of panic in his eye and even the sound of his voice was sharper, more precise as if only this emotion could move him to action. Yet this reaction was fatally flawed. He wasn't talking about the act of being addicted and how much he had gone down in the world, further than his mother knew. She didn't know the half of it and, in the short term, it was a mercy but in the long term, a curse. Despite his own ragged appearance, he was more concerned about how things looked, not about the grim reality. Despite herself, she could not stop the next words coming out of her mind.  
"What would your mother think if she knew about what you're doing with your life right now?" The impact was dramatic. His eyes almost popped out of his skull.  
"You mustn't tell her.You just can't tell her." He kept on repeating this like a little boy who had accidentally hit a cricket ball through his neighbour's greenhouse and was terrified at what she would say to his mother and what his mother would, in turn have said to him. Perhaps that very situation had actually happened to him. At this moment, he reacted like a scared little boy and he hated himself for feeling this way. Through all this, there was a faint glimpse of what he really felt for his mother but if only he would just let himself give in to it.There was a theory that the addict was locked up forever at the physical age as to when their addiction first started but he went beyond that, Helen thought in a detached moment, as she dealt with his pleas. Eventually she gave in and he was ever so grateful, ever so pleased to be let off that he started making all sorts of impossible promises to show how grateful he was. Helen privately despaired as it was quite obvious that he hadn't got a ghost of a chance of sticking to these promises. For all that, he really believed in them at that point in time. This was his undoing.  
Helen lay back exhausted when the session was finished and he repeated his promises on the way out. It was no use, she realised. It was all a matter whether it took five paces for him to obliterate his promises from his mind or ten paces. At that moment, Nikki's idea of going for the wing governor job at Larkhall seemed as sensible as anything there was in Helen's world. 


	118. Part One Hundred And Eighteen

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Eighteen

On the Wednesday evening, George received a surprise in the form of a phone call from Neil. "George," He said when she answered. "It's Neil Grayling." "Oh, hello," She said, the smile of pleasure evident in her voice. "I got your number from Karen," He explained. "It occurred to me, that it probably wouldn't do either of us any harm to do a little practicing before Saturday's rehearsal." "Because we both know that my father will probably take the opportunity to make us perform the two love duets," She finished for him. "And judging by how unsuccessful they were last time, I happen to agree with you." "They weren't that bad," He tried to persuade her. "They were, they were bloody terrible, and mostly because of my clear inability to act." "So, shall I come to you, or you come to me?" "Do you want to come here?" George offered, after taking a quick look round to make sure the house was tidy. "Sure," Neil replied, feeling a sense of curiosity. Other people's houses had always held a certain fascination for him, their intricate details telling so much about a person's habits and lifestyle. 

Before he arrived, George decided to do some warming up. She ran through her usual conglomeration of scales and arpeggios, and then sat down at the piano with the score. She turned to 'With Verdure Clad', because it was the only one of her solos she could play as well as sing. This aria had always been her favourite, the words and the melodies seeming to transport her away from wherever she happened to be. The windows were open, but she didn't care who heard her. Her voice soared gloriously through each cadence, blending perfectly with the spring evening air. When Neil drew his car to a stop in her driveway, he briefly reflected that this was clearly how the other half lived. As he walked up the steps to the front door, he became aware of her singing, accompanied by a fabulously tuned piano. It almost seemed a shame to stop her, but he wasn't about to be caught loitering in the street like some opportunistic vagrant. 

When George came to the door, she was wearing a loose fitting cotton dress in pale blue, though it wasn't loose fitting enough to disguise her thinness. "That sounds more like the voice I know," He said when she opened the door. "Oh," She said with a nervous laugh. "I always forget that one's voice can carry far too far." "Well, it certainly sounds a lot better than it did the last time I saw you," He said, following her into the kitchen where she poured them each a glass of white wine. "I haven't smoked since Monday, so it bloody ought to," She said, handing him the glass and leading the way into the lounge. The score was open on the piano, and the breeze that crept in through the open window lightly fluttered the pages. "How long have you played?" Neil asked, taking note of the paintings and the generally expensive aura of the decor. "Since I was a child," She replied, sitting down on the sofa, and watching him as he walked to stand in front of the fireplace. "Is that the genuine article?" He asked, looking up at the Monet. "Of course it is," George said in offended dignity. "My father wouldn't have been seen dead with a copy anywhere in his possession." Neil laughed as he moved to sit down in the armchair. "So," George said, after taking a sip of her wine. "Have you given the go ahead to Karen's new idea?" "She told you about that, has she," He said with a wry smile. "Well, I was a little stunned to say the least, but Karen managed to talk me into putting it before my superiors." "She does have a way with words," George said fondly. "Yes," Neil said dryly. "So I'm beginning to realise. Nikki's got an interview on Monday." "Well, let's hope her interview's a lot more successful than my last rehearsal was." "What was that all about?" Neil asked, feeling that they were now getting to the root of the problem. "It's a bit complicated," George said evasively, heartily wishing she could have a cigarette. "I gathered that much," Neil said wryly. "John, is my ex-husband," She began, knowing just how insane this arrangement was going to sound. "Didn't look all that ex a week ago." "Before I begin to explain the current arrangement to you," She said, now taking a firm hold of the situation. "I need an assurance that you aren't still working behind the scenes for Ian Rochester." "That's to the point, I suppose," Neil replied, slightly flabbergasted by the turn of the conversation. "And you certainly have a long memory." "With the game that John, Jo Mills and I appear to be playing, I need to have for things like that." "We all carry the remnants of associations we would rather forget," He told her sincerely. "Passing information to the LCD being one of mine." "Good," George said decisively. "John has an ongoing relationship with both me and Jo, and I have an ongoing relationship with both John and Karen. I did tell you it was complicated," She said, seeing his look of astonishment. "Bloody hell," He said in wonder. "And I thought I knew everything about being unconventional." "Believe it or not, it does actually work. I needed the reassurance of your allegiances, because it is strictly forbidden for a judge to have an affair with any barrister who may appear before him. Ex-wives and ex-lovers are fine, but current wives and lovers are an absolute no no. With my father being as high up in the legal profession as he is, I probably have a little immunity in that respect, but Jo doesn't." "You barristers do like to live dangerously, don't you." "On the odd occasion now and then, yes, I suppose we do. When we sung the love duets, in the rehearsal where I was conducting, I could feel John's jealousy of you as if it was almost tangible. A couple of weeks before, I'd sung one of those duets with John, and it felt extremely wrong of me to be singing it with anyone else. If I am to act a part successfully, I think I need to have a reason for manufacturing the feelings I need to make my role a convincing one. Before this slightly obscure relationship with John and Jo began, I had to defend the pretty despicable CEO of a mobile phone company. Jo was working for the prosecution, and John was on the bench. In those days, Jo and I loathed the very sight and sound of each other, which as you can imagine, made any such case pretty difficult for both of us. I wasn't happy about taking on the One Way case, but that's another story. But the only way I could do it convincingly, was to persistently and continuously get under Jo's skin. That was a pretty easy thing for me to do in those days, I am ashamed to admit, but the sheer force of my envy of her place in John's affections was what carried me through that case. So, when I tried singing the part of the loving wife with you, it didn't work, because I won't ever have those sort of feelings for you." Neil had listened to this in silence, realising that she was telling him far more than she'd really meant too. He pondered everything for a few moments, allowing all the facts that had been presented to him, to sort themselves into their rightful places in his brain. "So," He said eventually. "Somehow, I need to provoke the vague pretense of such feelings." "Possibly," She conceded. "But how?" Walking over to the stereo, Neil moved the CD that was already inserted, to the track he wanted. "Come here," He said, and as George approached him, he held out his arms. "When you sang this with me last time, only your voice was engaged in the part you were trying to play. For you to be able to allow yourself to play a role you would never inhabit in a million years, I think you need to use everything you have, which includes your body. Now, the first love duet, with its ridiculously slow triplet beat, provides the rhythm of a waltz. I think we should try actually dancing to it." "I'll try anything once," George said dryly, moving into his outstretched arms, placing one hand in his, and one on his shoulder, and allowing his other arm to go around her waist. When he'd seen her open the door earlier that evening, Neil had obviously taken in her thinness, but now, as he became physically aware of just how little spare flesh she had, he found himself wondering as to the cause. "I never thought I'd be doing this again," He said to break the ice. "What?" she asked, and he could hear the tension in her voice. "Dancing with a beautiful woman." As she laughed, he could feel some of the nervousness seeping out of her muscles. 

As they began, they both realised that to dance to the three beat waltz, wouldn't be possible as the triplets were played too fast. This meant that they immediately slid into the very slow, gently swaying four beat rhythm of the time signature. When George opened her mouth to sing, Neil stopped her. "Not yet," He said gently so as not to spoil the mood. "Just allow yourself to relax, to become one with the music. You need to be able to feel it in every pore, in every nerve and muscle. Take the words, and the feeling behind them, right into your soul. When you have hold of them, allow the feelings to wash over every fibre of your being. Adam is everything to his wife. Adam has given himself so completely to her, that Eve will eventually be able to tempt him into seeking the knowledge that will be his destruction. Eve has so much power over her mate, that she can even lead him into obeying the serpent of desire." As he said all this, in that slow, deep, utterly entrancing voice, Neil fixed his eyes on her, not allowing her gaze to wander off to any other point in the room. It was almost as if he was hypnotising her, gradually prising away every last iota of her reluctance, to be drawn into playing the part of the loving, yet powerful force behind the throne. George couldn't help but be aroused by what she knew he was doing to her. The only man, who'd ever been able to arouse her with his voice and voice alone, was John. But here, standing so close to her now, was a man who was doing this, purely for the sake of their art. He would never find her remotely attractive, and she knew that neither would she in any other circumstance. But oh, that voice! She could feel her nipples pushing at the thin fabric of her dress, and Neil could see the unmistakable gleam of excitement in her eyes. Her body moved with far more ease, far more suppleness than it had done when they began, meaning that she was indeed extremely relaxed. 

When they reached the end of the first duet, Neil swiftly reached for the dial on the stereo, to change the track to the second duet, whilst still keeping his other arm around George. They moved again in perfect syncopation as the duet began, only this time, Neil began to sing. 

"Graceful consort, at thy side, softly fly the golden hours." 

George couldn't believe it. She felt as though she was positively floating on euphoria, sailing through the air on the golden wings of either love, or pure sexual arousal. When it was time for her to join him, she opened her mouth, and the words appeared to drift out as if of their own accord. 

"Spouse adore'd, at thy side, purest joys o'erflow the heart." 

Neil knew as soon as she began to sing that he'd cracked it. Somehow, with all those words of encouragement and sheer enticement, he'd done it. It gave him an enormous feeling of triumph, to know that he'd freed something so delightfully pure. There was so much feeling in what she was singing now, so much that hadn't been there before. They kept on dancing as they sang, his voice eventually returning to join with hers, taking the celebration of their achievement through the many bars of gloriously decorative counterpoint. George soared up as high as was necessary, finding nothing a difficulty. She was putting everything she had into those words, just as he was. God, if only Haydn himself were here to hear them. When they eventually rose to the final cadence, the music seemed almost to lift them off the ground, to carry them through the final act of their union. 

As Neil reached to switch off the CD, before it could progress into the final piece, George just stood and stared at him. "My god," She said in astounded wonder. "What on earth did you do to me?" Neil could think of several far more truthful answers, such as tapping into her sexual core, which he decided not to give her. "I just made you relax, that's all," He said almost nonchalantly. "I'll say," She said with a laugh. "That was incredible, possibly the most intoxicating feeling I've had in a long time." "Don't tell Karen that," He said with a wink. "Or she'll have me shot." "Not that sort of feeling," She said with a slight blush, which immediately told him otherwise. "But Karen isn't the one I've got to worry about. I think we should dance it like that when we perform it, and that's not going to improve the situation with John. I had a pretty enormous row with him after the rehearsal where I conducted, and I'm not very eager to repeat the experience." "Leave him to me," Neil said decisively. "And he won't thank you for getting involved, in what was really quite a personal argument." "I'm not, because I know nothing of the substance of it, though I can guess. I take it you told him that never in this lifetime will I have those sort of designs on you?" "Yes, of course I did, but he didn't appear to believe me." "Right, I'll talk to him at the rehearsal on Saturday. I am not going to allow him to jeopardise what has the potential to be a magnificent performance, just because he can't accept what's staring him in the face." "Well, I wish you luck," George said quietly, immensely grateful that he was prepared to take on something so unpredictable as John's jealousy. 


	119. Part One Hundred And Nineteen

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Nineteen

On the Friday evening, Karen drove over to George's. She knew they had a rehearsal the next day, and that she would obviously see George then, but she needed to see her now. She'd had a pretty weird week all in all, and what she really needed was to hold George in her arms, and to feel the soothing caresses that only George could give. She hadn't arranged to see George, but she reflected that if George had company, she would simply leave it till tomorrow. But when she drew up in George's driveway, she was relieved to see that George's car was the only one there. George looked surprised to see her when she opened the door, but no less pleased because of this. "This is an unexpected pleasure," She said after closing the door. "I didn't think I'd be seeing you till tomorrow." "I've had a pretty odd week, one way and another," Karen replied, putting her arms round George and briefly laying her cheek on George's. "And I could do with some sense knocking into me." "Not usually one of my specialities," George said, kissing her. "But I'll try, if that's what you want." 

When George had poured them both a large glass of chilled white wine, they went into the garden, the mid evening air being warm enough to sit outside. "So, what's happened?" George asked, once they'd both lit up cigarettes to keep off the midges. "I appear to have made a very wrong decision, and I'm not used to having that pointed out to me by someone who used to be both my lover, and one of my inmates, though obviously not at the same time. I don't like arguing with Yvonne, because it's not something I've done to that extent, since the day I told her that I was sleeping with Ritchie. There's, I don't know, there's just something not right about it." "What do you think you've done that is so catastrophic?" "Last week, when you phoned me, I was taking Denny to Ashmore to see Shell." "Yes, I know that, and I also know that you wouldn't have done it without first considering every possible consequence." "Your faith in me is commendable," Karen said dryly. "If a little misguided." "Don't be stupid," George said firmly. "You might take risks with your own safety and sanity, but you don't with other people's." "That's one way of putting it," Karen said with a small smile. "But when Yvonne saw Denny on Sunday, she could see the difference in her immediately. I probably wouldn't have done, because I clearly don't know Denny as well as everyone else seems too, including Dominic of all people. Denny has always been very easy to influence, which is why she's been far nicer, and far better behaved over the last few years, because it's Yvonne who's been doing the influencing. Before Yvonne came on the scene, it was Shell who was pulling the strings. Denny got up to all sorts when Shell was giving her the nod, and you could probably even say the same for when Shaz was the guiding force, though the things they did were far less sinister. Yvonne thinks that my taking Denny to see Shell, has made Denny begin to regress into the person she was a few years ago." "And do you agree with her?" "Having talked to Denny this week, I agree that it's possible." "Darling, nobody can get it right all the time," George said quietly. "You are extremely good at your job, and everything you do is always done with the best intentions, you know that." "Is it?" Karen replied, as if she really wasn't sure. "Yes, of course it is," George told her sincerely, briefly touching her hand. "But what makes you think otherwise?" "Yvonne thinks that I've always tried to do too much for Shell, and that this might have swayed my decision to take Denny to see her." "And was she right?" George asked, sensing that they had reached the heart of the matter. "I'm not sure," Karen said quietly, after taking a sip of her wine to buy her some thinking time. "Which I suppose says it all." "Darling, listen to me," George said persuasively, moving along the bench and putting her arms round Karen. "I don't know why you've kept in touch with Shell Dockley over the last couple of years, but what I do know, is that you'll have done it for the best, most transparent of reasons. I suspect one of them is partly because of Fenner. Before Fenner was killed, when you were trying to put that case together against him, I think part of you was doing that for Shell, and for Helen, as well as for you. But, because he was killed, that little piece of justice wasn't ever served. You have a level of guilt in you about Fenner, that occasionally rivals mine about Charlie. It is entirely irrational and unfounded, but that doesn't make it any less real. You think that when Fenner was committing his string of numerous crimes, you didn't do enough to either prevent him from continuing, or to have him thoroughly investigated. You are quite open about how this makes you feel about Helen, so it is only natural that it will cause you to feel some sense of guilt for what happened to Shell. I don't agree with why you still keep in touch with Dockley, but I do understand it." 

"So," Karen said eventually. "Tell me precisely what led you to that stunningly accurate piece of deduction." "Before I do," George said, taking a plunge that she hadn't been planning on. "Why don't you satisfy my curiosity about something. Does Michelle Dockley, also have a tendency to fall for smooth talking bastards?" Karen reacted immediately, pushing George away from her and moving swiftly to the very end of the bench. George could have kicked herself. What in the world had possessed her to bring that up. "I wish I'd never started this conversation," Karen said quietly, once she'd got her feelings under control, and back under her outer mask of calm efficiency. "Why," George replied knowingly. "Is that because I am trying to make you face the entirely innocent fact, that you actually have something in common with Shell Dockley? Not a nice realisation, is it. But it doesn't make any difference to the woman I know you to be. Ignoring the event of Snowball and Ritchie's trial for a moment, I knew the first time I met you, that smooth talking people were a fairly common factor in some of the more life-altering events of your existence. Fenner and Ritchie speak for themselves, as I expect does Ross's father, though you've never said very much about him." "You could say so," Karen said with a mirthless laugh. "I might have only been seventeen, but it still took him a ridiculously short time to talk me into bed." "Well, there you are then. The reason I said smooth talking people, instead of men, is that I think Yvonne must also be put into that category. It's not exactly difficult to see where her son got most of his charm from, now is it." "She wasn't the only smooth talker in that ill fated few weeks," Karen said fairly. "Because I'm just as good as anyone at turning on the charm." "Oh, don't I know it," George said with a smile. "Your particular kind of charm is very addictive." "That's what I was like with Mark," Karen said meditatively. "The poor sod didn't stand a chance. I was bored, and he was on the rebound from Gina. He left, because he knew he wasn't strong enough to deal with me after what happened with Fenner." "Darling, there is one extremely smooth talker, whom we haven't yet touched on," George said carefully, feeling that if she was going to take the plunge, she may as well play her entire hand. "There's John," George added simply, not missing Karen's immediate stiffening at his name. She showed no outward sign of her discomfort with the topic of conversation, but George could feel her tension. Knowing she was about to lull Karen into a false sense of security, George continued. "I might love John more than I will ever love anyone, but that doesn't prevent me from knowing that he still has the potential and capacity to be very much a smooth talking bastard. You know it, and I know it. He usually tries it on either Jo or me when he's done something wrong. His ability to assume a persona, whether that be intentional or otherwise, is John's main defence mechanism, as it usually is yours." "What does John have to do with my liking for smooth talking bastards?" Karen asked, wanting to escape from the topic of John as quickly as possible, though dropping herself in it in the process. "Darling, I am perfectly aware of your continuing attraction to John," George said quietly, fixing Karen with her penetrating gaze. Karen's eyes briefly widened, her face then assuming the slightly uncomfortable expression it had possessed, when Helen had wanted to know if she was having a sexual relationship with Jim Fenner. "I wouldn't ever do anything about it, not now," She said eventually, feeling more humiliated than she had done in quite a while. "I know you wouldn't," George told her, moving to put her arms round her, to show her that she trusted her implicitly where John was concerned. 

When their lips met, Karen poured all her feelings of love, frustration and apology into that kiss. "So," Karen said, finally detaching her lips from George's, but keeping her arms round her. "You really think that I stay in touch with Shell Dockley, because I see too much of myself in her." "You said it, darling, not me." Inwardly cursing her far too active tongue, Karen vowed to keep more of a track on what she was about to say, especially when in the company of such a formidable cross-examiner. "But this goes back further than Fenner, doesn't it," George added quietly, her tone belying the fact that she knew she was about to unleash a tidal wave of protest. "What makes you assume such a thing?" Karen asked guardedly. "Just a thought," George said blithely. "The little fragment of evidence that does give my theory a modicum of strength," She continued slowly, "Is that not once since I've known you, have you ever spoken about your parents. It's as if they don't exist and never did." "We don't all have the highly enviable relationship with our parents, that you do with your father, George." "No, I know, and I know that I couldn't have been luckier with my father. So tell me, why do you go as far as possible to deny their existence?" "Trust me, George," Karen said very firmly. "You really don't want to go there." "And the more you strive to convince me of that, the more I think someone should." "George, can you please take no for the only answer you are going to get?" Karen said with sheer exasperation. "Yes, my father probably was the first smooth talking bastard I ever encountered, and yes, that probably has led to a lot of the things I've done over the years, but that is all you need to know. Is that clear?" "I'm glad my neighbours are away," George said nonchalantly, glancing towards the boundaries of her garden, knowing that her flippancy would drive Karen right over the edge in a moment, but also knowing that this was the only way to get her to open up. Karen's primary defence mechanism was anger. She couldn't usually allow herself to cry, so she shouted instead. "You started this line of enquiry, George, so you can put up with the consequences." "And was that something you learnt from your father," George pursued relentlessly. "Or is it something you've learnt from others, who no doubt would have themselves be described as charm personified?" Karen flinched at these words, recognising them as the description she'd given of Fenner, on the day she'd told Jo her story from beginning to end. "What do you want from me?" She asked, in the tiniest, most vulnerable voice George had ever heard from her. "I only want you to start being honest with yourself," George told her gently. "Jesus, that's rich," Karen replied scathingly. "Which is precisely why I'm saying it," George said with a smile. "Because I know I'm the last person who should." "Fine," Karen said flatly, her voice holding all the toneless quality of the sort of throwaway remark that bore no hint of consequence. "My father, in his infinitely militaristic fashion, wanted a boy, and was less than amused when he got me instead. He believed that discipline held a family together, not love, not anything resembling affection. So, if either of his women ever stepped out of line, a few harsh words, plus the occasional bruise or two, usually served to bring them back on track. I thought I could please him, by doing my nurse's training with the WRAF, but that wasn't good enough. Dennis, Ross's father, was really very similar. He was just one in a very long line of men who I thought I could win over by sleeping with them. He wasn't the first by any means, and he certainly wasn't the last. Opening my legs, appeared to be the only way I could keep anyone interested for any length of time, but they never lasted. My father was furious when he found out I was pregnant. In fact I'm surprised that I was still pregnant by the end of that particular row. He threatened to ruin Dennis's professional reputation if he didn't marry me, and believe me, he could have done if he'd wanted too. I thought that might keep him quiet for a while, but not for long. When it became clear that the marriage wasn't working, and that it wouldn't last more than a few months, he disowned me, refusing to have any contact with me, and banning my mother from also having any contact with me. She was so weak, that she let him. I tried to talk to them both, when Ross was born, but dad still didn't want to know. That was the last I heard from either of them. Mum might contact me when he dies, but I won't hold my breath." 

George sat and listened to all this, wondering how Karen had managed to hide such bitterness and hurt for all these years. "Not quite what you wanted to hear, was it," Karen said after a while. "Is that why you virtually never cry?" George asked, ignoring Karen's jibe. "He always told me it was a weakness," Karen said quietly. "One of his watch phrases, was that showing any sign of vulnerability, was as good as being on the side of the enemy. So no, I don't cry, except under extremely stressful circumstances. Sometimes, it would be so easy to just let myself go, but that would mean losing control over not just my feelings, but the way I deal with them." "I'm sorry I made you tell me that," George said after another small silence, feeling that she certainly shouldn't have pressed the point in the way she had. "I know you are," Karen told her gently. "Though your methods were admirable, I must say," she added with a smirk. "Almost as devious and manipulative as the Deed himself." "I'm not sure whether to take that as a compliment," George said a little nervously. "But I knew that making you angry, was the only way to persuade you to open up." "As I said, an admirable use of manipulative psychology. Helen would be proud of you." "Karen, it really isn't a weakness to cry, you know." "No, I know it's not, and I wholeheartedly support those who can do it whenever they feel it necessary. You do it far more than I ever could, and for you, that's definitely a good thing. I just don't think it would ever be for me, not as a regular coping mechanism." This time when their lips met, they neither of them wanted to stop. "Darling, I'm so sorry that you had to go through all that," George said between kisses. "Shh," Karen said softly. "Don't think about it. He'd go grey over night if he could see me now, so please, just forget about it." "Does John know?" "No, and I would like it to stay that way." Hands reached to unfasten clothing, their need being of one mind. "Are you sure your neighbours are away?" Karen asked, as they transferred their activities to the soft, springy grass. "Well, if they're not, they're about to be a little enlightened," George said matter-of-factly. It was after eleven o'clock by this time, and it felt neither wrong, nor strange for either of them to be naked on George's back lawn. Their path towards pleasure's peak was so familiar to both of them now, that their hands moved in perfect harmony, caressing nipples, sliding into moist, warm places, hungrily swallowing each other's murmurs of enjoyment. Karen could feel that she wasn't about to achieve an orgasm, but it didn't matter. Here she was, with George, in George's arms, and being made love to by George. Yes, it would definitely do her good to feel that explosive pull towards her own, personal point of flashover, but she didn't think this was going to happen tonight. Was her father still metaphorically looking over her shoulder, she wasn't sure. 

When George had finally shuddered to rest, she briefly laid her head on Karen's shoulder, with her breathing gradually returning to normal. "You, didn't, come," George said between slowly decreasing gasps. "It doesn't matter," Karen told her, affectionately stroking her shoulder. "Yes, it does," George said in offended dignity. "Of course it does. What sort of lover would I be, if I didn't ensure that after a conversation like that one, you were given every opportunity to entirely relax." "That's incredibly sweet of you," Karen said, gently kissing her. "But I don't know if I'm capable of an orgasm this evening." "Is it being out here? Would you prefer to go inside?" "No," Karen reassured her. "Being out here is wonderful." "So, what might have a chance of making you release all those horribly negative feelings?" "I don't think a date with six beautiful women could do that," Karen said with a smirk. "Mmm, I can see you being part of an orgy," George said contemplatively. "Please will you give me oral?" "Of course I will," George said lasciviously. She kissed her way down until she was suckling delicately on one of Karen's nipples, whilst still keeping her hand moving in and around Karen's silky depths. After a while, Karen gently detached George's lips from her, and raised her face to meet hers. "George, please don't be offended if this doesn't work." "And it doesn't matter how long it takes," George assured her. "You just tell me what you want, and I'll do it, and if that ends up being please stop, I don't want any more, then that's fine." As George continued playing Karen's body as skilfully as she did her piano, Karen experienced a wave of fondness and gratitude for the woman who was prepared to give her so much. Simple sexual gratification might not seem a lot to some, but between her and George, it said so much more. She knew that George regretted trying to manipulate her into sharing such closely guarded confidences, and that her way of making up for this was to grant Karen's sexual wish. When she began to feel these emotions wash over her, she did achieve one thing, her first steps on the path to relaxation. George had kissed her way down her body now, and was lying between her legs, sweeping her tongue languorously around Karen's entrance. When George felt the initial quiver from Karen's body, she thought that her ministrations might just be working. Karen always tasted so gloriously sweet, that she wondered how she could ever have been afraid of trying it. She thrust her tongue into Karen's entrance as far as possible, using her soft button of a nose to rub against Karen's clit. "Christ almighty, George, you should be made illegal," Karen said, her breath quickening. With her mouth otherwise engaged, George softly laughed. Karen cried out when George's firm, full lips began nibbling on her clit, sending sparks of electricity arcing through her entire body. George didn't attempt to introduce her hands into what she was doing, except to occasionally tease Karen's nipples, because her mouth was all that was needed to finally push Karen over the edge. When George finally moved back up to look into Karen's face, she could see the trace of tears on her cheeks, given away by the slightly smudged mascara. "I needed that so much," Karen said, her voice betraying the force of her emotions. She could taste herself on George's lips, and she knew that she couldn't have a more sexually satisfying, more affectionate, or more loving woman. If only she could say those words, I love you, but this was the one sentiment that would never be expressed between them. Was this the story of her life, to either only hear those words spoken with false intentions, or never to hear them at all? She didn't know. But she loved George, more than she'd thought she loved Fenner, more than she'd loved Yvonne, if what she'd felt for Yvonne could ever have been called love, more than anyone she'd ever had in her life. She longed to say those three little words, to really tell this woman what she felt for her, but it wasn't to be. It was left to her to show her feelings instead of articulating them, purposefully adopting the course of action that John was always being persuaded to abandon. As they later lay cuddled up in George's bed, they held each other close, as only the most tender of lovers do, exchanging through fond caresses if not by words, how much they cared for each other. No one else was present in that bed, not John, not Yvonne, and not even Jo. This night was for them, and them alone. They still hadn't finished the conversation about Shell and about Denny, and about why Karen felt guilty for her first professional mistake as a Governing Governor, but when they were lying snuggled under the duvet, none of this seemed to matter. 


	120. Part One Hundred And Twenty

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Twenty

Karen didn't sleep particularly well on the Friday night, in spite of the intense sexual sensation she'd experienced earlier. She watched as a portion of the moon peeped through the crack in the bedroom curtains, playing over George's exquisite bone structure, the soft light of lovers gently caressing those long, blonde eyelashes as they fluttered in the midst of a dream. Karen hadn't meant to talk about her parents, they having been one of her no go areas for years. It had felt kind of odd to even mention them by the names of mum and dad. But after prodding her in the right direction, George had listened, not interrupted, and had simply accepted the way Karen had said things were. Karen hated revealing her vulnerabilities to anyone, but maybe that was part of being in a serious and meaningful relationship. If so, why the hell had she told George of all people? It wasn't as if they could ever be involved in anything more than simple sexual satisfaction, with the added bonus of occasional bouts of emotional support. She eventually drifted into a deep, restless sleep, when the sun was beginning to creep over the horizon. When George awoke a few hours later, she lay watching Karen sleep. Even in rest Karen didn't seem able to properly relax. Her face was briefly contorted, with her limbs occasionally twitching, making George want to take away all the thoughts that were clearly disturbing her slumber. Returning to bed a little while later, with two cups of tea and the morning's paper, George waited for Karen to emerge from sleep. When she did finally open her eyes, Karen felt sluggish, dull, as if all her energy had been suddenly drained out of her. "You had a fairly restless night," George said, feeling Karen's gaze on her. "Discussing demons can do that to a person," Karen said dryly, her voice very deep with early morning drowsiness. Refolding the newspaper and dropping it on the floor, George slid back down beside Karen. "How do you feel?" She asked, putting her arms round her. "As though I could sleep for a week," Karen said, gently kissing her. "And I could really do without this rehearsal this afternoon. I'm not really in the mood for being polite to anyone." "Oh, I shouldn't worry," George told her with a wry smile. "It'll be John who will be struggling to maintain his dignity, not you. I've a feeling Daddy will ask Neil and I to perform the two love duets today, and since the little practice we had on Wednesday, I know we can do it, which isn't going to make John very happy." "So that's why Neil wanted your phone number. How did it go?" "Let's just say, that we discovered a means to success," George said with a smirk. "Oh, do tell," Karen invited. "I'm intrigued." "We danced it, really acting it rather than just singing it. We didn't sing during the first one, because he just kept talking to me, almost hypnotising me into the part. It was incredible. That voice of his just sort of slides over you," She added with a self-satisfied yawn. "Are you actually telling me, that Neil Grayling, turned you on, just by talking to you?" Karen asked in astounded amazement. "I know, terrible, isn't it," George said self-deprecatingly. "No, not really," Karen said with a grin. "It's just a little bizarre, that's all. Did he know?" "I'm not certain, but I think so, and I think he might have done it on purpose. But to be honest, I don't care, because it worked. When I finally began to sing, I felt as though I was floating, as if the words were taking over my entire being. You don't think me stupid?" "No, of course not," Karen said, kissing her lingeringly. After a few moment's silence, she added, "So, I suppose this means that you'll be pretty insatiable after the rehearsal this afternoon." "That's not a problem, is it?" George asked silkily, her hands beginning to move tantalisingly over Karen's body. "Are you joking," Karen said with a laugh. "Of course it's not. I like you when you can't get enough of me." 

When Neil arrived for the rehearsal on the Saturday afternoon, he had to admit to not really looking forward to the conversation he knew he had to have with John. Other people's relationship problems weren't something he usually concerned himself with, because he'd had more than enough of his own one way and another, but this was different. The Judge had persuaded George to play Eve, no doubt using every manipulative tactic in the book, so he could damn well support her in actually fulfilling it. When he saw John arrive, Neil mustered all his tactical reserves, and strolled casually over to him. "Might I have a word?" He asked quietly, not wanting to draw any attention to them. "Yes, of course," John replied, utterly mystified as to what this man should want with him. When they had adjourned to a quiet corner, Neil took a deep breath and began. "I have become aware, that you have something of a problem, with regards to George acting her role in anything resembling a convincing manner." Neil had said this in his very quiet, very professional voice that usually achieved results, but he could see immediately that he'd crossed a line in doing so. "And precisely what makes you assume such a thing?" John enquired guardedly. "George told me," Neil replied, feeling as though Mount Vesuvius was about to erupt. "Well, she shouldn't have done," John said icily. "That argument was between me and George, and no one else." "Look," Neil continued uncomfortably. "I don't know any of the details, and I don't want to know. George also has a certain difficulty with enacting a role that she neither feels, nor wants to feel. However, we went over those two particular pieces together this week, and I think we may have conquered George's difficulty, but you're not going to like it." "Why?" John demanded ominously. "In order for her to be able to fulfill the part convincingly," Neil said carefully. "We found it necessary to act, rather than just sing. George is perfectly happy with this, but believe it or not, she doesn't want to hurt you. She needs your blessing, before she can completely relax." "That's as maybe," John said curtly, still unwilling to acknowledge that Neil was offering him an olive branch. "But what exactly do you get out of this?" "I am getting no more out of playing the part of Adam, than anyone else is of being part of the orchestra, plain and simple. George isn't, nor ever will be my type, I promise you." "Oh, and why's that then?" "Because she is a woman. George is beautiful, incredibly talented and deserves to be allowed to do one of the things she loves. That is all I will ever see in her." "So, what is your type?" John demanded acidly, almost insulted that Neil didn't find George sexually attractive, even though he knew this was ridiculous. "I think that's my business, don't you," Neil replied, using every ounce of self-control he possessed not to lose his rag. "You lay so much as a fingernail on her, Grayling," John said in his most threatening, most earnestly embittered tones. "You touch her an inch more than is absolutely necessary to carry this off, and I'll have you in court, quicker than you can say justice. Is that clear?" "It was you who persuaded her to play the part of Eve, Sir John," Neil replied stonily. "So don't you think, that instead of leveling me with unnecessary threats, it's about time you started allowing her to do what you asked her to do?" As John stood there, slightly aghast that his usual threat to any encroaching male had gone virtually unacknowledged, Neil threw in one last persuasive jibe. "If you were so concerned about who would be playing opposite George, you should have taken the part yourself." Nailing John to the spot with one, last penetrating stare, Neil stalked away. 

John stood, staring after Neil, with an utterly flabbergasted look on his face. It wasn't very often that he was so skillfully ordered to alter his behaviour, and he didn't like the feeling it created in him. He felt small, humiliated, as though he was an errant schoolboy again, and had been reprimanded for some adolescent misdemeanour. He couldn't believe that someone had possessed the audacity to speak to him in such a manner. But this was the folly of Judges the world over, he supposed, to assume that no one would dare ignore their level of authority. As other people began to arrive, John started tuning up his violin, only half of his mind on the job. He was loath to admit it, but he knew that Grayling was right. He had been jealous of George's performing those two love duets with anyone else, and he had allowed it to cloud his professional judgement as a musician. So, give her his blessing, by actions if not by words, he must. When Karen and George arrived, George went to speak to her father, and Karen came over to John, seeing in an instant that something was wrong. "What's happened?" She asked without preamble, stopping beside his chair and resting her viola case on the floor. "Nothing," John told her, not wanting her to know what Neil had said to him. "Ross used to look at me like that, whenever he knew I was about to receive a bad school report about him," Karen replied, John being completely unable to hide anything from her. "I think I've just been rather smartly put in my place," He said, always feeling the need to confess his sins to Karen, no matter how harsh the rebuke might be. "Who by?" Karen asked, her lips faintly twitching into a smile. "Don't you dare laugh," John told her firmly. "This isn't funny." "No, of course not," Karen said, trying to straighten her face, and give him her full attention. "Your boss, in his infinite wisdom, has virtually ordered me to keep my jealousy under wraps for the duration of this endeavour." "Ah," Karen said knowingly, wholly unable to prevent a broad grin from spreading over her face. Then, turning serious again, she said quietly, "He does have a point, you know." "I don't care if he has a point," John retorted hotly. "I don't require my inefficiencies to be pointed out by him of all people." "Oh," Karen said dryly. "So it's Neil's threatening of your masculine pride that's bothering you." "Masculine pride?" John snorted in utter disgust. "He wouldn't know the meaning of the word." "I would have thought," Karen said quietly, though with enough ice in her tone to freeze the sun. "That such a comment was beneath you, John. I also would have thought, that certain aspects of the last few months, might have broadened your horizons. I don't like being disappointed in you." As Karen made to turn away, John caught at her hand. "Karen, wait," He cajoled. "I'm sorry. That was completely out of order." "I don't want to have to tell you to grow up, John," Karen replied, giving his hand a small squeeze. "But you make another smart comment about a sexuality that you clearly still have no time for, and I will." As she walked away from him and took her seat next to Michael Nivin, John felt far worse than he had done after Grayling's shove in the right direction. With Grayling, he had simply felt exposed and humiliated, but with Karen, he felt hurt, hurt that he had caused her to say something so cutting to him. He knew he shouldn't have made that dig at Grayling's sexuality, and in truth, he didn't really mean it, but he still couldn't escape that feeling of jealousy, that another man would have his arms round the woman who, even when they hadn't been together, John had always regarded as his. 

The rehearsal began to come together at this point, meaning that he didn't have a chance to speak to Karen again before they started playing. When George sat down near him, John reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his version of a publicly acceptable fond greeting. Turning round to look at him, George gave him a warm smile. She briefly held his hand against her cheek, her way of asking him not to be too cross with her for what was coming. First of all, they began with George's solo, 'On Mighty Pens', which provided her with a thoroughly satisfactory warm up for the duets that she knew would be sprung on them soon. Her father was impressed at the volume she put into her tone, and with the accuracy and clarity of the playing, particularly from Clare's flute. This was one of the pieces they'd practiced the accompaniment to, on the day when George had been conducting. They then moved through one of Monty's solos, and one of Neil's, both men convincing Joe Channing that the eventual performance would undoubtedly be a success. When Joe turned to face them, George knew that their time had come. "I think it's about time," Joe said slowly. "That we run through the two duets for Adam and Eve. I believe you have done this before, but not under my surveillance." "The thing is, Daddy," George said carefully, looking up at him. "The most successful way we've found of performing them, isn't perhaps the way in which Haydn intended them to be performed." "Why?" Joe asked ominously, knowing that his daughter was vastly understating the issue. "Perhaps if you simply observe, you'll understand what I mean." "That's what I'm worried about," Joe said dryly, stepping stiffly down from the rostrum. "If you will conduct, Monty, I can see what my daughter has been getting up to." There was a murmur of laughter from the orchestra, as Monty took Joe's place. As Joe went and sat down, a little way from the sprawling group of musicians, George and Neil approached each other. At a whispered suggestion from him, George moved to stand side on to the cellos, so that in dancing with her, Neil would have his back to John, making it impossible for John to see anything, except the occasional glimpse of George's face. Neil had decided to do this, so that John would at least be spared the view of his arm around George's tiny waist. 

As they began slowly dancing to the swaying, four beat rhythm of the first duet, several people stilled their bows, to gape at the sheer beauty of what they were seeing. George could feel Neil's arm around her, his hand resting casually on her lower back, his other hand entwined with hers. As they began to sing in perfect tandem, all ears homed in on the utter perfection of their combined sound. It pained John to hear her sounding so in love, so besotted with her mate, and the fact that he knew she was only acting, didn't serve to make him feel any better about the situation. But the sound she was making was incredible, so pure and delicate, yet so filled with power, that it almost overwhelmed him. Who was he to cast doubt on her exhibiting such a talent, who was he to prevent her from showing the entire world how beautiful she was? It highly confused him to feel this combination of hurt and wonder, this utterly devastating urge to snatch her away from Grayling and to protect her from every other man for the rest of her life, and yet to put her on the pedestal that befitted such beauty and clarity of tone. Joe Channing on the other hand, simply stared at his daughter, seeing in an instant that he was witnessing a transformation before his very eyes. He'd always known that his one and only child was incredibly talented, that she could perform as well in court as she had done on the stage at school, but he'd never suspected that it went so deep. From what he could see of the look on George's face, she was utterly wrapped up in what she was doing, with a soft, almost swooning expression in her eyes. When the first duet came to an end, Joe Channing looked contemplatively at the couple before him. "Hmm, yes," He said dryly. "As you said, not as Haydn intended. However, I will reserve judgment until I've seen your enactment of the second duet." Knowing this was as good as she was likely to get, George rolled her eyes in affectionate acceptance of her father's methods. 

As the second duet began, George tried to recapture the feelings she'd had when they'd sung this on Wednesday, but being in the presence of her father, never mind so many other people, meant that although she sang with far more feeling than she had done when she'd been conducting, she couldn't entirely let go in the way she had on Wednesday. Neil could feel this slight reticence in her, the faint holding back of her emotions, and he wasn't entirely sure how to alleviate it. He began, by gently caressing her hand as it lay in his, running his index finger over her knuckles, and alternating this by sweeping his thumb across her palm. He hadn't entirely meant his actions to be given a sexual interpretation, but he didn't miss the slight tensing of her muscles in response. As they were in the midst of a passage that consisted of nothing but her voice, he took the opportunity to murmur something to her out of the side of his mouth, so that no one else would see. "Picture yourself saying these words to a particular person." She didn't miss a beat as she took in his suggestion, knowing that he was trying to help her really fulfill her potential. As her own words washed over her, George allowed her mind to wander, not to the evening before and her frolics with Karen in the back garden, but to the weekend two weeks previously, when she and Jo had finally crossed that line between close friendship, and sexual attraction. Neil watched as George's eyes left his, beginning to stray towards the object of her thoughts. He assumed her inner gaze was focussed on Karen, as she wouldn't be able to see John without craning passed him, but when George's eyes lighted on Jo Mills, sitting with her cello not five feet from where they were slowly dancing, he couldn't believe his eyes. The expression on George's face was so soft, so enchantingly gentle, that he knew this was no mistake. She had meant to end up gazing at Jo, to bestow on her the words that were issuing forth from her with such power of feeling. 

'Life and all I have, all I have is thine. My reward thy love shall be.' 

As George sang these fondest of words, she gazed at Jo, beseeching her to glance up, to see the clear sentiments in her eyes. George wasn't entirely sure why she'd picked on Jo, but perhaps it was simply that this expression of her feelings, no matter how contrived, had given her the opportunity to tell Jo how she felt about her, how she wanted to be allowed to feel about her. 

'With thee, with thee, delight is ever new. With thee, with thee, is life incessant bliss.' 

Jo did look up at this point, hearing timbres of sincerity in George's voice that simply demanded her attention. She had been covertly watching George, admiring how gracefully she danced, but it was the first exultation of these words that caused her to lift her eyes from the music. Her playing didn't falter, because she knew this particular piece by heart. As her eyes met George's, seeing in them such a wave of blissful entreaty to be heard, she shivered. She wasn't certain that the actual words were meant for her, but the feelings engendered by them definitely were. So, it wasn't only her who hadn't been able to forget that kiss, it wasn't only her who secretly thought about being in love with someone she shouldn't be. George clearly felt it too, felt that irresistible pull that was urging them even closer together. They hadn't seen all that much of each other since the last rehearsal, but that hadn't helped their mutual attraction to dissipate. A bolt of electricity seemed to flash between them, to rekindle the flame that hadn't entirely died. 

When all was quiet, Joe Channing cleared his throat. "I was more than a little skeptical when you told me that you would be doing things differently, but I am forced to admit that the pair of you have got it absolutely right. Haydn might not have intended his lovers to be quite so full of feeling, but I imagine that he would nevertheless have been proud to witness such an interpretation of the biblical text." George smiled broadly, seeing this as her father's slightly cryptic way of saying that he also was proud of them. The rehearsal broke up soon after this, and George found herself feeling a little apprehensive of the reaction she was about to receive from John. But when he finally approached her, she was pleasantly surprised. Putting a slightly possessive, though nonetheless loving arm around her shoulders, he said, "Well done," in that quiet, understated tone that always said so much. "I'm sorry, if you didn't like it," George replied, not wanting to have hurt him in the process. "It was beautiful," He told her sincerely. "It reminded me of when I first met you." "So you're not cross with me?" She asked a little uncertainly. "No," He said a little hoarsely. "I shouldn't have been so stupid." As he said these last few words, he saw Karen walking up to them. "It seems to be my day for putting right my misdeeds," He said dryly. "Oh, you haven't been arguing again?" George asked regretfully. "Nothing that can't be fixed," John assured her. "Wasn't she beautiful?" He said when Karen reached them. "Incredible," Karen agreed with a smile. "Every inch the perfect seducer." "No wonder they always put the blame for all man's misdeeds on Eve," George said dryly, to cover up her pleasure at their approval. "Am I forgiven?" John asked Karen, his eyes pleading with hers to absolve him. "I should imagine so," She said a little coolly. "But just remember what I said." "As if I'll ever forget it," John said in an undertone, forever determined to have the last word. 


	121. Part One Hundred And Twenty One

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Twenty One

Jo wasn't sure exactly where she was at first, just that she was relaxed: safe, warm and happy. As her eyes began to focus on her surroundings, she became aware of a very familiar smell. She hadn't got to know George as well as she had over the last couple of years, without being instantly able to recognise the perfume she always wore. So, George was here too, wherever she was, which was nice. Experimenting with the other senses she usually possessed, Jo began determining as much as possible about her immediate vicinity. She could feel the heat of the sun on her body. This meant that she must be naked, and in the open air of all things. Jo faintly blushed when she came to this abrupt realisation. She could hear the sound of the birds in nearby trees, and the faint rustle of the leaves, disturbed by the gentle summer breeze. She was lying on softly mown grass, its fragrance prompting her to take in a deep, self-satisfied breath. Finally returning to the matter of what she could and couldn't see, she shifted her gaze slightly to the left, and saw George lying next to her, softly smiling at her. She was also completely unclothed, her skin a rich, sumptuous, honey colour, as if she had been sunbathing in the nude. Her small, perfect breasts were pointing up at the clear, blue sky, and the breeze was blowing tendrils of her soft, blonde hair across her face. 

As Jo took in every inch of George's beautiful body, she could feel George scrutinizing her just as thoroughly. But she didn't care. She knew that, in this softly serene dream world, she was just as beautiful as George was. "Are you just going to lie there all day and stare at me?" George asked, fondly teasing. "Because I don't know how long we've got." Smiling at George's obvious impatience, Jo allowed her instincts to take over. Reaching out a long, delicate finger, she ran it caressingly over one of George's breasts. It felt perfectly natural to her to do this, leaving her with no feeling of nervousness, or of treading the path of the unknown. "You're beautiful," She found herself saying. When George turned her eyes to meet Jo's, Jo was intensely touched by the sheer openness in them. Nothing was hidden from her, nothing in George's soul denied her. When their lips touched, Jo was enchanted at their softness, the total pliability of George's mouth, and the sweetness of another woman doing this to her. The contours of her mouth were just as they had been, on that night back at the end of April, when George had been drunk and Jo had kissed her. But there was no surprise this time, no hint of it being even possibly forbidden. George tasted divinely of wine and strawberries. When she felt George's hand on her breast, she gasped, but not in surprise, for this all felt so right, almost as if they'd been here before. 

John had gradually drifted into wakefulness, becoming slowly aware that Jo was in the middle of a dream. At first, he'd thought it was a bad one, her tossing and turning, together with her occasional murmurings, making him assume it was a nightmare. But with the help of the moonlight that was shining in through the gap in the bedroom curtains, he could see a soft, what could only be called sexy, smile on her face. He knew an erotic dream when he saw one. Though he had to admit, he'd never seen Jo have one. His curiosity aroused, he watched her, determined not to go back to sleep until he'd seen how this ended. 

"Much as I love you," Jo said, this also not alarming her. "We really shouldn't be doing this." "And dreams were never made to feel guilty over," George said, her sultry, slightly husky, clearly aroused voice, making Jo inwardly melt. "If anyone should be feeling guilty, it's me. So, if I'm not feeling guilty over Karen, then you certainly shouldn't feel guilty over John." This sounded so like the real George, that Jo briefly wondered if this was as much in her imagination as she thought it was. George's breast fit so snugly into her hand, it's fleshy, round softness, rising to a rock hard nipple. George's breasts were really the only part of her that bore any sign of a healthy covering of flesh. Detaching George's hand from her, Jo pulled George to her, holding her as tightly as possible with George returning the embrace. "Don't you ever go away from me," Jo entreated. "Not ever. Do you hear me?" "Don't cry," George said, gently kissing away the few stray tears that were scattering Jo's cheeks. "Dreams are meant to be enjoyed, not cried over. Promise me not to cry when you wake up from this one." When they began kissing each other again, their kisses were far more furious, far more intense. George was half draped over Jo by this time, her leg slipping in between Jo's, to rub teasingly against her centre. "I want you," Jo said, her deep, husky voice filled with intense arousal. They weren't remotely gentle with each other, their need for the other being too fraught, too desperate. Hands coaxed nipples to a bullet-like hardness, and slid familiarly into the warm, moist places between legs, their mouths never parting except to gasp with pleasure. They rolled in that sweet meadow grass, both crying out in total abandon. 

When Jo's eyes snapped open, she realised that not only was her breathing rapid and her pulse racing, but that her right hand was moving of its own accord between her legs, mimicking exactly what George had been doing to her only moments before. Finding that she was in a soft, warm bed, brought her back to earth with a bump. But once such an orgasm is started, hell would freeze over before she could stop it from taking its natural course. She was peripherally aware of John's gaze on her, but even the knowledge that he was witnessing her humiliation couldn't halt her hand in its quest. When her body finally shuddered to completion, tears began raining down her cheeks, the gasps of her orgasm transforming into the wracking sobs of utter humiliation. Immediately seeing that this had been no ordinary erotic dream, John put his arms round her and held her as she wept. He had absolutely no idea what had caused either the dream, or Jo's extreme reaction to it. He hadn't seen her cry like this, not since the night Jason Powell had died, and he'd held her in his arms and let her sleep in his bed, in an attempt to ward off her grief. He gently soothed her, saying anything that might calm her down. When he looked into her face, all he could see was pain, confusion, and even a little fear. Eventually, Jo cried herself back to sleep, leaving John worried, concerned, and utterly mystified. 

When Jo awoke on the Sunday morning, John wasn't there. Knowing he would probably have taken Mimi for a walk, Jo stretched. She felt exhausted, more emotionally than physically. She hadn't said one word about her dream to John last night, but she knew she'd have to this morning. Waking up touching herself, and then crying her heart out, weren't things that could be so easily explained away. Groaning futilely and hiding her blushing face under the duvet, she wished with all her might that last night hadn't happened. But, when she eventually dragged herself out of bed, it was all still there, waiting for her. Shrugging into a dressing gown, she went downstairs to make a cup of tea. John had left her a note on the kitchen table, saying that he had taken Mimi for a walk as she'd suspected. Lighting a cigarette with a slightly shaking hand, she realised that John's curiosity would be in overdrive this morning. She wasn't awake or alert enough yet to begin examining her own feelings on the matter. It was far too soon after the event for that. 

When John let himself back in, Jo was smoking her second cigarette of the day, and still sat in her dressing gown at the kitchen table. "Hello," He said, leaning over to kiss her cheek. Looking up at him, she didn't really know what to say. How could she? How could she have dreamt about George, when she was in bed with John? Stubbing her cigarette out, she rose to her feet and went upstairs for a shower. "Aren't women funny creatures, Mimi?" John said, putting the kettle on for a cup of tea. Mimi just watched him, sensing an air of tension between these two favourite people of hers. John hated it when Jo couldn't talk to him, but he could see that she clearly felt incredibly embarrassed about what had happened last night. He wondered, not for the first time, just who she'd been dreaming about. It didn't bother him that she'd dreamt about someone other than him, because he certainly dreamt about other women on occasions. But that didn't stop him from being curious. Jo had looked sensational, with her rock hard nipples and that wickedly sinful hand of hers working away between her legs. But why had it upset her so much? It wasn't that she'd been caught in the act, at least he didn't think it was. So, it must be because of whom the dream had been about. 

When Jo reappeared downstairs, she felt a little more able to deal with the day ahead. But her thoughts kept returning to George. The words, the body, the tone of voice, everything had belonged to George. What did this mean? Did it mean that she did indeed want George, want to make love to George? In a rash moment of immense childishness, she decided that this was all George's fault. That Sunday, when the four of them had been watching a film together, and both she and John, and George and Karen had turned their attention away from the screen and to each other, that was when it had happened. Jo had found their little display incredible, arousing her far more than even John had done in quite a while. Then had come that kiss, that incredibly sinful, yet utterly unforgettable kiss. But that didn't mean she was actually in love with George, did it? She hoped not, for all their sakes. 

After putting some washing in the machine, she stood watching Mimi out of the kitchen window. The little dog was chasing flies, either that or her own tail. John had been reading the paper in the lounge, but now he came up behind her and put his arms round her. Craving the comfort of his warm, solid body, even though she didn't think she had any right to it, Jo turned round to face him. He had not pressed her on anything to do with her dream or its effect on her, in fact he hadn't even mentioned it, but she had a feeling that the time had come. "Are you all right?" He asked, after gently kissing her. "No," Was her simple reply. But she didn't attempt to qualify her answer. But there was one thing she desperately needed to know. "Did I say anything, before I woke up last night?" He smiled. "Nothing intelligible, no." Then, because he realised why she'd asked, he added, "Your secret is entirely safe, I promise." She looked relieved, but it didn't appear to make her any happier. "I feel so stupid," She said, avoiding his gaze. "You know," He said into her hair. "Dreaming of someone else, and then waking up touching yourself, isn't anything to be ashamed of." "That depends who you're dreaming about," She said bitterly, flinching at his words. "Who was it?" "Trust me, John, you really don't want to know, and more importantly, I don't want to tell you." "Well, something obviously upset you." "John," She said firmly, though with a hint of desperation in her tone. "The fact that you witnessed my humiliation is really quite bad enough, so will you please drop it." She'd drawn slightly back from him as she said this, but now he pulled her gently back into his arms. "Okay, message received and understood," He said quietly, as she briefly laid her head against his chest. "I'm sorry," She said after a while. "I shouldn't take this out on you." "Women seem to enjoy shouting at me," He said with a smile. "It's becoming a bit of a habit." "I've got a lot of work to do this afternoon," She said a little while later, still standing cocooned in his embrace.  
"Are you chucking me out?" He asked, with the lost little boy look that never fooled her. "Yes," She said simply, not quite able to hide the fact that today, John's company really wasn't something she wanted or could handle. "You know where I am if you change your mind." 

Late that night, when she was lying in her large, and thankfully otherwise empty double bed, her thoughts returned to George, not that they'd been far from her all day. What she'd dreamt last night had been incredible. Feelings of guilt and confusion aside, it had been sensational. The combination of the gentle closeness of the woman she thought most of in the world, added to the extreme sexual arousal, was something that, she knew now, she would do anything to experience for real. George's hands had played over her body in exactly the same skilful way they manipulated her piano, inducing feelings in her of such intimacy, such complete unguardedness, that it almost took her breath away just to think about it. Knowing that she was entirely alone, she slipped her hand under the duvet, to caress those parts of her that George had so subtly teased. It surely couldn't be wrong, to do this when there was absolutely no one here to witness it. But as her own hands mapped the patterns on her body that George's had, a new thought crossed her mind. Would George, could George, ever feel anything more than simple, sexual curiosity for her? Jo didn't know the answer to this, and she decided that it was probably better that she didn't. George had Karen, which made her not only out of bounds, but forever wholly unobtainable. 


	122. Part One Hundred And Twenty Two

A/N: This chapter is jointly written, and is betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Twenty Two

Unaccountably, Helen's internal clock prompted her to wake up before her normal time. She rolled over in bed to find an unexpected empty space. Nikki would be normally sleeping in after a late night at the club but she had the interview for the wing governor job today. She would be expected to be up, bright and early, but not this early. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and Nikki came into view, fully dressed.  
"Steady on, Nikki. You've got hours before the interview." "There'll never be too much time to get ready today," Nikki replied shortly.  
Even one sleepily, half-open blink of her eyes told Helen how nervous Nikki was. She hadn't been prepared for this from the way she acted perfectly normally. It was just that the full enormity of what she was doing was starting to hit her and she was noticeably pale and her breath came in and out in short bursts. "How do you want me to help, Nikki?" "I wouldn't normally ask you to get up at this hour but, just this one time, I would like you to be with me." Nikki's faint smile and the courteous way she spoke showed that she had got it right. In another era, she might have been too proud to admit she was scared and would have flared up at Helen in denial. Immediately, she slid out of the bed and stumbled to the shower. While warm invigorating water splashed down her body, she could sense a tense rigid Nikki sitting on their bed, bolt upright and worrying to herself. Helen cut short her "getting ready" routine, slung on her nearest casual clothes to hand and glanced at Nikki with loving concern. "How can I help you, sweetheart?" floated the soft, gentle Scottish brogue delicately on the air.  
Immediately, Nikki spread her arms wide and Helen moved forward into her embrace. The fierceness with which Nikki hugged her showed how much she needed to be comforted and Helen gently caressed the other woman. The utter silence of their basement room gave them all the time in the world especially as the rest of London life outside their window seemed to sleep on. Time floated by in suspended animation while they held each other close.  
"I'll spoil your makeup," Helen gently teased.  
Nikki laughed shortly. She needed that absurdly inconsequential detail to get things into perspective so that her thoughts could unfold, one by one, and she could face the day ahead. "Helen?" "Right here next to you." There was a long pause as Nikki eventually found the words to give voice to the niggling thought that had been buried deep at the bottom of her mind.  
"I was going to ask you a difficult question that's been at the back of my mind." "Ask away." Helen's breezy assurance contrasted with Nikki's halting delivery.  
"You wouldn't be in any way jealous that I've been given a job interview for the very position that you held down once. If even a little bit of you feels that way, I'd sooner know." Nikki's big brown eyes looked into Helen's soul, not for false reassurance but for the truth whatever that might be. Helen laughed in an easy fashion and shook her head, not in any way to diminish Nikki's thoughts whatever they might be, Years of living with her had taught her to simplify and clarify her thinking. "I'll tell you the truth. I might have felt it if this had happened right after you came out of Larkhall. I was still mentally attached to the prison service more than I cared to admit. Even recently, those ties were still there in a mad sort of way when you first mentioned the job. I freaked out about it only because I did not want to see you go through what I went through when I first started there. I forgot that you'd be going into it knowing a hell of a lot more than I ever did when I started. Thanks to Karen, I've laid the ghosts to rest and I've really moved on to my present job. There's no going back except as a visitor at the very most. You can be sure that nowhere in my thoughts was there or is there, any trace of jealousy. I just wish you make the success of it that you deserve and that I want to do my best to help you get the job." Nikki lay back in her armchair with a huge contented smile on her face with a feeling of relief at having got that tricky question out of the way. In her general nervousness, she had been unconsciously influenced by that unhappy period of time when Helen had let her increasing run of successes and her temporary promotion to Governing Governor go to her head. Nikki had felt it keenly at the time that she wasn't needed any more to help Helen out and it had all merged into her general negativity.  
"Now come now, Helen," She asked the other woman briskly. "Imagine that you are a very critical member of the interview panel and you are out to give me a hard time of it." "But I couldn't possibly do it," Came the answer as Helen was on the point of dissolving into an attack of the giggles. "I'd only say that, of course, you're the ideal candidate before you'd even had the chance to open your mouth." "All I'm asking you to do is to role play. You a psychologist as well," Nikki retorted in a mock stern manner.  
"But that's me getting others to do it. I can't possibly do it myself. That's not in my contract." and again Helen fell about laughing. "Helen, you're impossible. You must do this for me. After all, you did promise." She looked at Nikki's semi serious expression, realised that time was getting on and readied herself to start thinking of all the sort of traps that Mrs. Warner might set for Nikki. It crossed her mind that Nikki hadn't had a job interview for a very long time, at least since she and Trisha had set up the club. Helen searched her memory as to when she first joined the prison service and cross referenced it with her encounter with Alison Warner when she headed the area hit squad after Shell Dockley's breakout, and the way she and her sidekick tried to use the flimsy so called evidence of Shell's diary to stitch her up. At least the job interview would be that bit easier to negotiate. She did her best to straighten her face and think up the sort of taxing questions that Nikki might face.  
A little while later, Nikki followed the directions to Cleland House that the official letter had provided and walked up to the very imposing building that momentarily took her breath away. Shit, I've not seen a place like this before and am a million miles in spirit from Larkhall. Then that resilient spirit which always came to her rescue reminded herself that the place was only a building, that of the panel, Karen she knew, Grayling she had heard Karen speak well of and the only one to watch was this Alison Warner. In her most self-assured fashion, she reported in to the receptionist as if she had every right to belong there. And indeed, she did. Right on the dot, she stood in front of the door to the interview room, took a deep breath, knocked on the door and walked inside. When Nikki walked into the room, and saw that her interview panel was made up of four people, only one of them whom she knew, she realised that this might be the hardest battle she'd ever fought. She took a seat on one side of the table, with her four inquisitors opposite her. Grayling provided the introductions, informing her that the man sitting at the left hand end of the table facing her was the Operational Director, Sir Charles Reading, that the woman next to him was Alison Warner, the Area Manager for women's prisons, that he was Neil Grayling, Alison Warner's second in command, and that the fourth and final person was Governor Karen Betts who Nikki was already acquainted with, and who would be her immediate boss. Nikki could feel the nagging need for a cigarette, but as not even Karen was showing signs of lighting up, she figured that she must be in a no smoking environment. She could see that all four of them had piles of papers in front of them, showing that they were prepared for any eventuality. Offering her a choice of coffee or water, Neil began. 

"Taking it for granted that the establishment is the ultimate decision maker, how would you react to being asked to put a policy into practice, that you might not necessarily agree with?" Jesus, Nikki thought to herself, talk about hitting the ground running. "I would like to think that the establishment knows more about broad spectrum policy creation than I do," She replied with a disarming smile. "So I would therefore assume that even if I didn't agree with the overall introduction of such a policy, that it was being put into place for the best interests of the people the prison service is there to support. However, if I saw a significant problem with the implementation of any particular policy, I wouldn't hesitate to raise my concerns with the appropriate people." Neil momentarily felt the inexplicable urge to laugh. He knew, just by the answer to this first question, that Nikki Wade was the woman for the job. She wasn't going to stand any nonsense from the likes of his boss, or the people she would hopefully be in charge of later. Glancing at Karen to try and find out if she'd said the right thing, Nikki took in the almost imperceptible twitch of Karen's lips. "In the grand scheme of things, which do you consider comes first, the needs of your officers, or those of your inmates?" Karen then asked, posing a question that went straight to the core of Nikki's possible responsibility as a Wing Governor. "I feel that they both carry equal weighting," Nikki said fairly. "I would have a duty to ensure the safety of my officers, at least as far as is humanly possible, but to also maintain a satisfactory level of care, security and rehabilitation for the inmates inhabiting my wing." It was then Alison Warner's turn to put the boot in. "If it became necessary to discipline an officer who had once had authority over you, do you feel that you would be able to approach such a procedure in a thoroughly professional manner?" Be careful with this one, Nikki reminded herself before answering. "I would imagine that such a situation would be extremely difficult," She said honestly. "And I can certainly see the possible pitfalls of any ensuing professional conflict of interest. But I also feel that I would be able to approach the situation with all the professional detachment dictated by any disciplinary procedure. During my years of managing my club, I have employed friends on occasions, and subsequently been forced to terminate their employment for a variety of reasons. I feel that this has placed me in good stead for the management of staff who I may have known on an other than professional level." Well done, Neil and Karen thought simultaneously, you trod that tightrope very successfully. "Continuing with the issue of discipline and people management, do you also consider that you could maintain a satisfactory level of professional distance, when applying the incentives and privileges scheme, to those inmates who you may once have shared accommodation with?" Karen asked, wanting to get this one in before Alison Warner could put an altogether more sinister tone on the question. "Maintaining fair conditions of approval and discipline, are always necessary, no matter the type of people one is dealing with. Yes, there are people on G wing whom I would class as friends, but that would not allow me to digress from my professional responsibilities in the day to day management of their sentences. I believe in one rule for all, not in the type of cronyism that was rife during my time at Larkhall." Karen cleared her throat in a very meaningful manner, because she sensed that Nikki was about to go off at entirely the wrong tangent. Nikki's reply had been noted by both Alison Warner and the Operational Director, and Nikki realised that this had perhaps been going a little too far. "Part of a Wing Governor's duty, is to hold adjudications for all minor, and some major offences within the prison environment. If it became necessary to impose a punishment such as a period of segregation, or the removal of various privileges from an inmate who may have been at Larkhall during your time as a prisoner, it is highly possible that they may attempt to appeal to you on a personal level. How would you deal with such a situation?" "I would make my position clear, and impress on the individual concerned that I could not go easy on them, just because I had once been an inmate alongside them. I'm not so naive, to assume that my doing this job won't earn me some enemies, because I should imagine it would at some point. If the inmate concerned couldn't accept the situation, I would of course consider their transfer to either another wing or another prison, to minimize the possibility of their behaviour getting out of control." 

"How do you intend to react, to any disagreement with your employment, by those officers who will be under your management?" Alison Warner asked, making the prospect of any disagreement sound inevitable. "It wouldn't be the first time that I've had to fight my corner, over something that is beyond my control," Nikki said succinctly. "I would simply take it on the chin and deal with it. Any officer, who has a problem with my being employed in a position of superiority over them, will be politely invited to discuss it with me in a civilised and dignified manner. If they can't bring themselves to do this, then it is up to them to keep their misgivings to themselves." "Can you elaborate on this?" Neil asked her, hearing a determination in her tone that was born of long practice. "It's no secret to some of the officers on G wing, that I'm a lesbian. During my time as an inmate of Larkhall, I did encounter a certain amount of hostility from various quarters on this point. I don't envisage that the officers concerned will have changed either their opinions, or how they express them since I last saw them." Immediately Nikki said this, Neil was presented with the face of Sylvia Hollamby, whom he knew would put up the greatest fight for Nikki's dismissal at every possible occasion. "Do you think that your sexuality may pose a significant problem in your carrying out this particular job?" Alison Warner asked, her disdain at Nikki's way of life all too clear to see. "Does yours?" Nikki replied mildly, knowing that getting this woman on side would be the most difficult of all of them. "I hardly think that is an appropriate question," Said the Operational Director smoothly, responding immediately to both Neil's and Karen's look of outrage at the Area Manager's lack of sensitivity. Alison Warner blushed an unhealthy blotchy red under the public rebuke of her immediate superior. 

"What do you believe is the key to the prevention of re-offending?" Asked the Operational Director, wanting to move them on as quickly as possible. "It can be a combination of things," Nikki replied, calming down after Mrs. Warner's blatant attack on her sexuality. "For some it may be drug treatment and psychotherapy, for others it may be the provision of adequate employment on their release from prison. But if I were asked to put my finger on the overall starting point of a satisfactory period of rehabilitation, I would say without doubt that this lies with education. How can an inmate be expected to obtain or hold down a job on release, if they can neither read nor write? Over one in six prison inmates in this country cannot read or write to a satisfactory level, which is three times that of the general population. Many of these inmates have never been given the opportunity to learn such skills, perhaps as a result of not being picked up by their teachers or by educational psychologists whilst at school. A lack of employment, whether stable or otherwise, has often been proved to be the principle reason why many people drift into crimes such as shoplifting, prostitution, all types of theft and drug dealing. If we don't provide them with the means to obtain some sort of stable employment on release, we shouldn't be surprised if they are back under our care within a very short time. Sorry," She said, coming to a halt. "I'm getting a bit on my soap box." "Don't apologise," Neil told her with a smile. "It's always nice to have someone who actually believes in what they say, rather than simply telling us what they think we want to hear. Whilst you were serving your sentence, you studied for an English degree. Why?" "I've always had a love of literature, and books were probably what kept me sane while I was inside. Something like Romeo and Juliet, would temporarily take me away from what was going on around me. When it was suggested to me that I might like to take an Open University course, I decided on English, because I wanted it to be something that might lead me onto some sort of career after leaving prison. English has always been one of those universal subjects that can open many different doors. I didn't want to come out of prison in ten years time, with something as pointless and unusable as a general studies degree." "Why didn't you go to university after leaving school?" Asked Alison Warner. "My personal circumstances weren't exactly conducive, to either studying or financially supporting myself whilst studying, as I left home at sixteen under a less than amicable atmosphere." "Thinking about Larkhall in particular, and taking your experiences of its education facilities into account, how would you improve on what is already available?" Karen asked, wanting to get away from Nikki's personal background. "The first thing I would recommend," Nikki replied, making a concerted effort not to let her tongue run away with her this time. "Is to ensure that the monetary reward for taking part in education classes, is brought up to the same level as that incurred by doing menial tasks such as cooking, cleaning and gardening. By keeping the payment for doing education classes at half that for doing actual jobs around the prison, the service is immediately sending out the message, that we don't think education classes are as important as the tasks that decrease the workload of the prison officers. How can we expect more people to take up the classes on offer, if we fail to convince them that it's a good idea? One thing I did find was that the attitude of some of the officers with regards to education left an awful lot to be desired. Too many of them thought that if the inmates were involved in education classes, they wouldn't be able to take up the jobs that keep a wing running smoothly. I would seek to change these attitudes, though I do accept that it would be an uphill struggle. Larkhall does have particularly good facilities for a variety of education classes, but there is always room for improvement. I have not been to Larkhall since I was released nearly four years ago, so I am unaware of any changes that may have taken place since my time there. Perhaps the one area of education that I feel could certainly do with some improvement, and if this has already happened then I apologise, is that of the education surrounding drug addiction. Many inmates, both young and old, encounter drugs for the first time when they enter prison. If, at the start of any inmate's sentence, we can provide them with some education about drugs and the damage they can cause, I feel that we may be able to prevent some inmates from trying them and becoming addicted. This could be provided as part of the induction package offered to all inmates, and whilst it certainly wouldn't deter everyone, it may be successful with some. If we can prevent just one inmate from becoming addicted to drugs when they might otherwise have done, this would surely be the point of the exercise." 

"As you have been part owner in a nightclub for over ten years, how have you dealt with the rising trade in drugs?" Asked Alison Warner, clearly wanting to find something to trip Nikki up. "If I've ever discovered any drugs on the premises, the individuals concerned, whether they be customers or staff, have been immediately banned. I will not put up with any taking or dealing of drugs under my roof. Where prison inmates are concerned, rigorous observation of the activity between prisoners can often uncover the initial signs of any trade in drugs. Such procedures as cell searching, mandatory drug testing and the searching of suspected prisoners are all part and parcel of the fight against drugs. I would be in favour of the increase in punishments for anyone found to be taking or dealing drugs, as the current forty two days loss of remission seems highly ineffective, when compared to the harsh custodial sentences that a court can impose." "What is your opinion of the current provision of treatment and rehabilitation for drug addiction?" Asked the Operational Director. "That it's far too inefficiently funded," Nikki replied succinctly. "Whether or not an inmate can get access to a detox unit, rehabilitation and psychotherapy, very much depends on where they happen to be housed. Funding is not allocated either fairly or evenly, a state of affairs that is frankly pathetic. A quarter of all crime is at least partly drug related, meaning that treatment for drug addiction is an essential stage in the rehabilitation for a vast amount of offenders. How can we expect them to change their ways, if we don't provide them with this initial level of support and treatment." "If you were required to make a choice, between the increase in funding for either education, or healthcare, which would you consider to be the most satisfactory use of resources?" Alison Warner asked, with an almost gleeful glint in her eye. You bitch, Nikki thought stonily, knowing that this question had been left, until her utter devotion to the cause of education had been declared. "Well," Nikki responded, masking her feelings impeccably. "As healthcare directly impacts on the life of all inmates, I would obviously have to allocate the funding to improving the care accorded to the prisoners. But this is the main problem I see with regards to the funding of the prison service. The provision of education receives only what is left, after all other funding considerations have been taken into account. This is because the availability of education does not directly affect an inmate's life, even though it may indirectly. Whilst I am always in favour of the improvement of the facilities and personnel made available for the provision of prison healthcare, I don't agree with this only being made possible at the expense of education, which as we have already established, can mean the difference between the going straight or re-offending of many inmates." Karen breathed a sigh of relief when Nikki had completed her answer to this question, knowing that it was one of the trickiest ones she would be asked. But she also knew that this was nothing, compared to the question that Karen was about to throw at her. "How do you feel, about the locking up of vulnerable members of society, pregnant women and those with mental health problems, for example?" She asked, seeing in an instant that she'd strayed into one of Nikki's particular gripes against the prison system. "I think that the locking up of such members of society, does require very different handling to those who are neither pregnant nor mentally ill," Nikki said carefully, knowing Karen had to ask, but inwardly cursing her nevertheless. "These two particular categories of people have very specific needs, and require significantly altered care arrangements, which are not currently provided on a universal basis. I would hesitate to suggest, that some officers who were perhaps trained quite a long time ago, are neither aware of, nor willing to understand the very special requirements of caring for pregnant women and those with mental health problems." "And how would you seek to address this problem?" Neil asked her, seeing that Nikki was trying extremely hard not to allow her own personal feelings into her answer. "I would recommend a course of retraining wherever necessary," Nikki told him. "If there is always room for improvement where facilities and opportunities are concerned, then this is also applicable with regards to the working practices of any staff." "What do you consider to be the correct approach, when dealing with a persistent self-harmer?" Neil asked. "I would offer them a course of psychotherapy, if such provision were available, and involve their personal officer in maintaining regular contact and assessment of their situation. I would have no hesitation in talking to them myself, or in encouraging other officers to do the same." "How would you attempt to lower the incidence of suicide attempts on your particular wing?" Asked Alison Warner. "I would suggest rigorous psychiatric assessment of each inmate on admission, to discover whether or not they were at risk from suicidal behaviour. I would also suggest an increase in the provision of training so that more prisoners can become listeners, as a fellow prisoner is often far easier for an inmate to talk to than any officer, no matter how understanding they may be. If any inmate were perceived to be at risk of a suicide attempt, I would strive to keep them under the strictest surveillance, along with taking a detailed look at who they were sharing a cell with. Just because an inmate is sharing a cell, does not mean they will neither attempt nor succeed at killing themselves." Karen knew that Nikki was referring to Rachel Hicks. 

"If you are successful, and are offered this job, how may your home life impact on the level of commitment you are able to offer the prison service?" This came from Alison Warner, and was clearly a last ditch attempt to find a loophole. "I do have a partner," Nikki replied. "But we do not as yet have any children. I don't see any problem in my being able to offer the highest level of commitment necessary to fulfill the requirements of the job." "And finally," Said the Operational Director. "Apart from the initial suggestion made to you by Governor Betts, what prompted you to apply for the post of Wing Governor?" Nikki had to think about this one before she answered, knowing that this was make or break time. "Whilst I was an inmate in Larkhall, the one thing I continually tried to achieve, was fair conditions for my fellow inmates. I loathed the fashion in which certain inmates could achieve a more comfortable style of living, simply because they offered sexual favours to particular officers. I hated the way that some officers found it all too easy to take advantage of extremely vulnerable inmates. My most pressing concern, if I were to take up this job, would be to stamp out any hint of such behaviour among my particular staff. If my officers did not treat the prisoners in their care in a professional and sensitive manner, I would require an explanation as to why, followed by an immediate improvement in their attitude to their job. Caring for violent, mentally disturbed criminals, is undoubtedly the least rewarding job imaginable, and I would strive unstintingly to support my staff in carrying out their duties. I applied for this job, because I feel that I can do this, and that I can combine this role with that of improving the lives and opportunities that are currently on offer for the inmates. I feel that I possess the necessary drive and commitment to make the prison service a more fulfilling and positive environment for its workers, and a more secure, supportive, and sensitive process for the people who come under its jurisdiction." 

When she grew silent, Karen openly smiled at her, somehow knowing that Nikki had made it. "Thank you," The Operational Director said kindly. "Please will you give us some time to discuss the results of your interview?" As Nikki waited outside, she ran over everything she had said. She knew she'd been trying her luck by mentioning the total lack of professional behaviour that had gone on during her own time at Larkhall, but she just hoped she'd got away with it. Back in the conference room, Grayling was saying, "Well, I don't think there's any doubt, is there?" "Do you have any idea of the industrial action we could spark off by employing such as her?" Alison Warner demanded scornfully. "If all you're worried about is the reactions of the likes of Sylvia Hollamby," Karen replied scathingly. "Then it's a poor look out for the future of the prison service." "You might remember who you are talking to, Governor Betts," Alison Warner said icily. "Let's try and keep this amicable," Neil said calmly, not wanting a Karen style rant on his hands. "Nikki Wade has demonstrated everything we want to see in a Wing Governor," Said the Operational Director. "In fact, she'll be the best Wing Governor I've interviewed in years. She has the drive to put her all into the job, and she has the type of fresh, progressive approach that will take the prison service into a new era of success. I have no idea what led you to suggest her, Governor Betts, but it was definitely a moment of sheer genius." "She will live up to my expectation, you can be sure of that," Karen told him with a smile. "Let's hope so," Alison Warner said threateningly. "Because if she fails, or if the POA refuse to support this piece of extremely radical action, it'll be on your head." "Would you like to ask her to come back in?" The Operational Director invited Karen. Nikki had barely started nibbling on a thumbnail, when Karen opened the door and invited her back in, giving her a thumbs up. "Ms Wade," The Operational Director began with a broad smile. "Under certain conditions, it gives us great pleasure to offer you the post of grade five Governor of G wing." "Thank you," Nikki said almost breathlessly. "The conditions that your appointment will depend on," The Operational Director continued. "Are that you successfully complete the four week prison officers' training course. This is an essential for you to be able to carry out your job satisfactorily. Your employment will commence with a probationary period of one year. This may seem a little excessive, but you must realise that your appointment is a first for the prison service. You will be under strict supervision both from Governor Betts your immediate boss, and by Area Management. I wish you every success in completing your prison officer's training, and in your future career with the prison service." 

Nikki found herself outside Cleland house, not really knowing how she'd got there. She seemed to have drifted down the stairs, almost in a dream. "Well done," Karen said, giving her an impulsive hug. "Jesus," Nikki said incredulously. "I can't believe I did it." "You did, I promise," Karen said with pleasure. "I nearly died a couple of times, especially when you started talking about the cronyism that was rife at Larkhall, but you made it." "Yeah, I'm sorry about that," Nikki said sheepishly. "It just sort of came out." "It's funny," Karen told her as they walked towards their cars. "But I kept wondering if it was really John who was answering all those questions. You have a drive and a turn of phrase that he would be proud of." "I just hope I can live up to it all." "You will," Karen assured her. "You'll live up to every word of it. Now, I'm going to take you out for lunch, because I think we could both do with a stiff drink after that battle of wills." 


	123. Part One Hundred And Twenty Three

Part One Hundred and Twenty Three

The insistent atonal jangling ring from John's mobile broke into his thoughts just in time and Karen's name and number flashed upon the screen. Intrigued, he clicked the button and, as the voice spoke into his ear, a broad grin spread across his face. This piece of news was really rich and was to be savoured like a glass of vintage wine.  
"Well, Karen, I must take my hat off to her. I've only known her slightly but she confirms my opinion as someone with considerable force of character. You have no lingering reservations about what you've helped bring about, I trust?" "None whatsoever, John. There were times in there, when I could have sworn it was you answering all those questions, not her. You'd have been proud of her." "I can think of certain individuals whose acquaintance I am unable to shake off who ought to hear from me personally of the good news." Karen had spoken to John still gliding down from the total high from the good news. A flicker of concern crept into her voice as John was clearly bent on adolescent mischief.  
"I know you, John, and that's the only thing I'm worried about. You may be accused of many things but discretion, never." "I shall be my usual smooth, debonair self and I will behave myself impeccably in the way that I was brought up at my parent's knee." Karen groaned to herself as she heard John's overdone flowery promises. Like others before her, she bit the bullet and hoped for the best.

Coope dressed John in his robes of office but his mind was only halfway devoted to the trial. Once a compulsive thought popped itself so deliciously into his mind, he could not help worrying over it like a dog at a bone. A part of his mind heard Neumann Mason-Alan and Brian Cantwell wrangling interminably over some legal technicality. Both were surprised that John let them get on without upstaging both of them as was his habit. Both of them edged their way into infringing on his powers and, like naughty schoolboys, took what liberties that they dared. Tomorrow might be a different day, not to mention the next time when they were just ordinary members of the orchestra and John was first violinist.  
"My next witness is D C Winters who was both present at the scene of the crime and later when the defendant was arrested. It might be a good idea for him to be called to the stand." "I think not, Mr. Cantwell.I consider that the next day should be set aside as his testimony is likely to be lengthy and the cross examination, likewise. Tomorrow morning might be more suitable to give due and proper attention to it. I take it that he will be available?" John said imperturbably with raised eyebrows.  
At the nod from both barristers, John hid the mischievous glee inside him when he intoned the usual formula, "Court is adjourned till tomorrow." John exited from his throne with noticeable alacrity to his chambers when a surprised Coope helped him out of his robes. She noted the telltale gleam in his eye straightaway.  
"I am going to pay a friendly courtesy call to Sir Ian and Lawrence James. I may be some time." "You're not in any trouble, are you. Judge?" "Today couldn't be better for me. A pity I couldn't say the same to them though they don't know it." He beamed as he straightened his tie and zoomed out of the door. An anxious Coope shook her head, feeling as if she were the mother to an adolescent son borrowing the family car and going out on the tiles with too much adrenaline inside him.

A smart rap on the door preceded John's entrance by two seconds and he saw with malicious pleasure, that not only were the 'joined at the hips' duo of Sir Ian and Lawrence James scowling at him but, to one side, was the intense stony glare of Neil Houghton. Ah well, the more the merrier, John's thoughts bubbled up inside him like in the finest champagne. "Don't you normally consider making an appointment with my secretary before descending on me. You never know, I might be busy." "Not normally." John's reply was delivered with perfect aplomb, which brushed aside Sir Ian's elaborate sarcasm like chaff. He casually appropriated a comfortably padded swivel chair and beamed round at the three others in turn, occupying centre stage, but said nothing to both provoke and worry them. A jubilant John Deed spelt impending trouble.  
"Well, are you going to tell us what you've come to tell us and have done with us…and the chair," Came the curt, unfriendly tones.  
"I thought I'd drop in as I have a bit of news which may intrigue you. I should imagine that your day to day routine must be dull and repetitive and so I thought this might liven things up……… I've just heard it on the grapevine that the prison service has appointed a new wing governor at Larkhall Prison…...and that they made a bold, progressive and, I might say, far sighted and humanitarian choice." All three listeners visibly twitched at the mention of the prison, which was destined to haunt them. John's teasing tone of voice did not help as he was deliberately dragging out the news, and finally, each adjective as he described the successful candidate sent chills down their spines. "……Her name is Nikki Wade, someone who you may recall." "But they can't," chorused Sir Ian and Lawrence James in total horror. "They just have." "But they mustn't." "There I beg to disagree with you." "How can you, a High Court judge, even consider approving of a former criminal to run a wing in Her Majesty's Prison?" Sir Ian burst out, in a poor attempt to thunder in the sort of voice that John could assume easily when the need arose.  
"There I disagree with your statement. I have familiarised myself with the details of a case which I would have rather fancied being involved with…." Meaning sideways glances exchanged out of the corners of Sir Ian's and Lawrence James's eyes betrayed their recall of an informal discussion on the case. Even then, they vowed that this case should be steered firmly away from Deed even having sight of the case. Neil Haughton was less aware of the details but he could grasp the essentials that, even in the lower reaches of the prison hierarchy, the future of prisons on the shop floor was handed over to someone who was definitely not 'one of them.' As a member of a Cabinet, increasingly devoted to the authoritative control of society, the acquisition of knowledge however trivial, was a prized possession. It made them feel doubly insecure that both their patronage to secure the appointment of the right kind of functionary in the system and prior knowledge of this appointment was stolen away from their control. To make it worse, Deed of all people knew of it before they did.  
"…….the point is that the second court of appeal hearing has wiped the slate clean and Nikki has emerged without a stain on her character, not like some people that I could mention." "I don't know what on earth you're talking about, John," Sir Ian blustered.  
John slightly swivelled his chair round to fix Neil Haughton with his gaze. While his lips formed the faint impression of a smile, his eyes definitely weren't. Suddenly all his deeply held values became sharp focussed when he looked at this man with his criminal mind and what he knew of Nikki Wade.  
"My Lord, have you some special purpose in taking up our valuable time that the three of us intended to spend on our own. I would not intrude on your space at the Old Bailey on trivial matters." "Trivial matters, eh? No, you and Sir Ian intrude upon my personal space when a trial comes up where you want a political fix. Seems only right to repay the visits when you have both interminably lectured me. As for you……" At that point, John abruptly got to his feet, turned abruptly and made his way to the door. Sir Ian and Lawrence James were, after all, only the pathetic underlings of the likes of Neil Haughton however pompously they puffed themselves up to appear to be the opposite. He started to feel unclean in the presence of the worst criminal of all and what he knew of him but was unable to bring him to book for. When the archives on his present actions were thrown open for inspection in thirty years time when no one would be around to care, he was sure that official records would be well sanitized.The sharp slam of the door was succeeded by his rapidly fading footsteps.

The room was filled to the brim by the sort of bottled up anger of those who could not properly say it to the object of their anger. Talking behind the backs of others came easy to them.  
"How the devil did this Ms Wade worm her way into the prison service in the first place?" Sir Ian's spiteful tones were the first to give vent to his feelings. He emphasised the word 'Ms' like an angry buzzing bee, the symbol of what was modern and dangerous.  
"Well, don't ask me, it's not my department," came the politician's response. "I'm kept busy enough doing my damdedness to secure vital export deals and keeping the wealth creators happy, not in the goings on of some nameless con." "But it was one of your cabinet colleagues who first let the case to go to the Court of Appeal in the first place. We in the judiciary can only arrange the trial and let justice be done." "Huh, and your record of discreetly arranging for a safe pair of hands to field the hearing. I don't think so." "The court of appeal judge and the two other members have a sound reputation." "Had.You might as well have gone the whole hog and let Deed sit on the bench as a winger." Neil Houghton virtually spat as he glared at Sir Ian. Already John's presence was forgotten as the game of 'pass the parcel' got going in earnest.

The prematurely middle aged secretary with that careful expression on her face walked sedately in the dignified surroundings and started tapping away on her computer. She had her son's birthday party to organise which would involve a bunch of hyperactive boys yelling at each other at full volume, constantly demanding her attention and falling out with each other when they got too excited, arguing over whose turn it was to work the controls of the computer game. Rather like her masters, she thought, as she heard the heated voices rise and fall whom she was paid to act as maid cum nanny for. She knew better than to enter, offering the afternoon cup of coffee. She would be no more welcome here than offering glasses of coke to argumentative schoolboys at the party. She carried on typing away, imperturbably.

John stepped outside into the clean fresh air of the London streets. Well, at least, it was morally cleaner for all the lingering petrol fumes than what was trapped forever inside the edifices of government power. It was only then that the full significance of the earlier conversation with Karen hit him with its full force. Nikki had knocked openly at the door of the establishment and walked right in, with that sheer brazen cheek that he loved without recourse to servile subterfuge or base surrender of integrity. A feeling of pure delight poured through him, symphonic in its depth and elemental power. Part of his joy was that it was so utterly detached from his own self, from his own appetites whether sensual or spiritual. At the same time, it brought tears to his eyes that tremendous good fortune had been visited on a woman whose past legal battles had set a landmark in legal history of which he was proud to be a humble spectator. By all accounts, she had had to fight her way for everything she believed for in her life and also for others whose lives she had touched with her generosity. He had only met her on a handful of occasions and he may never see her again for all he knew but it was good that he had met her. He sincerely hoped that she would think well of him in turn. In a healthy society, the Nikki Wades of the world would lay their rightful claim to such places in the world and the grubby nonentities now lording it over others in their arrogance would be relegated to the basement of society where they belonged. A fresh breeze ruffled his hair and smartly stung his cheeks as he strode through the streets. It was not often these days that he had that dizzying optimism for the future.

"So why did that cretin of a Home Secretary, your friend, allow a second appeal after the first had gone pear shaped." "Why should I know the inns and outs of another Department. I only sit next to him at Cabinet meetings." Neil's voice rose to an ugly screech of frustration at the pressure being put on him. He suspected that Sir Ian was only getting at him in payback for the time that he had asked him as a personal favour to settle an inconvenient personal matter over George Channing. That man did have the habit of never letting personal grudges go away, damn him.  
"You know him. Don't pretend that you only talk cabinet business when you see him or you wouldn't be a minister." "That was a civil service recommendation, if I remember rightly." Neil Haughton discreetly changed tack, trying to crush him with lofty disdain. "I seem to remember that it was felt that the first hearing had given that wretched woman everything she could possibly get and more than she deserved that she would fall flat on her face. The very first hearing was basically sound and there was not a cat in hell's chance that the second appeal could possibly succeed. That's what we have civil servants there, to make recommendations while ministers make the grand decisions"  
"Yes, and create their alibis so they don't come to grief." "Wasn't it your recommendation in the James Brooklyns case to appoint Deed as a winger for the Court of Appeal hearing?" Neil Haughton asked sharply.  
"I would have never thought of that plan," Sir Ian said primly. "There's different levels of formulating recommendations." Lawrence James had looked on as the other two men verbally slugged it out, his eyes firstly on one man and then on the other. He could suddenly see that he was the most junior and was going to be the chief whipping boy if he wasn't careful. For once, his pride burst to the surface in outrage and his sense of discretion totally left him. "It is monstrous to blame me for what happened over the james Brooklyns case. You were there, Sir Ian, and were right there with me in that strategy……." And so the debate wrangled on, the original purpose of the meeting entirely forgotten and the outpouring of words got them nowhere.

"Jesus, Denny," Lauren pleaded to the other woman in the bare brick humble surroundings of their cell. "I know how you feel responsible for Shell but you can't shut me out. You don't talk to me these days like you used to." "What happens between me and Shell matters shit to you. I can do what I like and feel what I like without you nagging at me." Denny's angry voice spoke to the wall next to her.  
"Look me in the eye and tell me that," Lauren urged her patiently but the other woman wouldn't move. What in hell had got into her from one visit, she thought? She had never seen Denny like this before as if she were a different woman. She had seen her in passing pop into Al's cell and that was worrying.  
"You can't do nothing for me so you might as well give up trying." Reluctantly, Lauren had to agree for the moment. That didn't mean that she was going to give up on the kid. Atkins women had their responsibilities. They were made that way. 


	124. Part One Hundred And Twenty Four

Part One Hundred and Twenty Four

"Well at least I've got this evening off for tonight. It's Trisha's turn to deal with the Friday night drunks." Nikki would have been in a dark mood if it weren't for a blessed moment that she was unexpectedly out of all that. The daily grind went on day by day regardless of the interview or so it seemed. "It almost feels as if you're skiving off school," Helen joked. "It's strange as the club's half yours." Nikki looked around in a dazed fashion. She was talking as if the club was another entity, separate from herself and receding rapidly into the distance. "It feels weird, Helen." Nikki said softly, leaning her head on Helen's shoulder."I don't know what to do, where to go or who to be right now." Helen hesitated before she spoke. Nikki was normally so definite, so grounded and assured. At that moment, she was neither of these things. It came down to Helen, in her infinite mercy, to tip Nikki in the right direction.  
"Why don't we go round and see Crystal and Josh?" Helen prompted.  
"Yeah?" Nikki asked vaguely. "OK, we haven't seen them for quite a while but I don't get it apart from that." "It might be a good idea to talk to Josh as he became a prison officer after already being at Larkhall as the handyman. It's not the same as your position but it's the nearest there is. He had to go on a course which is the sort of thing you're likely to go on," Helen explained.  
Nikki looked round nervously as the true impact of the future with some of it unknown was starting to sink in. She nodded her head after running her mind over the idea. She knew that all the glossy brochures in the world were like so much waste paper compared with ten minutes of practical experience from someone she could ask questions of. She had always worked that way.

They drove through the tightly packed in grid layout of terraced streets, which looked the same before they found themselves at the plain front door of Josh and Crystal's house. They hesitated on the doorstep.  
"I know Josh said that it was fine to go round but I know how busy they are with two young children," Nikki said nervously.  
"A promise is a promise," Helen grinned broadly. "but we can always make a polite exit if needs be." She turned to knock smartly at the door. After a significant gap in time, Josh's harassed looking face appeared through the crack in the door.  
"Come in but please be quick as Zandra can move dead quick and Daniel's just learning to walk." Both of them scrambled through the front door and found themselves in the front room and a tiny figure wobbled his way straight towards them. Crystal came into view from the Door from the hallway and grinned broadly at them. It had seemed like a long time since they had last met as all of them had had busy lives. Daniel made a beeline straight for Helen and she gripped him automatically with surprising confidence and swung him up in the air. A huge satisfied smile split her face from ear to ear as she played with the baby.  
Zandra, by contrast, held an outsize feltwriter in her tiny hand and was intent on her drawing. She was colouring in a patch of green underneath four indeterminate shapes with round noses and huge round eyes The two largest shapes were on each end, one of whom had the longest, most squiggly hair and the other one had no hair at all. The two small creatures had hair shooting outwards and upwards from the tops of their heads. Nikki's attention was caught in total fascination that it was Zandra's portrayal of her family and that Josh and Crystal were standing lumpily yet protectively beside them. So this is what a child's view of the world looked like, she thought, and somewhere in some forgotten shelf, there might be old paintings of hers stored away. A growing sense of wonder grew in her at this childlike determination to focus in on this drawing and nothing existed outside of it and wonder if her own sense of determination sprang from such deep roots.  
"Hey, Zandra, watch out for the pens," She called out lightly as the sleeve of her pullover snagged the clutter of feltwriters on her table. She crouched down and picked them up as they fell on the carpet.  
"A mother's work is never done," Crystal smiled. She had fastened the stairgate so that Zandra couldn't suddenly dart out and fall down the staircase. She had taken in yet another load of washing off the line, carefully folding them and stacking them for when she went upstairs later on. "It looks good on you," Came Helen's reply. She stepped to one side as Daniel suddenly tired and flopped in her arms. As she did so, her foot stepped on something hard, some piece of leggo, but recovered her balance and slid sideways and down onto the armchair.  
"You didn't come just to see the children. I thought you're both busy and all " Josh enquired.  
"No but it sure helps."A brilliant smile lit up Helen's face with pure joy as this time, she was bolder, more confident. She glanced sideways and was intrigued to see Nikki starting to chat to Zandra, doing a little drawing of her own which Zandra promptly coloured in. "We did want to see you, not only for the company but Nikki wanted to ask your advice.  
"It's tea time in a bit, you two," Crystal announced while her eyes took in what Helen had said. The ability to do two if not three things at a time and to be physically inexhaustible seemed to be a positive necessity. As they looked around, it wasn't the sort of house where everything is arranged just so, that precious ornaments were placed on low coffee tables which a boisterous child could smash in minutes. There was a vague clutter of toys and the odd trailing scarf and a single glove lurking in the corner of the room. The hectic yet homely family routine had gently drawn both Nikki and Helen in and they both felt how such a life might be full-time as the day drew on. They hadn't much chance to talk properly to Josh and Crystal but they both knew that this time would come to them. Unlike a childless house, it was children that gave rhythm and rhyme as to what happened and when.

Helen couldn't believe what she saw around her and it took her completely away from the cares of her job. This was something that she was becoming sure that she wanted to be a part of.  
"It ain't true that you have to be born a mother to be one Helen. It's all hard work, and learning to love a part of God's creation that is so tiny. I ain't good at words. You can probably say it better than me. You're dead clever." "For once in my life, I can't," Helen frankly admitted.

A little while later, Josh and Crystal took the children upstairs and settled them down to bed. Helen almost suggested that they come up as well but held back as they felt that they would be surplus bodies in the way. She stayed downstairs and they said little to each other. They drank in the atmosphere of calm and of being taken away from their normal surroundings, which begged them to do jobs round the house.  
"So how can we help you, Nikki?" Josh enquired after the house subsided into peace and calm.  
"You don't want help in fighting the Devil and all them heathens as you don't believe?" Crystal asked tactfully. She had gradually learnt tact in not using hellfire and damnation language in labelling her friends as unbelievers. She had concluded that Nikki was doing God's work even if Nikki couldn't see that it was the Holy Spirit who guided her actions. "Well, it could get that way," Nikki answered straight facedly. "But I hope not." Josh's expression was a picture in bewilderment as his forehead was more furrowed than a freshly ploughed field. Nikki's enigmatics had lost him altogether and Crystal wasn't much better placed.  
"I'm going to be the new wing governor of G Wing at Larkhall." Nikki spelled it out.  
Now it was Crystal's turn to do a double take and wonder if she imagined what her ears were telling her first time around.

"Please don't ask me to explain why I wanted the job. I've explained it once to Helen and I've just faced an interrogation squad who went through me with a fine tooth comb so I had to burn my brains out doing something like an exam paper, only spoken. Just take it that I really want the job, period, and I'm going to do it my way without getting the sack." Both Crystal and Josh picked up on how tired Nikki looked and how hard she was trying to be nice. Her sensitivity to criticism of the job she was taking on was painfully obvious in view of her past reputation. Her own defence was thanks to the way her alert ear had picked up off John the word 'cronyism' which she had plucked out of her memory during her interview. This had summed up so beautifully what she had hated about the prison service as it was and it told her how things might be different. The trouble is that she could so easily understand Crystal if she didn't understand because at one time in her life, neither would she. "Well, sister, I ain't about to argue with you. Just tell us how we can help, right." Nikki breathed a huge sigh of relief at Crystal's kindness and it freed her up to ask what she urgently wanted to know. "Josh, you have been on a prison officer's training course?" "That was a long time ago. I don't remember things so good." "Please Josh. Was there anything you had to do on the course that stuck out as opposed to what the lecturers said." Helen noted Nikki's very adroit bit of practical psychology in getting Josh to recall what he will most be able to remember. Long speeches given by instructors would have long since gone into oblivion. His face gradually cleared and he spoke at last.

"I can remember all that self defence stuff they taught me and how to hold someone without hurting them. One of them instructors landed me flat on the ground when I first tried it," Josh said ruefully accompanied by a row of sympathetic grins. He had trouble in remembering that period of his life because of too many unpleasant memories at the time and he felt that he wasn't really cut out for the job. It was Di Barker who had got him into it and he didn't want to remember more of her than he could possibly help.  
"They had this cell made up and we all had to practice searching this cell and finding objects the instructors had stashed away…….the only thing I can remember that they told us was all those funny colour code things for whatever kicks off in prison……….." Josh's words trailed off into silence as his memory failed him. Crystal stayed silent as he had only talked about the course as a one-line comment at the time and that wasn't much use.  
"I can remember is that it was pretty easy. I'd worked there already so that helped. I was never too bright at learning things but you'll be loads better than me even if your course is harder." "You'll have a nice smart suit I suppose," Crystal eventually found her voice on a fashion note.  
"Hmmm, you'll look good in it, Nikki. I can see that one now I think of it," Helen joked, an attractive fantasy starting to weave itself through her senses. It was the little incidentals, which were starting to fall into place now that the good news today allowed them to dare to imagine.

"What about the screws, I mean prison officers on G Wing?" "Well, Sylvia will be there till she's buried and she'll never change," Cut in Helen.  
"You won't be able to call her Old Bodybag any more. You've got to treat her with respect." Nikki's face was a picture of disgust especially as she recalled all the fine words she had said only a few hours ago at the interview.  
"You mean I've got to give up the habit of a lifetime and call her 'Sylvia'?" came Nikki's incredulous response. Her tongue nearly stuck to the roof of her mouth in physical disgust at the thought and went on to mime the word to herself to see if it felt any better with repetition. Unfortunately, it didn't.  
"Either that or Mrs. Hollamby," Grinned Helen. At that point, Nikki choked and ran to the kitchen for a glass of water.  
"No way," Crystal pronounced sternly. "The sisters will never forgive you for that." "I won't either," Came the muttered response.  
"What about Di Barker, Nikki. If she's on your wing, you want to watch her."

Nikki's face turned serious at Josh's advice. In comparison, Sylvia Hollamby and how she called her was a trivial matter. After all first Helen and then Karen before her had called her that and had given her hell.  
"Exactly what sort of a problem will she be?" Nikki had a pretty fair idea what sort of mischief she could create having seen her in action but she wanted to hear other people's ideas. This was the way she would have to operate more rather than the 'one woman band' who she had been when she was running the club. "If I know her, she'll come on all friendly, all sweetness and light so that you're not thinking what she might be doing behind your back," Crystal answered from bitter experience." "The minute you're out of the PO room and she's there, she'll be stirring it. People like her play head games with you so that you get paranoid what she might be doing and try and drive you down. They try to have you either way." "Just like Fenner used to do with you," Nikki answered Helen's contribution. Helen was silent in contemplation. That was indeed what Fenner had done and had made her suffer. "At least I knew that Fenner hated my guts and I hated his." "I know you, Nikki. You're dead kind and you'll want to watch out that you don't fall for some sob story of hers and get twisted round her little finger. She knows how to turn on the tears when it suits her. It could happen." "Sounds as if she'll want to take Fenner's place." "She is, sister."

A bit of a gloomy silence fell on the group of friends. They ought not to be feeling this way, as it was nice to meet up with old friends.

"Poor babies," Helen said softly at last. "I never thought what it meant to bring up children in such a bad world outside." "You mean Daniel and Zandra?" Josh answered. "It wasn't something we thought about first time when Crystal was pregnant but we just got to do the best for our children. Give them something for when they're growing up." "I can see that," Helen said dreamily. "I can see why mothers in prison feel so much for their children. I knew it but not the same way I know it now." "You and me both." Nikki's soft voice answered while the four of them sat downstairs in the room where the feltwriters, pictures, fluffy toys and pieces of leggo told even the most casual visitor what this home was about.

At last Nikki and Helen had to say their farewells and as they drove off into the distance, Crystal smiled to herself and josh asked what she was thinking.  
"I know something. Helen wants to have a baby." Josh just calmly accepted it without question. After understanding and accepting that Nikki was choosing to go back to Larkhall as boss of G Wing, Helen wanting to have a baby was no big deal. 


	125. Part One Hundred And Twenty Five

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part One Hundred And Twenty Five

On the Saturday a week after the rehearsal, George and Neil had agreed to have another practice together, because George would be able to play the accompaniment to any of Neil's solos, and because George thought that he might be able to help her get a couple of her own into shape. They'd decided to meet at George's again, because she had a piano and Neil didn't. It was about a month until they would be performing 'The Creation', and George still wasn't happy with her solo that went up to top C. Every time she tried to practice it, her throat would tighten, her vocal cords constricting, because they were anticipating the sort of debacle that had occurred on the one occasion that she'd sung it in front of the rest of them. Neil had witnessed her failure on that occasion, which made it a little less frightening for her to ask his advice. Only a fellow singer could understand the feeling she had whenever she tried to sing this particular piece. She had no idea what he might suggest, but anything was better than nothing. She had a month to sort herself out, five weeks to be precise, which wasn't all that long for someone with a hectic busy life like her. 

They'd gone through a couple of Neil's solos with George playing for him, and suggesting the odd minor alteration. The way his deep, throbbing voice reverberated around her lounge occasionally made her shiver. They were right, she thought to herself as she played, having something so powerful within touching distance, definitely was sexually exhilarating, whether it was intended to be or not. When he came to the end of one particularly resonant piece, George opened her mouth and spoke before she could banish the thought, which was uppermost in her mind. "Sing to all your lovers like that, and you'll succeed every time." As she put her hand to her mouth in mortification, Neil laughed. "It has been known," He said with a broad smile. "My tongue really will get me into trouble one of these days," She said, a faint blush staining her cheeks. "Yes, I don't doubt," Neil mocked her with a smirk. "Touché," She replied, admitting the success of his counter-offensive. "Would you like me to play for you?" He asked. "I didn't know you did," George said in surprise. "I might not possess a piano, but yes, I do, when I get the chance. My current partner has an ancient upright that I've been practicing on. So having the opportunity to play something so exquisite, would be wonderful." "Ah, then far be it from me to deny you the pleasure," She said, getting to her feet. George didn't usually like anyone touching her piano, the musician's immense protectiveness for their instrument, always kicking in if someone so much as put something down on it that didn't belong there. But as Neil Grayling moved the stool slightly further away to accommodate his longer legs, and ran his hands almost reverently over the keys, she knew that he held the utmost respect for something so precious. 

As he began manipulating the beautifully carved keys, a look of sheer, unguarded pleasure spread over Neil's face. George watched him as she sang, first through 'With Verdure Clad', and then through 'On Mighty Pens', seeing his utter delight at the quality of her instrument. Neil couldn't quite believe his luck. For the last few weeks, he'd been playing through parts of this score, and had been thoroughly unmoved by the sound he managed to get out of Marcus's slightly battered upright piano. But here, now, he was running his hands over a beautifully kept baby grand, the subtle weight of the ivory keys really making his hands do some work. Their utter sensitivity was a power to behold, and made this particular piano a being in its own right. As her eyes followed the progress of his long fingers over the black and white keys, George reflected that this must be how he played the bodies of his lovers, skillfully coaxing every ounce of satisfaction out into the open. 

When they reached the end of George's two solos, Neil said almost wonderingly, "That really is an utterly incredible instrument. I don't know how long you've had it, but you've looked after it beautifully." "Thank you," George said with pride. "Daddy gave it to me for a wedding present, so I've had it for more years than I care to remember." "Does your daughter play?" He asked, glancing at a picture of Charlie on top of the television. "No," George said ruefully. "Anything her mother might like her to do, has always been greeted with a firm no as a matter of course. John tried to teach her the violin once, and because it was John, she was perfectly open to the idea. But it wasn't very successful. Any musical ability that either John or I might possess, seems to have completely passed Charlie by." "You sound bitter," Neil observed. "It's entirely my own fault that my daughter barely gives me the time of day, well, except when she wants something that John isn't prepared to give her." George went quiet after saying this, and Neil realised that he'd accidentally stumbled into an area of George's complicated life, where he clearly did not belong. 

"There is one of your solos that we haven't yet covered," He said, breaking in on her less than pleasant thoughts, and trying to get her back on track. "Yes," She said, focussing her gaze back on him and away from the past. "No matter what I try to do with this piece, I just can't get it right. It's as if all my muscles are expecting me to get it wrong." "Okay," He said, flipping through the score until he came to the right page. "Just try it now, and let's see how far we get." "It'll probably sound terrible," She said nervously. "So, it's not your body that thinks you're going to fail," Neil told her seriously. "It's you yourself. Keep on thinking like that, and you'll never get it right. In order for your body to have the remotest chance of fulfilling the requirements of a piece like this, you need to start out by believing that you can do it." "But that's just it," George said tightly. "I don't." Neil pondered this one for a moment. "When did you last smoke?" He asked, trying to single out anything that may cause a problem. "Yesterday," She told him honestly. "And when did you last have sex?" He asked, knowing this wouldn't be answered quite so easily. "Precisely why is that important?" She asked with a smile. "That's what you get when you tangle with a lawyer," Neil said dryly. "I'm simply trying to work out how relaxed you ought to be." "Last night," She told him, not quite meeting his eyes. "Then it obviously doesn't have anything resembling a lasting effect on you," Neil observed. "That's one way of putting it," George replied fairly. "But what makes you say that?" "You look very nervous, extremely tense, and though it really isn't my place to say it, far too thin for your own good." George opened her mouth a couple of times, but unable to come up with anything remotely intelligible to say, she shut it again. "Have you eaten today?" He continued. "Because low blood sugar certainly won't help your energy levels, which are absolutely vital if you want to put everything you've got into a song, and this song requires exactly that." "No, not yet," She said, refusing to meet his penetrating gaze. Glancing meaningfully at the clock on the mantelpiece, that said it was nearly four in the afternoon, Neil said, "Then please go and eat a slice of bread and jam, and have a cup of tea." Without a word, George did as he asked, making a cup for him as well so that she didn't feel quite as conspicuous. When she returned, handing him his cup, and sitting on the sofa to do his bidding, he could see that there wasn't a hint of butter underneath the jam. Thinking that she probably wouldn't want him to watch her eating, he flipped through some of the other music she had scattered over the top of the piano. Chopin, Beethoven, Brahms, even some Debussy, showing him that here was one very skilful pianist, who didn't go out of her way to show off her talent. When she'd finished eating, and had put her plate back in the kitchen, she finished her mug of tea, and moved to stand once again near to the piano. "How do you feel now?" He asked her. "Extremely full," She replied, unable to be other than honest with this man who didn't judge her. "Well, let's give it a go now, and if it doesn't work," He told her gently. "Then we'll find a way to make it work. We did with the duets, so we can with this." "I think I need the security blanket of the chorus behind me for this one," She said, still trying to avoid singing this in front of him. "It'll be a bit threadbare in places with our chorus," He said, making her smile. But taking her at her word, he moved over to the CD player, and slotted in the first disk of 'the Creation', moving it to the right track for 'The Marvelous Work Behold Amazed.' 

As the sound of the oboes and strings began to fill the room, Neil came to stand behind her, turning her to face the stereo across the room, so that she couldn't possibly see the score on top of the piano. He thought she would almost certainly know this by heart, but he wanted to make sure. He placed his hands on her shoulders, slightly altering her posture, making her spine as straight as a pencil. But as she took in a breath to begin singing, he could feel her shoulders slightly rising under his hands. So as to make sure he was right about how she was breathing, he placed a gentle hand across the stretch of ribs above her breasts, just under her collarbones. As she moved through the words of the first verse, he felt every intake of breath high in her chest. Reaching for the remote control on the coffee table, he paused the CD. "You're not breathing properly," He told her succinctly. "You're breathing through your chest, rather than through your diaphragm, which means that you're not taking in as much air as you can." "That's probably because I'm not very relaxed," She said, knowing he was right. "Okay, so this time, instead of actually singing, just breathe very slowly, but in time to the music, breathing in once every two bars, but try doing it with your diaphragm." He started the same track again, and whilst keeping one hand in its original position, he placed his other one below her breasts, where he would normally have expected to find a little spare flesh covering the ribs, but not in George. "If you don't like me touching you like this," He said to her. "Just say so." But it didn't bother her, not in the slightest. His touch was sensual, yet clinical, giving her the slightly naughty feeling of becoming excited by the touch of one's physician. She did as he asked, and felt the increased pressure of his upper hand, every time she failed to breathe in the correct manner. Once he felt that she'd relaxed enough to master the breathing properly, he began the song again, and this time told her to sing. The slow, regular breathing she'd done had relaxed her, put her muscles into the right frame of mind for opening up her throat as wide as it would go. Neil gradually removed his hands from her torso, not wanting to startle her, but laid them again on her shoulders, gently encouraging her to lean against him, as he eased some of the muscles in the back of her neck. He was extremely careful not to allow his fingers to come into contact with her larynx, as the merest of touches can alter the pitch by as much as a whole tone. When she began the approach to her Waterloo, he felt her slight hesitation, and began running his thumbs over the rising goosebumps on her arms. George didn't know if he knew that what he was doing was incredibly sexy, but it was. The pads of his thumbs were so soft, the flesh so warm and firm, that it didn't take much of her imagination to place them somewhere else. Focussing on the thought of his thumbs caressing her nipples, instead of the thoroughly unexciting skin of her forearms, she almost forgot about what was coming. The words and the notes came to her from long practice, rising from her relaxed and open throat, to soar into the air as birds that were destined for the heavens. She had no difficulty singing the word 'Vaults', rising to the top, sixth octave C, as if she'd been doing it every day of her life. Neil felt the note resonate through her entire body, and had it not been for his hands on her, he briefly wondered if it may have lifted her off her feet. The note was pure, bright, and perfect. 

When the piece came to an end, Neil flicked it off with the remote control. As he turned George to face him, he was shocked to see the tears coursing down her cheeks. "Hey, that was the best thing I've ever heard out of you," He told her, meaning every word of it. "I know," She said, feeling stupid at her weakness. "I really didn't think I would ever do it." "Well, you've proved that you can do it," He said gently, enfolding her in his arms. "And on matters of one's art, rather than one's heart, I am never wrong." George laughed through her tears. She couldn't believe it. This man, this man whom she'd only recently got to know, had just released her from a temporary psychological block. He'd made it possible for her not just to sing those pieces she liked, but to really put her all into the thing she'd once failed at. He'd made it possible for her to make her father, and John, proud of her. "Thank you," She said, detaching herself from his arms and reaching for the box of tissues on the coffee table, knowing that even with Vera Everard driving her to distraction at the next rehearsal, she would sing her heart out and prove every one of the Ian Rochester's well and truly wrong. 


	126. Part One Hundred And Twenty Six

Part One Hundred and Twenty Six

The elaborate jangle of the mobile phone and flashing screen of Trisha's mobile made the elegantly dressed woman reach over onto her dressing table. Surprisingly, it was Nikki.Unless it was business or a dire emergency, Nikki never went out of her way to contact her these days. To her mind, that last row with Nikki was her being stupidly nostalgic about the old times and had only increased the tension between the two of them. Her best course of action was to let Nikki stew on it before she bowed to the inevitable and joined the twenty first century. Nikki had always been pig headed and belonged to the era when women metaphorically chained themselves to the railings for gay rights. There was no point in confronting her as it would only antagonise her further. Her point of view was so passé, these days, she sighed as she reached for the phone.  
"Trisha, it's Nikki," She clarified unnecessarily. "I thought I'd come in tonight." "Well, this is a surprise. It isn't your night in case you are forgetting." Her cool tone of voice verged on the patronising. Lately, it seemed to her that in her laid back ladylike fashion, she was providing most of the input into running the club.  
"This is special. I've got one or two things I wanted to talk over with you." A warning note sounded in Trisha's mind at Nikki's deliberately flat, expressionless voice. She knew Nikki of old and there was more in this than met the eye. Presumably, this was going to end up as another ding-dong row. She only hoped that it wasn't going to detract from her work tonight in running the club and that the bar staff weren't going to find more to gossip about. She liked soap operas so long as they did not actually enter her life. She agreed and hung up. Then she reached for her nail varnish and ran her eye over her extensive wardrobe to choose her outfit for the night. It was important to make a proper appearance.

Nikki walked down the sidestreet in exactly the same path she had trodden for years, broken of course by her life changing three years in Larkhall. It was funny to think but a whisper in her mind was beginning to add the three words "first time around." She walked through the doors of the club and hesitated in the foyer and looked upwards at the way the staircase swept upwards to the office where she and Trisha worked. This was, after all, what she had slaved to set up working all days and nights for a period in her life to put together some of the capital to buy the club. Some of the furnishings were according to what she and Trisha had lovingly decided between them. She shivered. That was another person in another time that did all that, not Nikki as she was now. She was saying her final mental farewells with no time or reason for regrets for what she must do.

"Ah, Nikki, did you have any luck in finding a replacement for Rhiannon. I can't think why she decided to leave overnight. You didn't say anything to her to put her off so that she left. You can come down a bit harsh on some of the new girls." Nikki knew. An old friend of hers had secured a job for her in the local "Starbucks" several hundred yards down the main street. It meant seeing the hours of daylight even if the pay wasn't much. At least serving at tables and pouring their many brands of coffee meant that the strongest drug around was caffeine. She shrugged her shoulders in mute answer to Trisha's grand dame manner. This was the last time she would be able to behave that way as she took a seat in her favourite chair, sitting opposite Trisha.  
"Still looking," Nikki said laconically. "I phoned round all the employment agencies the other day but no luck." "This isn't like you, Nikki not to find a new barmaid by now. This is, after all, London, where there are loads of hard up students who need some extra money." Nikki tensed up inside. Trisha's form of aversion therapy was making it more and more easy for her to say her goodbyes.  
"Must be the National Union of Students to blame." Trisha started to get on edge from the cold tone that was creeping more and more into Nikki's voice.  
"I don't understand." "You know. I've told you that this place is becoming a Mecca for drugs. Perhaps word has got about and they're passing word round for none of them to touch this place with a bargepole. You start to wonder when, as you said, I could get hold of a new barmaid easily enough." Nikki's lips were firmly compressed together and Trisha, in her cool way, was starting to get annoyed. "Still, that's not what I wanted to talk to you about, Trisha. Remember?" The other woman's eyes started to glaze over in incomprehension and only Nikki's acid prompt made her remember the earlier conversation. She had so much to do these days that it was easy to forget odd conversations, so she reasoned to herself. That flicker in her eyes told Nikki everything, how she rated in Trisha's scale of importance. They had long since ceased to be lovers but Nikki thought resentfully that Trisha ought to have a better memory than this. She was owed that much. Just before she spoke again, she had the uncanny feeling as if she were finally pressing hard on the plunger that set off the explosion. "I wanted to tell you, Trisha, that I'm not going to carry on working the club with you anymore. I've come to the end of the line and I'm moving on." The quiet words seemed to paralyse Trisha and made her feel that a jolt of electricity had just run through her. It all seemed unreal to her that Nikki had said this. It was only a minute or two later that she at last found her voice." "So you want your P45, Nikki?" "That just about says everything. You're the boss and I'm just the hired hand except for old times sake and my share in the club." "Why didn't you say this before, Nikki? We could have talked." "Christ, don't you remember? I yelled at you for long enough but there's more to it than that." "What do you mean?" Nikki closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Now she had an alternative job, all the resentments that she had bottled up threatened to splurge out on one stream but what would that achieve? What could she say to this stranger with who she had once shared her life and love and for whom she had killed a policeman who was on the point of raping her? This woman was more elegant, closed in and with whom she had nothing in common except a shared past.  
"You're looking at the new wing governor of g Wing at Larkhall Prison. I start my training course this Monday." Trisha burst out laughing. This was the woman who she remembered had badmouthed all the screws and had been public enemy number one. She remembered when Nikki had reeled out of the dock and she had flung her arms round her. She couldn't wait to get out of the court and say good riddance to two of the screws. What on earth had she taken it into her head to volunteer to go back there, on the wrong side of the fence as well? She couldn't see Nikki carrying a bunch of keys, doing a ridiculous nine to five job, answerable to bosses when she had spent a lifetime being her own woman, living alongside women who liked only women. Why bother leaving the party just when it was really getting going and earning them real money. Business was getting better than ever.  
"I mean it, Trisha. I've had the interview when they've known exactly everything there is to know about me and they've accepted me. Tonight is my last night and that's why I've come to work here one last time." "So you plan to walk out of here and sit back, claiming your 50 of everything I earn while I work my butt off every night?" Trisha spat out spitefully. It was dawning on her that Nikki really had got the job that she said. She didn't need the club and, inexorably, the argument was shifting to arguing on her severance package. "If I do all the work, you don't get the money, darling." "I wouldn't expect to drain you for the rest of your life, Trisha," Nikki urged patiently. "I simply want you to buy my share off me and everything you earn is yours. I'm not about to take you for a ride. I simply want what's mine." "Huh. That won't come cheap," Trisha glared.  
"It won't matter in the long run. In the end, you'll have all the profits to yourself instead of splitting them with me. You'll be all right." Trisha fell silent as the implications of this started to whizz through her mind. A little voice started to tell her that her position wasn't as impossible as she first thought. She started to ask herself how and why Nikki had made this totally mad decision. In a flash, she thought she had the answer.  
"It's Helen, isn't it. I could swear blind that she's never been keen on you working here with me and this is her way to finally detach us from anything in common." "Don't be stupid, Trish," Came the contemptuous reply. "I have been asked to go for this job and when I told Helen, she freaked out at the idea. I had to talk her into the idea, as she was scared for my sake and hers. You can forget your adolescent ideas." "I still can't see you, of all people, locking up women for a living," Trisha snapped with equal contempt.  
"You know, I'll probably lock up women who've got into drugs from going to this place. They'll get themselves a nice big habit and a nice little record to go with it." There was real anger and contempt looking out of Nikki's eyes and it started to make Trisha feel uncomfortable. "Well, I'll have to think this over and you'll do what you have to do. You know I can't agree to buying you out just like that." "Those have been the first sensible words I've heard you say tonight." " I suppose this really is the parting of the ways." "I guess it is," Nikki answered, as Trisha seemed curiously enough to be ahead of her emotionally.She glanced round this room, her eyes picking out the things that were definitely hers. She would have to come in on Sunday and take the emblems of her past life with her. "I'm not going to kid myself that this place won't fall apart with me gone. When I was inside, you ran the business without my help. What you did once, you'll manage to do again. As you say, times have changed and it isn't special to me anymore, only for what it once meant to me." "Even I remember them when I have the time to think about them." For the first time, Trisha's voice was unsteady. It crossed her mind that Trisha had been secretly holding onto the thought that eventually Nikki would come back to her. "You know, the one unselfish act in your life was when we were in the club that night I was released and Helen came over to talk to me and lost her nerve. I'll be forever grateful to you that you pushed me away in her direction. Without that, I might never have ended up with her despite everything." Nikki looked at this woman who was a little more lost in her lifestyle than she ever cared to admit. At last, she felt a little sorry for her. She had chosen what she would do with her life while Trisha floated along, rudderless, giving herself over to the tides of commercialism and the insidious infiltration of the drug barons into her club. "Do you know how many times I wish I hadn't. Come on, we've got a club to run. It's your last night and we must make it a party to remember." Suddenly, the booming, thumping bass notes started up of the dance music that Nikki would never get out of her head. It was like her heartbeat. The lights clicked on and pervaded the club with that aura for everyone that tonight would be the night of excitement and endless possibilities. It seemed that way to Nikki when she was so much younger and she went to her very first gay club and was tantalised by the sight of all the women on the dance floor. Now she was older and the party was done, she thought to herself as her steps took her down the wide staircase. She might as well pretend to herself and to others just one more time. 


	127. Part One Hundred And Twenty Seven

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part One Hundred And Twenty Seven

On the Sunday afternoon, the sun returned to the temperature of a couple of weeks before, and George decided to make the most of it. With her garden being enclosed by tall hedges and high fences, not to mention being extremely detached from its neighbour's houses, George thought that a little all over sunbathing wouldn't go amiss. She lay on the softly cushioned sunbed, with a cold, refreshing drink to hand, idly reading her way through a fairly lighthearted novel. Her skin glistened with sun lotion, with the light breeze occasionally blowing strands of hair into her eyes. The French windows to the lounge were wide open, so that she could hear the soft music coming from inside. The heavy velvet curtains were shut across the open doors, because sunlight and exquisite paintings should never be mixed. A sky blue cotton wrap, the only thing covering her when she'd come outside, was draped over the back of the bench. The feel of the sun on her body was almost intoxicating, gradually making her eyes grow heavy, and causing every muscle to relax. She barely noticed when the book fell from her hand onto the paving slabs, her hand coming to rest by her side as she slept. 

Finding herself at something of a loose end on the Sunday afternoon, Jo thought she may as well drop in on George. They hadn't had a decent chat for ages, though Jo was honest enough to admit that this wasn't her only reason. It had been a week since the dream she'd had of George, since she'd woken up with such a random collection of feelings whirling round in her head. It had greatly disturbed her to dream of actually sleeping with, no, making love with George, and in truth, she hadn't known how she was supposed to react. Yes, she knew she was attracted to George, and she knew that she'd been the one to initiate their kiss, but that was a whole league away from what she'd dreamt about last Saturday night. She knew her emotional outburst had been ridiculous, but the feelings George had created in her were so new, so intense, that it had felt as though the breath had been knocked out of her. But it was the incident that had precipitated the dream that Jo knew they needed to talk about. The way George had looked at her in that rehearsal last week, the way she'd gazed at her whilst singing of such words of love and commitment, that had told Jo in no uncertain terms, that George still felt the attraction too. So, when she arrived at George's, and saw that only her car was in the drive, she was relieved. But when she rang the doorbell, she got no answer. Thinking that George must be out in the back garden, Jo made her way towards the little gate at the side of the house. When she rounded the corner and took in the sight before her, she stood stock still, her eyes widening with shock, and her mouth going instantly dry. George was lying, stark naked on a sunbed, her small, perfect breasts pointing up at the clear, blue sky, and not a single stitch concealing an inch of gloriously bare skin. George was obviously asleep, because Jo could see a few strands of her soft, blonde hair drifting over her face in the light, summer breeze. George had never looked so angelic, with her long, pretty legs, and the tiniest of narrow waists, and with those breasts that just begged to be caressed. It was this thought that brought another revelation to Jo's mind. This was roughly what George had looked like in her dream, though in that grassy meadow, George's tan had been considerably more advanced than it was now. As Jo carefully and quietly approached her, two things caught her eye, the second of which made her blush. She saw the book that had fallen from George's hand as she slept, and she also took in the fact that George was as smooth skinned and hairless as the day she was born. God almighty, Jo thought as she drew nearer, George's body was utterly delectable, the thing of fantasy. No wonder John hadn't ever really been able to move on from her. As she put a hand out to gently shake George's shoulder, she couldn't help but catch sight of the reaction that George's body appeared to be having to some inner thought. Her breathing wasn't entirely steady, and her nipples were as hard as bullets. Jo didn't think the breeze would have caused this to happen, so it must be from whatever George was dreaming about. 

When George felt the touch on her shoulder, and became aware of the voice saying her name, she opened her eyes and gazed up blissfully into Jo's face. "Mmm," She groaned luxuriously. "Am I still dreaming?" "No," Jo told her with a smile. "You're burning." This seemed to wake George up fully, and her eyes widened as she realised that this wasn't the Jo she'd been dreaming about standing next to her, but the real one, the one who definitely wasn't acquainted with the skills necessary for making love to a woman. "Oh, god," George said, sitting up suddenly with the realisation that she wasn't wearing anything whatsoever. "What are you doing here?" "Nice to see you too," Jo said with a laugh, handing George's wrap to her from off the back of the bench. "George, only you would do something as decadent as sunbathe naked, in a back garden that anyone can walk into." "Well, I wasn't exactly expecting company this afternoon," She said, tugging the wrap around her body, taking away entirely too much of the view Jo had been enjoying. The blue cotton material tied just above her breasts, leaving her arms and shoulders bare, and stopping just above her knees. "I need a cold drink," George said, picking up the book and her empty glass. "would you like one?" Saying that she definitely would, Jo followed George into the kitchen. 

After pouring Jo a glass of orange juice on the rocks, which would fast melt into pebbles, George filled her own glass with ice cold water from the fridge. She had her back to Jo, and was using the time taken up with pouring drinks, to battle her senses back into their proper order. She'd been dreaming about Jo, she wasn't sure what, but it was certainly something delicious, and then she'd woken up, to find Jo looking down at her. Had Jo been able to see how aroused she was, George didn't know. George could feel the rising tension in her body, all because Jo was here, in her house, and because they were alone. Nothing, except her own and perhaps Jo's self-control, would stop them from following the course of their feelings. As if sensing her thoughts, Jo stepped up to her, put her arms round George from behind, and removed the bottle of Evian from her hand, putting it down on the worktop. When George turned within the circle of her arms to face her, they just stared at each other, both wanting to say so much, but neither quite able to find the right words. When Jo lowered her lips to George's, it felt to both of them as if the earth wire had been removed, causing electricity to spark between them without a stopping point. George was leaning against the kitchen unit, but she wrapped her arms around Jo's waist for support, feeling that she might just fly away if she didn't. Jo's arms went round George's shoulders, her fingers running through her slightly tousled hair. There wasn't an inch of space between them, making Jo become suddenly aware of George's hardened nipples. "I take it you're pleased to see me," Jo said with a smile. Realising what she must be referring to, George laughed softly. "I've never had a dream come true before," George said, inwardly cursing herself for sounding so soppy. "You look beautiful," Jo told her between kisses. "Is that referring to how I look now," George asked lasciviously. "Or to how I looked when you found me?" "Both," Jo said in that deep, slightly husky voice that was setting all George's nerve endings on fire. "Though you do now look a bit overdressed." George knew that she could have stayed where she was for all eternity, with Jo closer to her than she'd ever been, but eventually detaching her lips from Jo's, she said, "I think we need to talk, don't you?" "Yes," Jo replied, also reluctant to end this moment of sheer bliss. Picking up her glass of water, George slipped her hand into Jo's, and led her into the lounge. 

They sat close together on the sofa, Jo's arm going around George as if of its own accord. Taking a long swig of her drink, George put it down on the coffee table. Neither of them seemed to know where to start, both of them knowing that once begun, this conversation might open up more secret feelings than either could ever have thought possible. "I dreamt about you last weekend," Jo eventually began, thinking that this was as good a place as any. "Did you?" George asked, a soft smile turning up the corners of her mouth. "Yes, after last week's rehearsal. George, no one has ever looked at me in the way you did then, not even John. It was incredible. You looked pretty much as you did today, all sun tanned, and presenting the most erotic display I think I've ever seen. But when I woke up from it, I was so confused. I haven't had a dream as intense as that for a long time, and certainly not about a woman." "Did you wake up to an orgasm?" George asked knowingly, turning Jo's face towards her, so as not to miss anything that might be betrayed by those endless blue eyes. "Yes," Jo told her simply. "And the fact that John was there didn't help. I couldn't stop crying because I didn't know how to feel." Reaching across for Jo's other hand, George held it gently in her own, occasionally running her thumb over the knuckles. "Part of me was cross with you, for giving me the idea in the first place, on that Sunday afternoon when I saw you and Karen together. But then the rest of me wanted to experience everything we'd done in my dream for real. When I kissed you, that first time, that was the most reckless, unplanned thing I've ever done. Well, apart from initially sleeping with John when I was his student. But it felt right, and it does now. George, you make me do exactly what I feel, rather than what I think I should do, and I'm not used to that. I thought that if I didn't see much of you, what I felt might go away. I thought the same would happen to you too, that we'd both discover it was something we'd both felt when you were drunk, and I should have known better. But it hasn't, and now I don't want it to." "Do you know just how many times I've thought about you, thought about how sensational that kiss was? Jo, I couldn't go back to not finding you incredibly attractive, if I tried. I can't explain what I feel for you. I wish I could, but I can't. You might not want to hear it," She continued a little nervously. "But whenever you're with me, I feel whole, complete, as if there's no longer anything missing. I have absolutely no idea where this is going, and in one way, that frightens me, because I don't want to do or say anything that might send you away from me." As if to qualify her words, George leant slightly forward to ever so softly graze her lips over Jo's, almost as if to show Jo how precious she was to her. But their kisses didn't stay gentle for long, they both needing to fulfill that primeval urge that exists in all of us. Jo didn't know what led her to do what she did next, it may have been because she wanted it herself, it may have been because she'd done this in her dream. But when George felt Jo running a delicate finger over her breast, just under her nipple, the cotton fabric of the wrap providing an exquisite feeling of friction, she took Jo's hand in hers, and moved her face slightly away from her. "No," She said almost breathlessly. "No." Thinking she must have done something unforgivable, Jo looked horrified for a moment. But her look turned to one of understanding, when she observed George's inner battle with her feelings. George gripped Jo's hand, a shudder running the entire length of her body, as she gathered the remnants of her self-control, and fought down the urge to make love to Jo, right here on the sofa. When George thought she could speak without shattering all her efforts completely, she said, "Darling, there is nothing I would like more, than to show you every delicious thing I've dreamt of doing to you for weeks now, but you're not ready for it." Jo watched her, seeing the immense effort it had taken for George to prevent herself from doing exactly what she wanted to do. It touched her enormously that George was quite obviously prepared to put Jo's feelings a long way before her own, not something John would have done in a million years. He would never have forced or cajoled anyone into sleeping with him, but neither would he have stopped himself once begun, if he'd been given the type of encouragement she had just given George. "I'm sorry," Jo said, feeling like an immature teenager embarking on her first sexual experience. "Don't be," George told her with a reassuring smile. "If and when I do eventually make love to you, I want you to enjoy every second of it. You've got no idea, just how much I want to make you let go with me, because making love with a woman is like nothing you've ever felt in your life before. What I don't want it to be, is a five minute fumble, because I'm more on heat than I was at seventeen." Jo couldn't help laughing, putting both herself and George at ease. "You really do have a way with words," She said with a broad smile. "So I've been told," George said with a smirk. "But I'm serious, I want this to happen when we're both good and ready for it. We have all the time in the world, and because John doesn't know about it, that means that nothing, and I mean nothing, needs to be rushed. Just take it one day at a time," She finished, laying a gentle hand against Jo's cheek, vowing to take this as slowly as possible, because Jo was far too precious to her to take it at anything other than her pace. John, Karen, the entire world could wait until they were good and ready to bring it out into the open, if they ever were, which was by no means a certainty. 


	128. Part One Hundred And Twenty Eight

Part One Hundred and Twenty Eight

As was her usual habit, Yvonne stole a sideways glance at Karen's trim, green MG sports car, which was parked outside the prison gates in its usual place before passing through into the courtyard. On a hot sunny day, the sun beat down into the confined space of the courtyard reflecting off all the stonework and cobblestones. Yvonne looked high up into the blue sky overhead, noticing the way the top of the mottled grey high prison cell block cut a serrated line that separated it from the sky. The hot sun overhead almost blinded her with its light and made her feel hotter than she was. It was funny that all the time she was here, she never went in for any bleeding poetics like this. When you were inside, you didn't want to look higher than the walls that crowded you in even on association or else it would have reminded you how much you were missing on the outside. Now that she was very securely on the outside, it came easier to notice things like this without thinking. It was strange, Yvonne reflected, that every time she came here, it didn't open up old wounds but gave her more of a feeling of invulnerability. She was living on the straight and narrow and had been for months now that Charlie's old so called friends had pissed off to find some other Mr Big to lick his arse. Perhaps it was all those creeps around him who helped him become a bigger bastard than nature made him.

"Hi Yvonne," Gina grinned, her loud voice breaking in on her thoughts. "Nice to see you again, these days. You've come to see Lauren and Denny, I suppose." "Hope they're up bright and early as I am." "Yeah, well, I've not gone round that part of the wing today," Gina said more quietly.  
Yvonne gave Gina the quick once over. Either she'd got other fish to fry or else she was being deliberately tactful, something which was unusual for this woman's blunt manner.  
"How are they both keeping, these days?" Yvonne asked more abruptly than she intended. It was a sudden attack of nerves which pitched her voice in this way. She nearly asked Gina about Karen but she had managed to shut her mouth just in time. She'd let her tongue run away with her once and had said things in the heat of the moment in that row over Shell that was unusual for her. It was the case of let her gob open and everything had poured out. This time, she stopped herself in time.  
"Lauren's fine these days but I don't know about Denny. She's not been her usual self." "What's wrong?" Gina thought at length as they walked towards the entrance for visitors before she answered.  
"Can't reckon it out for sure. She's down in the dumps and won't talk. She's edgier than she used to be, you can tell it in her. She and your Lauren used to be inseparable and now she's a loner, like she doesn't need anyone else. Perhaps Lauren will tell you more when you see her if you get a chance to see her on your own." "Thanks, Gina." Behind Gina's apparently casual manner, Yvonne sensed a depth of meaning and that she was worried about Denny. The two women had always had an affinity based on their similar personalities, both blunt and tough on the surface. It was down to not wanting to come out with polite insincerities or any false sentimentality.  
Yvonne was a mother and was older than Gina and over the years she found it less possible to keep up any sort of act. Gina was all right, Yvonne thought affectionately. She always had been.  
"Tell you what," Gina said over her shoulder, turning on her heel. "I've got this feeling in my bones that Denny won't show up. If you're only seeing Lauren, I'll fix you up with a private room so that you can talk better." Yvonne smiled warmly. That would help immensely. She wouldn't ever waltz in demanding special privileges over all the other woman. She liked money and the comforts, which it bought but her friends were always invited to the party. Nikki had reminisced bitterly to her once about the way Dockley had loved flaunting it over all the other women ,to get one up on the others and show that she had friends in high places. Hearing this from Nikki who she had always liked and respected and what she had seen with her own eyes meant that she never had any time for Dockley. She had heard the reasons why Karen had acted the way that she had over Dockley. For all the apparent good reasons, she still thought that Karen was skating on thin ice and risking her neck for someone who didn't deserve it.  
"You won't have Bodybag outside with her ear trumpet against the keyhole, will you Gina?" Gina grinned broadly. That had been one of her most priceless memories of when she was on G Wing. Sylvia had always had that dog in the manger attitude that, as she wasn't getting any sex from her Bobby, everyone was expected to act as if they lived in a bloody nunnery. "I'll be in the visitor's room and Selena's there as well. I'll put her on door duty. She's professional and straight up that way. I know Sylvia and that will put Sylvia off hanging around and trying to earwig on the conversation." Both of them laughed heartily at the idea and it loosened Yvonne up a bit.  
"Have you heard how Karen is getting on these days?" she asked at last, not being able to stop the words coming out of her mouth. Gina looked curiously at her. Yvonne wasn't asking how well she was doing at her job. It was about something personal , about something that had come between them. She didn't want to ask any questions as it wasn't her business.  
"She's fine. I don't mind admitting she's been a great boss to work for. She's a good friend in need to go to when I get worried about what to do." "That's Karen for you," Yvonne murmured affectionately. 

Lauren looked hopelessly at Denny, who was sprawled out on her side, totally conked out. Even her normal determination shrank back from trying to wake her. She was bound to be dead to the world and even if she did rouse her, she'd be twice as nasty first thing than she normally was these days. She was more than ever certain that Denny was using speed. There were occasions when they did talk and Lauren was sure that she spoke louder and quicker than she normally did and she was a worse listener than she used to be. There were times when Denny would babble on about something that was nothing to do about anything. It worried her that Denny talked at her rather than to her and that they weren't so close anymore. Denny would suddenly slip off and the next thing she knew when she looked around G wing, Denny was coming out of Al's cell. There had been the occasional 'one off' visit but this was becoming more frequent. It was no skin off her nose as far as it went. Al McKenzie was all right but no great shakes as good company. The one thing Al had which Lauren didn't have was ready access to drugs and it was this that worried her about the situation.  
While she was touching up her makeup, she realised that it was almost that the more Denny saw of her, the more Denny felt guilty and ashamed of herself It was logical in a cracked kind of a way to avoid seeing her so that she felt better about herself. Denny had forgotten in her plunge in self-esteem that Lauren wasn't going to get on her high horse about this. Wasn't it true that she had been the one whose mind misfunctioned so spectacularly to land her in Larkhall in the first place ? She had only got real hope for the future because of all the help from so many people. Denny was one of them but in a mad way, she had forgotten all about it.

Selena appeared at her cell door which was slightly open and smiled kindly at her.  
"You're ready to meet your mum? Is Denny ready?" "She's not well, miss. I've done my best to rouse her but it's no good. She's had a really bad night and she's best off resting. It's a shame but there you are." Lauren smiled too quickly, too nervously for Selena's liking. She suspected that Lauren was gently covering up for Denny. She made a mental note to pass this on to Gina. Of course Sylvia, with her right wing bollocks approach would have ignored Lauren, roughly shaken Denny by the shoulder and received a mouthful which would have helped nothing except in her perpetual petty game of 'putting one over a con.' "I'm on visiting duty today, Lauren. I'll come with you." Lauren smiled more gently and easily this time. It was remarkable how Lauren had turned around since she had been laid out psychologically naked for all to see in court. On top of what she had seen of the trial, Gina had briefed her as Lauren's and Denny's personal officer about that particular day.  
"You've settled down here fine, Lauren." "The girls are great around here, Miss Geeson, apart from a few of them. I keep out of Natalie Buxton's way, as she's trouble. There's something about her that sets me on edge. Anyway, you're all right and so are most of the other prison officers and so are Miss Rossi and Miss Betts." "Have you thought how you'll get on when you get out?" "I'll wait till I'm out before I'll believe it," Lauren said shortly. It was a female Atkins trait to never count your chickens till they've hatched. The outside world seemed unreal after the time she had been inside.  
It struck Selena that Lauren's position in such an enclosed institution gave her less of the negatives and more of the positives than most prisoners who she knew . Being smarter, brighter and dominant put her in a commanding position on G Wing and steadied her nicely.It was as well that she would come under a psychiatrist when she got out rather than being left to flounder. Even with Yvonne to hand, the world could be remote, impersonal place and had no more time to deal with human frailties than the hordes of commuters who passed the street beggars by with barely a backward glance.

Yvonne walked to where she hoped to see both her daughters but only Lauren smiled at her. Her face dropped a little but not enough to let Lauren think that the good old dependable Lauren could do without the emotional stroking that everyone needs and that only Denny was there to be fussed over. Gina came into the visitor's room and glanced at Yvonne. She walked over to Selena ,whispered into her ear and nipped out to get Dominic to cover for Selena. Bodybag was there as well but Gina did not feel that she exactly deserved to be taken into her confidence.  
"It's great to see you Lauren and you look so well." "No problems with me , mum but the pie and chips get boring and you put on weight if you don't watch it." "Don't I know it…..What's happened to Denny?" Lauren looked awkward and constrained with Bodybag walking over in far too a casual manner.  
"Morning, Sylvia," Yvonne grinned at her to receive a glare in return. That trick never failed to needle her.  
"Mrs. Atkins," Selena pronounced in her crisp formal manner. "You've been allocated a private room to talk. Governor's orders. I'm coming to ensure security." Gina had to suppress a grin when she saw Sylvia's mouth to open in protest about how short staffed they were and the immaculate timing with which Dominic appeared. He's a good bloke, she thought fondly.

"How in hell did you get this fixed up. You must have friends in high places." Lauren smiled with wholehearted appreciation of how immaculately timed it was and sensing her mother's hand in the proceedings.  
"Not that high, Lauren. Gina did that for us, not Karen. I've had a bit of an argument with her. Nothing personal, not that sort of personal like it used to be." A trace of regret flashed across Yvonne's face like a passing sunbeam till she returned to the here and now.  
"What's up with Denny? I know from talking to Karen that her visit to Dockley has screwed her up bigtime. I don't like the sound of what I hear and what I feel." "I've been talking to the Julies," Lauren answered rapidly as her ideas had finally come together." She sounds more and more like the way she used to be, since before you were here…." "…….and she was with Dockley," Finished Yvonne.  
Lauren smiled. It helped enormously to have her sharp brain to help to fit the jigsaw together. She had that knack of pressing the pieces with that delicacy of touch and all the pieces fitted together.  
"Why hasn't she come. She sent me the VO?" "That was just a stall. She's been getting worse and she pulled a stunt so that she wouldn't see you. It was hard enough to get her to come last time. I'm sure she's been using speed. She probably got it last night when she slipped out just before lock up. She was probably awake all right so that she'd be conked out come visiting time. "Why's she using the stuff?" Yvonne asked incredulously. She could understand how the girls got depressed, all the sort of troubles that could happen to you as she'd heard it all and given all the sympathy that there was in her.  
"Probably to give her some of the confidence in herself that she's always lacked. You know that, mum. I went through the trial and I saw myself on the wide screen clearer than I ever wanted to hear or see. She needs real help, mum, probably worse than I will when I get out." Lauren's last few words crystallized everything in her mind while both of them fell silent for a while in contemplation. Yvonne was the first to try and break them out of that line of conversation. With a limited amount of time, Denny really had been present with them even if she didn't know it. It was now Lauren's turn for attention and they talked of more lighthearted matters. They laughed at all the old jokes, that banter that had always come easy to both of them.  
Suddenly, they heard a polite knock on the door and Selena entered.  
"I'm sorry but visiting time has finished. You must both come back to the room." "Sure, Miss Geeson," Lauren responded respectfully. They both couldn't repress a grin as Bodybag's stern censorious glare greeted them. In the good old days, cons would have been locked up twenty-four seven with no namby pamby talk of visitors. If they hadn't committed the crime, they wouldn't be there, Bodybag thought vengefully. Both Lauren and Yvonne knew that life wasn't that straight forward.  
"Give my love to Denny. Promise," Yvonne urged Lauren unnecessarily. Lauren nodded and made her way to the exit. Yvonne knew that the job as good as done, smirked irritatingly at Bodybag while passing the time of day with Dominic and shuffling her way through the security system.

As Yvonne emerged out of the cool air of the prison, the heat in the prison yard hit her with real force. It was summer now and a time for a feeling of renewal. That made her thoughts so easy to drift along to what she wanted to do with her time.Suddenly, the vision of summer clothes and London shops came into her mind. A spot of retail therapy would do her some good. 


	129. Part One Hundred And Twenty Nine

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part One Hundred And Twenty Nine

On the Tuesday lunchtime, both Jo and Yvonne found themselves wandering casually through the shops in Knightsbridge, Yvonne killing time before a meeting with her accountant, and Jo doing the same before an appeal hearing in The Strand. Jo was trying to convince herself that she wasn't on the lookout for something incredibly sexy for George's birthday present, but after going into the third glamorous lingerie boutique, she was forced to admit that she was. George's birthday would be two weeks today, and Jo had been assaulted with the possibility of what George would look like in something highly transparent and silky, ever since she'd caught her sunbathing on Sunday. Jo had been mortified by her own attempt to take things a little too far, but this was all so new to her, nothing like pulling a man in the least. So, something that she figured could also be part of the clandestine progress of their affair, was the buying of George's birthday present. As Jo stood, admiring the incredibly delicate texture of the negligees on the rack in front of her, she felt an enormous sense of daring and excitement rise within her. Jo knew that never would she have considered buying anything like this for herself, never mind anyone else, so the opportunity to do so was wonderful. Deciding that buying George anything in the provocative underwear line was far too cliché, and far too John, she'd lighted on the beautifully crafted negligees, that had not so beautifully crafted prices to go with them. But that didn't matter on this occasion, because Jo was getting just as much pleasure out of buying it, as she hoped she would by one day seeing George wear it. Rifling through the hangers until one particular one caught her eye, she fervently hoped that George wouldn't think her silly for buying her something like this. Jo was, to a certain extent, doing it on a whim, doing what she felt like doing, which was what George seemed to make her do so easily. Then, Jo saw the perfect thing. It was made of a soft, silky material that would slide effortlessly over the skin, and was in a beautifully translucent duck-egg blue, and by the looks of it, would stop just above George's knees. A blue silk belt would tie in front, allowing instant access to the woman inside it as a matter of course. Jo held up the hanger, trying to picture the negligee on George, and wondering if the colour would be right for her, when she got the fright of her life. 

Yvonne had been strolling casually along the Knightsbridge street, occasionally glancing in the shop windows, when she'd caught sight of Jo, with a furtive look about her, that told Yvonne that Jo was doing something secret. Jo didn't so much as glance her way when she walked into the shop, and as Yvonne approached her, she could see that Jo was looking at a beautiful, silk negligee. Stepping stealthily up behind her, Yvonne leaned over her shoulder, and broke in on Jo's contemplation of the garment in her hand. "My, my," She said, in a low, sultry tone that she might once have used on an enemy. "The Judge is going to be a lucky man." Whirling round with the offending article in her hand, Jo breathed a little sigh of relief when she saw who it was. "Jesus Christ, Yvonne," She said in shock. "Don't do that!" "Sorry," Yvonne said with a laugh. "But you looked so furtive, and as if you were committing an extremely serious crime, that I just couldn't resist." "And I suppose that's how you've always surprised those you've felt it necessary to disturb," Jo said dryly, beginning to relax a little more. "You never quite lose the knack," Yvonne said with a smile. "So, what has the Judge done to deserve seeing you in something quite so sexy?" Jo couldn't help it, she blushed a crimson that would have done a sunset proud. "Ah, not for the Judge then," Yvonne deduced at Jo's embarrassment. "Go on," She invited. "I love a mystery." "It's a birthday present for someone," Jo brought out eventually. "Well, well, how delightfully sinful of you, Mrs. Mills," Yvonne mocked affectionately. "The only time I would ever have thought of buying something like that for someone's birthday present, would have been for Karen, which leads me to suggest that there's a very lucky lady somewhere who is being kept very much under wraps." "You could say that," Jo replied uncomfortably. "Don't look like that," Yvonne said, feeling a little remorse for badgering Jo for information like that. "She must be worth it if you're shopping in somewhere like this." "She is," Jo said with a soft smile. "So, come on then, why not pay for that, before you change your mind, and we'll go for a coffee." Jo glanced at her watch. "I do have an hour before I need to be in court." "Well, there you are then." Without further ado, they moved to the counter, and Jo dug out her visa card. 

When they'd left the shop behind, Jo carrying a discretely coloured bag, they found a nearby coffee shop, and sat at a table outside, with a waitress bringing them two espressos. "Well then," Yvonne prompted, once they'd both lit up cigarettes. "Tell all." "I can't," Jo said, taking a long and grateful drag. "Why, do I know her?" Yvonne asked. "Yvonne, I mean it," Jo insisted. "This is absolutely not for public consumption." "Calm down," Yvonne reassured her. "I'm just curious, that's all. We all thought you were straight." "So did I," Jo said ruefully. "But then, didn't you, before you found yourself with Karen?" "Yeah, I did," Yvonne said, remembering. "And if it'd lasted longer, it would have been perfect. I've never felt quite as mad, or as free, or as young and stupidly naive as I did with Karen." Jo smiled. "That's how it feels for me sometimes. It's almost as if I'm sixteen again." "It sounds like you're hooked, good and proper," Yvonne observed seriously. "When I'm with her, I can't seem to keep my hands off her," Jo admitted, blushing scarlet at her confession. "Oh, you really have got it bad," Yvonne said with a smile. "So, what are you doing round here this afternoon?" Jo asked, thinking that they'd talked for quite long enough about her. "I'm supposed to be meeting my accountant, and I had a bit of time to kill. Jo, have you seen Karen recently?" "Last weekend. Why?" "We had a bit of a row, a couple of weeks ago, and I said something to her that I really shouldn't have done. I virtually accused her of being the reason why Lauren was where she is." "Oh, Yvonne!" Jo protested vehemently. "Yeah, I know, I know," Yvonne said regretfully. "It was just something that was said in the heat of the moment." "I don't care what it takes, Yvonne, but you must apologise to her for that," Jo insisted. "Ain't that easy though, is it," Yvonne said ruefully. "No, it's not," Jo said kindly, thinking that if the day ever came when George gave Karen up for her, she, Jo, would be in a similar boat. "But you really must try." "Is she happy, with George I mean?" Yvonne asked, wanting yet not wanting to know. "Yes, I think so," Jo said a little guardedly, willing herself to go on meeting Yvonne's gaze. Yvonne watched as Jo's eyes faintly flickered at the mention of George's name, staring at Jo as the pieces of the jigsaw began slipping into place. Jo was a little unnerved by Yvonne's penetrating gaze, and she strove to keep her eyes open and honest, but she could feel Yvonne as if she were methodically rifling through the contents of her mind. Before Jo could stop her, Yvonne reached for the boutique bag, glancing inside to take a look at the label on the negligee. "Hmm," She said almost meditatively. "The only person I know who would fit a size eight is George. Am I right?" "What makes you say that?" Jo asked evasively, knowing she was skating on thin ice. "I may not be in the actual business of the law, Jo," Yvonne said with a wry smile. "But I didn't learn Charlie Atkins' methods of prosecution for nothing. It's no skin off my nose if it is George, because I barely know her." But Jo could see that it was. Yvonne was concerned purely for Karen, though she wasn't willing to say as much. "Now do you see why I didn't want to tell you?" Jo said quietly. "Jo, if she makes you happy, then that's all that matters, where anyone's concerned," Yvonne told her, forcing a genuine smile onto her face. They stayed silent for a little while, both finishing their coffee. "Karen's going to get hurt, isn't she," Yvonne said eventually, putting her one misgiving into words. "Yes, I think so," Jo said regretfully. "As for when, I couldn't possibly tell you, and believe me, that is the last thing I want to do." "I know," Yvonne told her honestly. "If there's one thing I know about you, Jo, it's that you don't do something that might hurt someone else's feelings, unless you absolutely have to. I've always known that." Jo was incredibly touched at this bluntly stated piece of sentiment, and a little while later, when they parted, Yvonne giving her a quick, impulsive hug, Jo walked towards her car, wondering just why her relationships always managed to cause people harm. Her relationship with John had done that, and here she was, heading down the same road of guilt and dishonesty with George. 


	130. Part One Hundred And Thirty

Part One Hundred And Thirty

The nightmare of Helen's day started to be lived at this point.

"My life is just such a mess…I've got nothing to do, nothing to live for. It's over before it ever started…." To Helen, the patient was frightening in his negativity. His voice was very soft, very slow and cracked. It sounded like a wind up clock that had run down almost to nothing. The merest layman could tell that he had actually come to the session, stoned out of his skull, oblivious of the paraphernalia of drugs testing and, worse, her disapproval. He was in the depths of depression and had slid downhill since the last session two weeks ago. At least his surly aggression of last time showed some spark of life and was reassuring in retrospect. "But what about your friends?" Helen gently interposed.  
"Them?" he almost whispered in faint contempt. "they just want to keep me strung out on the stuff. That's all they ever wanted. They're no friends of mine…" His words petered out and came to a stop as his eyelids drooped down over his eyes. He was in danger of slumping forward over her desk as his back bowed forward in the slowest of slow motions. His left hand, which had lain on the desk, started to move sideways and dropped down limply. Helen said nothing but, in her mind was seriously alarmed at his behaviour. She might have to phone 999 and get the ambulance to screech its way, alarm ringing. Just at that point, he jerked himself upright and his eyes half opened.  
"I'm sorry, what was I saying just now?" "You were saying that the friends you keep are no friends of yours," Helen spoke in very precise tones. Jesus, every time she had seen him, he had kept up some sort of appearance to look drug free no matter how disordered his life was in between whiles.  
"I said that? Must have been dreaming. They spend time with me or else I'd be alone. They need me and I need them….."

A thought spiked its way into Helen's thoughts. This was a million miles away from the way there was real friendship at Larkhall. She was part of it when she had spent as many days as she could with Yvonne, Karen, Roisin, Cassie and George. Any one of them would have helped her out unselfishly without any thought of self. This young man's idea of friendship was a million miles away from this.

"I could give it all up if I wanted to, knock everything on the head and clean up so that I don't have to suffer any more." Helen had heard this sort of talk before as sheer fantasy without an ounce of will behind it. She knew what strength of will was. There was not that determination such as Nikki had shown. She could remember those feelings of admiration for the spirit Nikki had shown in fighting for what she believed when she was way down in the pecking order. That was sheer courage of a high order. It was a shame that she couldn't paint this in pictures for him and even halfway inspire him. It was all a different world for him.

Nevertheless, it was the first time that he had ever uttered those words of his own volition, without being prompted. She had to put it to the test.  
"Would you really want to live so that you won't have to worry about being ill if you don't take drugs? You would get your freedom." "Yeah, that sounds good. I'd get some peace. I won't have to worry anymore……" A faint smile spread over his slightly stubbly features and for the first time since he was her patient, she noticed his eyes looking at her. His eyes were blue, like his mother's. "If you really want to give up, you wouldn't find it that easy but you would feel better about yourself, that you had done something yourself and for the good." Helen's voice was soft but with a concealed intensity of expression but not enough to frighten him away and make him feel pathetically inadequate before this small, very powerful woman who had all the qualities that he lacked.  
"Yeah, I know it sounds so tough but what you say sounds so good……" His voice trailed away dreamily and worried Helen. His words sounded dangerously like those spoken in some drug fantasy. It was so easy of him to pretend to be the person who he wanted to be until it was put to the test and for him to shrink back into his cocoon of apathetic misery. At least it was a form of hell that he was familiar with.  
"Your problem is that you are in some nameless street where the neighbours don't know and if anything bad ever happened to you, there is the danger that no one would know. Whereas if you decided to have inpatient care, everything would be taken care of for you. You would be in a specialist hospital ward where there would be nurses on hand, doctors on hand and I would be able to come in and monitor the help you needed on a regular basis." "You mean to go in for detox?" For the first time, the patient's voice rose in tone, almost shouting. He was going into a blind panic. He had heard about places like this where he'd be shivering in his hospital bed and he'd be trapped. None of his friends would come anywhere near the place. It wouldn't be safe. That was what they'd always told him and they had all frightened each other with what it meant. It was as deeply engrained in that primal fear area as other people's fear of snakes or spiders. He couldn't do that, he just couldn't. "I know what that means. I'd be in agony and throwing up and none of the nurses would help me out. They would never give me what I want……." "Like your mother?" Helen interjected. She had heard him talk very negatively about his mother and if she wasn't able to stop him backing away from inpatient treatment, then he would be forced to deal with what his mother was really like and face himself. She had the nasty sinking feeling that she was running out of options with this man.  
"Leave my mother out of it," He said in his former surly manner.  
"For the moment." She deliberately paused to let her words sink in to tell him she wouldn't let him off the hook any more than his mother did.  
"I wanted to say that hospital would be able to patch up your arm, Again I'm no medical doctor but even I can see that you're in serious danger of contracting an infection. If you don't care, then as a professional I do." "Like my mother?" He sneered.  
Jesus, only anger seems to be the only thing going but at least half of it is directed at himself or he wouldn't self-harm.  
"No way, I'm not going into one of those places. I'm …I'm not ready for it. Perhaps in a month's time, I'll be more up for it. You have to give me time……." Helen mentally gave up on the idea. With a sickening feeling, she concluded that three months meant never. He was going to stall and twist and back away every time she mentioned it. It was like a mother gently coaxing a child to swallow a nasty cough syrup on the promise that it would do him good. She grasped for her second strand of conversation.  
"Perhaps you'd better spit it out properly about your mother. We've been going in circles round this a number of sessions." "You won't like it. You'll only interrupt." "I'll make a deal with you," Helen started to say before cringing at her unfortunate choice of words. However, she looked into his eyes and she was relieved that, on the surface, there was nothing amiss.  
"You talk for as long as you wish and I'll shut up until you tell me you're done." "I'll tell you what it was like," He started. He was visibly encouraged that this psychologist had agreed so easily to his refusal. Getting his own way in ducking cheered him up no end. It was tragic that he could summon up the most determination and force of will in ducking out of life's challenges rather than facing up to them, like leaving home for university but he could never see it. He embarked on a long rambling diatribe until,  
"She was never around for me. I might get a phone call from work asking if I was happy. I said yeah." "Couldn't you have told her the truth?" Helen probed gently.  
The man fell silent. It was as if the thought had never occurred to him. "Don't you think that, when she was on her own looking after you, she needed to go to work to feed you? I get the idea that you didn't go without materially." "I got nice presents at Christmas. That wasn't real love," He muttered.  
"I've talked to you about choices from the moment you first walked through this door," Helen said in a firm determined voice.  
"Yeah, you've nagged me about them like…." "Your mother?" Helen brightly asked and the patient's best adolescent sullen look answered her.  
"I was going to talk about choices your mother had to make in life. Try to look at it like a book you will have read, that you'd got to the middle of it and which your mother had to write….." Helen could see that her slowly delivered words had grabbed his interest, however insecurely, and the he felt less threatened. She drew a faint breath of relief that she might start to get somewhere.  
"….She was alone with a child to bring up. She had a very young baby to bring up. She had a line of work which was the only thing that gave her security, that and her love for you. What should she do?" "It doesn't matter. She did what she did." "She could have given up her job and looked after you full-time. She could have claimed social security like a lot of mothers. Only she would he as short of money as you are, seeing bills not paid, not feeding you properly, looking at an empty pantry and a purse with nothing in it, only wishing that she could give you the things in life which she wanted to give, to take you out, not on fancy foreign holidays, but for a day at the zoo, out in the country , the sort of little things that need a car to take you there. She did all these things for you, for your future…" "She did it for a career." "And she wanted more than anything else for you to be strong, happy and for you to have a comfortable future. Is that such a crime?" Helen's voice became more impassioned to try and put some sort of spirit into this man. This was not something she had read out of a women's magazine. This was something that she could see through the very loving eyes of Crystal and josh and their two adorable children. Their house was not posh and like something out of "Changing Rooms" but a home and, yes, something she wanted for her own life and Nikki's. "It didn't stop her from pissing off to work at a drop of a hat when someone told her to. She didn't seem sorry to go." "Perhaps you and your mother have one thing in common," Helen said softly. "You're not so good at expressing your feelings." That brought the man up short. That had never occurred to him, so focussed in was he on his own feelings. It was hard to think how his mother felt. It made his headache.  
"So can you consider the possibility that every time your mother stepped out the door, there was an ache in her heart that she was leaving you, that she blamed herself for being a 'part time mother' as if fathers should not have the same hang up? What's the difference, after all?" The man shook his head. This determined woman was upsetting one of the few foundations he felt he had in his life, his resentment of his mother. He closed his eyes as if his head hurt. Helen, on the other hand, felt satisfaction that at least she had blown a fierce bracing blast of air through that drugged up catatonic state of mind. Getting him to half way listen was a hell of an achievement.  
"Only if we talk about your self harming. It is that, isn't it, and not you falling down a flight of stairs." "All right, so I took a knife and cut my arm. It was blunt or I'd have been in hospital.Typical me, can't even top myself properly." "So why do you do it?" Helen asked very softly, the man's absolute self-hatred naked in its ugliness before her. She had to go easy on him "Same reason I mess up in my life. At least cutting my arm is my decision, not something happening to me, something that's going bad on me." "So you do it to give you self control?" Again, those blue eyes opened wide as those astonishing words crept into his hearing mind. He just thought he did it because he was depressed and couldn't take it any more.  
"It might be something like that. So what do I do about it?" His eyes, for the first time, looked beseechingly at her. What could she do about it? She was subtly being asked to be his minder and that was breaking her fundamental rule. Only he could do it for himself and he needed the right setting. Detox could do that for him and, with inpatient care, everything would fall so beautifully into place, like a child's building blocks. She ran her tongue across her lips and glanced down to look at her desk for the first time this session. Then she looked up and the man read the answer in her mind before she spoke.  
"It would fit in so well….if you had inpatient treatment. Everything would fit in so well. I promise I would give you all the help I can." Instantly the shutters went up in his mind. In his mind, he ran away from this with all the agility of an antelope on the plains of Africa when a lion pounced on the herd. She could see the blind panic in his eyes however much he tried to hide it. She even knew that he was all the more angry as he knew that she could see into this mind, even this little snippet of knowledge.

"You're trying to trick me. You're just like my mother. I want to go now." He spat out the words.  
Politely, she ran through the available dates in her book for the next appointment and let him leave. She had lost this battle.

A little while after seeing the next patient who was coming on well, she could not help thinking of his mother. She was getting seriously alarmed enough to wonder if she should break her professional confidence and tell her. The immense satisfaction that she got as a psychologist was that the "do's" and "don't" of this job was founded on well thought out psychological truths where the consequences of transgressing the rules would rebound so obviously on her. Life as a wing governor sometimes felt like observing the ancient rituals of a Masonic order when the old style reactionary ideas were barely being challenged. Any progress to subvert this was thanks to the hard slog of pioneers like herself, which had gone on to benefit Karen and, in its turn, Nikki. She could see so clearly the other side of the argument, of mixing her professional and personal life and clouding her judgement. She hadn't had a crisis of conscience up till now but this was definitely one. She needed to get advice on this one. At least life had taught her over the years not to be too proud to do this. 


	131. Part One Hundred And Thirty One

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Thirty One

On the following Friday, Karen thought it might just be time to let Gina and Dominic in on who Gina's replacement would almost certainly be within a few weeks time. There wasn't any doubt in Karen's mind that Nikki would complete the four-week Pr possibly threatened with instant dismissal if they revealed it before the time was right. Gina was on the phone when Karen knocked on her office door, but she gestured for Karen to come in and sit down. When she replaced the receiver, she said, "That was the lab with the most recent MDT's," She said, referring to the monthly mandatory drug tests. "Denny's come out positive for speed." "I think it's time we had something of a case conference about her, don't you," Karen said regretfully. "Yeah, something's got to be d her office door, but she gestured for Karen to come in and sit down. When she replaced the receiver, she said, "That was the lab with the most recent MDT's," She said, referring to the monthly mandatory drug tests. "Denny's come out positive for speed." "I think it's time we had something of a case conference about her, don't you," Karen said regretfully. "Yeah, something's got to be done about her," Gina agreed. "Or she's going to end up bouncing between the wing and the block for the rest of her sentence, if it ever comes to an end, which at this rate it won't." "Okay, leave it with me," Karen replied. "Obviously it'll involve you, Dominic, as he's her personal officer, Dr. Waugh, and it probably wouldn't do any harm to get Yvonne involved in this." "She was in visiting Lauren last weekend, and I heard her asking about you. Have you two had a fight or something?" Very occasionally, Karen could curse Gina's level of intuition and nosiness to hell and back. "She blames me for Denny's current state, because I took Denny to see Shell." "This ain't got nothing to do with Dockley," Gina said without a doubt. "This is just Denny going off on one, and trying to get some more attention. As long as we show her who's boss, she'll calm down soon enough." "I'm not sure it's that simple," Karen said, knowing that this had far too much to do with Shell. "So, what did you really come down here for?" Gina asked, wanting to change the subject. "Ah, to give you some good news," Karen said with a widening smile. "I've found your successor, and if all goes to plan, she should be starting on the twentieth of June." "Jesus, so soon?" Gina said in surprise. "Who is she?" "You're not going to believe this," Karen said with a sly little smirk. "But it's Nikki Wade." "Oh, pull the other one," Said Gina disbelievingly. "I'm serious," Karen told her. "With her second appeal, Nikki's criminal record was wiped clean. So, I put the idea to Area, and after a few fireworks aimed rather successfully at my head, they agreed to give her an interview. Nikki had her interview, and impressed everyone there. Well, except Alison Warner, but that was no surprise. She's already started the prison officer training course, and as long as she passes with flying colours, she'll be joining the ranks in just over three weeks." "Jesus," Gina said in awe. "Are you looking for your own personal death squad? Because I can assure you that that's what Di and Sylvia will become when they hear this. But yeah, I can sort of see Nikki doing this job. Who'd know more about this place than an ex-con." Gina began to laugh. "You're bloody mental, you are. I knew something was up when you brought Helen Stewart round the other week, but I never thought it was something like this. I can't wait to see Sylvia's face. Can I be the one to tell her, please?" "We'll see," Karen said with a grin. "But you can't tell anyone yet, except Dominic. This has to be kept as secret as the pope's inside leg measurement for the time being. I don't want to give anyone time to muster up any official opposition to this." "So, you're not going to announce the identity of my replacement until she actually starts work?" Gina couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Not if I can help it," Karen clarified. "The shock is just too good to waste, don't you think?" Gina was about to reply, when the phone rang. "It's Dominic," She said, putting the phone down. "Denny's fighting with Al, and he wants some help." "And if Denny's on speed, she could do anything," Karen finished Gina's thought as they walked rapidly towards the wing. 

They could hear the shouting long before they reached the wing, and as they let themselves through the gate, Karen's muttered "Shit," seemed to sum up the situation. Denny and Al were in the middle of the association area, with fists and feet flying, beating the crap out of each other, whilst surrounding them, were the vast majority of the other inmates, some cheering either one of them on, and others, like the Julies, trying to persuade her to stop. "What the hell started all this off?" Karen demanded of Sylvia, who didn't appear to be doing anything to stop it. "Drugs, what else?" Sylvia replied curtly. "Get this lot banged up, immediately," Karen told her firmly. "What do you think I am?" Sylvia demanded hotly. "Superwoman?" "Not by the look of you, no," Gina replied disgustedly. "You, Dominic, Di, and whoever else you can get off their arse for five minutes, get as many of them banged up as possible," Karen ordered. "I don't want this turning into a riot." Not needing to be told twice, Gina did as she was asked. Karen couldn't get near the two fighting bundles of muscle, until a sizable proportion of the inmates had been moved away. Once a space had been cleared, Karen approached them carefully, remembering the advice she'd once been given about not trying to separate two fighting dogs, but if she didn't try, they would almost certainly beat each other to death. Neither Denny nor Al took any notice of their Governing Governor as she approached, both of them locked into that world of determination to win, no matter what the consequences. Trying to judge when the moment would be right, Karen stepped up to them, doing her best to avoid the still flailing limbs. Suddenly, taking both Al and Denny by surprise, she grabbed them each by an upper arm and hauled them apart. As Al looked like protesting, Karen tightened her grip until she relaxed, but this didn't prevent Denny from acting as if Al were still under her battering hands. Hearing the slightly uneven, shallow breathing that made the presence of cracked ribs almost a certainty, Karen told Selena and Colin to take her straight to the hospital wing. Turning back to Denny, who was still trying to detach herself from Karen's grip, Karen shouted at her. "If you don't want to spend the rest of your sentence in solitary, stop, this, right, now!" "I'll kill the bitch," Denny said through gritted teeth, and Karen could see the wild look in her eyes, the pinpoint pupils of someone on some kind of energy enhancing drug. "You think this type of behaviour is clever, do you?" Karen demanded, reaching to take hold of Denny's other arm. But before she could, and as if in some sort of answer, Denny's right fist whistled through the air towards Karen's face, crashing into her skin with a sickening thud. Barely flinching, as this would give Denny all the advantage, Karen briefly appeared to take over where Al had left off, coming in for a bleeding nose in the process. It didn't take her long to have Denny's arms pinned behind her, but by the time Gina clicked on the handcuffs, Karen could feel the blood running down onto her blouse. "Get her down the block," She said bitterly, digging in her pocket for a tissue. As Gina and Dominic escorted Denny away, Gina and Denny both shouting threats and obscenities at each other, Karen walked over towards the gate. As she passed Sylvia, she took in the slight smirk on her face. "Had a good laugh, did you?" She asked, lowering her voice to an angry, almost silky threat. "Because your lack of assistance will be noted on your file, sitting there waiting until the day I can finally sack you for incompetence. Keep acting like you did today, in not providing help when it's most needed, and that day won't be long in coming. Oh, you may think that you'll be able to get off lightly when Gina's replacement arrives, but I can assure you, you won't. She'll be my eyes and ears, keeping her eye on your every move. Is that quite clear?" All the colour had drained from Sylvia's face as Karen said this, both of them knowing that Sylvia certainly ought to have done more, and that to simply stand back and watch was as good as encouraging them to get on with it. Not waiting for an answer, Karen strode out of the wing, vowing to get every ounce of displeasure out of Sylvia, when she found out about Nikki's appointment. 

Once back in her office, she began mopping herself up with the box of tissues on her desk. As she did this, she came to a decision. Denny's behaviour had gone beyond a simple case of attention seeking. It was time to bring everyone concerned with her together, and soon, not in a week's or a fortnight's time, but as soon as possible. Picking up the phone with a certain amount of resolve, she dialed Yvonne's number. "Yvonne, it's Karen," She said, on hearing Yvonne's voice. "Karen," Yvonne said in surprise, never having thought Karen would make the first move. "How are you?" "Oh, apart from just having separated a fight, I'm fine. How about you?" "Yeah, I'm fine. Listen, I need to apologise. I shouldn't have said what I did to you, and I'm sorry." "Apology accepted," Karen said with a small smile. "Though that's not why I rang." "Sweetheart, are you all right?" Yvonne asked, hearing something wrong with Karen's voice, almost as if she'd been crying. "I've just been given a black eye and a nose bleed, by your oh so lovely surrogate daughter, and I'm bloody furious. I was going to ring you about her anyway today, because she's tested positive for speed, but that was before I ended up in the middle of a fight between her and Al. I'm sorry, Yvonne, but I had to put her down the block, at least until she cools off." "Hey, don't apologise," Yvonne reassured her. "I'd have done exactly the same. Either that, or dunked her under a cold shower. Do you think she was fighting with McKenzie over drugs?" "It's more than likely. We'll have both their cells searched, but something's got to be done. Al McKenzie's almost certainly got a couple of cracked ribs, and I can't turn a blind eye to that kind of behaviour. I think it's time for everyone involved with Denny's case to get together and discuss what we're going to do about her." "I haven't got any better ideas," Yvonne said ruefully. "So yeah, go for it. Do you want me there?" "Yes please. You know her better than anyone. I was thinking about Monday morning, because we really can't leave it any later than that. Gina will be there, plus Dominic, myself, and Dr. Waugh." "I'm willing to try anything for Denny, you know that," Said Yvonne sincerely. "And we'll do everything we can to help her," Karen replied, briefly wondering if it was too late to make it up to Yvonne for all the mistakes she'd made in the passed year and a half. 


	132. Part One Hundred And Thirty Two

Part One Hundred and Thirty Two

Dominic viewed the closing door to the Prison Officer's room with narrowed eyes, which were full of contempt. Di Barker and Sylvia had just scuttled out of the room with grins all over their faces. To his eyes, that meant not the ordinary unselfish happiness with the world around them but malicious glee at someone else's misfortune. It didn't take rocket science to work out what caused the fight during which Karen had been hurt.

It had shocked him the very first day when he had seen Di again to tell how much she had changed for the worse since he was last at Larkhall. He could remember her as a friendly woman, slightly dippy but well meaning who hung round him a lot. The first time he saw her, she directed a very cold look at him, turned her back to him and carried on gassing away to Sylvia, her one time enemy. Her behaviour in the Lauren Atkins trial finally blackened her in his eyes. Never mind, he thought to himself philosophically, his errand was achieved and he could get back out onto the wing till his shift had ended.

He shook his head and grinned to himself as he joined Selena on the wing. She was a good sort, polite and enthusiastic, a bit like he was when he had first started. His mouth made all the right noises and his eyes took in all around him but his mind was elsewhere. It was the bombshell that Gina had dropped on him of his new wing governor being Nikki Wade of all people. One look at Gina's face persuaded him that she wasn't pulling his leg. Once her explanation sank in, he found that he could go with the flow on this one. There must be a very compelling reason why Nikki, of all people, had volunteered to go back to Larkhall and that she must have good reasons to take on the job.

His mind took him back to his early days and when she gradually assumed a very nebulous but very real position of semi official power. There were incredible bittersweet moments around that time that he would never erase from his memories even if he had wanted to. In particular, he remembered Nikki's very light footfall that broke in on his thoughts as he walked round the exercise yard on a perfect sunny spring morning. Inside his mind, there was darkness and conflict as his conscience reproached him for that very gentle kiss he had exchanged with Zandra Plackett. It seemed to him to be the first small footstep on the downward staircase to Jim Fenner's moral standards or lack of them. In any way the inexorable advance of Zandra's illness made it all the more painful to think of what he would come to lose. Either way, he wasn't going to win.

They slid into a naturally companionable conversation as they strolled along and he remembered saying that he was thinking about not carrying on as Zandra's personal officer. Of course, he had not told her in so many words about the place in his heart that Zandra had come to occupy but Nikki knew. "What's more important though, that someone who's had nothing but shit all her life has a little bit of love at the last minute or that you have the satisfaction of knowing that you haven't broken any rules." That level gaze, her gentle words told him that she knew everything that was going on in his mind. It pulled everything together and made total sense. Whatever he knew that was coming up ahead was made at least bearable.  
"What I'm saying is, don't beat yourself up about it." He could vividly remember that feeling of release that those words of wisdom and sympathy for him had gently tapped him in the right direction. At that moment, she was his boss and he, the novice in the combined art of dealing with human feelings and to sense out what was right and what was wrong. He awoke from his torments to realise what a lovely day it was outside and that he had somehow never noticed it. That moment of calm lasted far longer than anything a clock measured out in time. Then, in slow motion, she moved on. He stood still, facing into the sunlight and saw Nikki walking away with her arms folded round her breasts as she seemed to sail sedately onwards like some elegant old time clipper ship blown by a gentle wind, at peace with the elements. Yes, she had answered his thoughts and not his words and when he came to think about it, Nikki being wing governor was easily possible……….

In a smoky, ill-lit corner of the social club, Di and Bodybag had that furtive, conspiratorial manner about them. They occupied the smallest table, chosen to shut out any intruders so that they could whisper to each other. It was in keeping with their devious characters that they knew how to whisper that way.

"I saw Madam get a black eye from Denny Blood, one of the Governor's very own favourites," Bodybag started, a malicious smile on her face as she licked her lips after tossing out the dainty morsel as an appetiser.  
"Get away," Di appeared to contradict her. "You mean the woman who can do no wrong who Miss Betts smiles at as if she were a life long friend." "The very same. I remember ages ago how she volunteered herself to take her to Atkins's house for a day's holiday in that gangster's moll's house. Now look how her plans to reform Blood have turned out. As my mother always said, you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. A leopard doesn't change her spots, not someone who graduated in how to be a hardened criminal from Shell Dockley, another psychopath that Madam was far too soft on." "Tell me more, Sylv," Di urged, her eyes unhealthily agleam in anticipation.  
"I saw Blood come out of her cell looking as if she was drugged up. There was that mad glare in her eyes and the way she stomped around. That psycho nearly bumped into me and didn't hear a single word I said to watch where she was going. She marched away to Al McKenzie when she poked her nose out of her cell." "Next thing, she'll try to reform her as well and blame it all on us if it turns out wrong," Di said vengefully.  
"Anyway, Blood started shouting all kinds of gibberish and McKenzie wasn't any better with that accent of hers. Someone like her needs everything she says sub titling before you can understand the slightest thing she's saying." "That's a good one," Di laughed.  
"Anyway, they started knocking the hell out of each other and that do gooder Dominic comes up and phoned Madam on the mobile. They were at it hammer and tongs when she arrived to see the floorshow. The rest of the cons were cheering on each side, making a dickens of a row. She wanted me to get everyone banged up but I stayed out of it. I mean why should I risk getting attacked? I'm not Action Woman even if she thinks she is." "Quite, Sylv." "I mean, if I was enjoying what was going on, why should I spoil the prisoner's harmless bit of fun?" Bodybag proclaimed with breathtakingly hypocritical regard for the prisoner's welfare. "Mind you, she never allowed me the chance to explain myself properly that if they wore each other out, they would quieten down. That's not her 'do gooder' style." "She doesn't listen to good advice apart from a 'select few' of those in her inner circle." "And we don't belong here with our age and experience." "Aye, that's right enough." "So she grabs hold of both of them and Denny turns round and whacks her one right in the eye. That shiner will go all the different colours of the rainbow and take a week or more to settle down. There was mayhem till Blood got hauled off to the block." "I bet that spoilt her 'I'm so perfect looks'," Di laughed. It gave her great satisfaction to think that there came a time in everybody's life that they couldn't flaunt what nature had given them with no real merit. It was so bloody unfair the rotten deals you got out of life. Betts deserved it and had had something like that coming to her for a long time. "I remember if a prisoner as much as raised her hand to a prison officer, never mind the Governing Governor and she was ghosted out so quick that her feet didn't touch the ground." "I can remember it was still that way when I joined up," Di Barker reminisced dreamily. "Everything was simpler in those days."At least Denny Blood will have to cool off for a few weeks." "Don't count on it, Di," Bodybag's gloomy tones of warning gave her a paradoxical sense of satisfaction. "I wouldn't be surprised if she isn't up on the wing in a matter of days. "You can't be serious."

Up till then, Di had been content to trade commonplace prejudiced in that intense way that she got worked up about things. At this point, her blue eyes opened wide and an expression of shock and horror spread over her face. She had gradually come to believe that the prison service was gradually going to the dogs. The training schools were slapdash these days and the wrong sort of women were coming into the prison service. In her turn, Bodybag nursed her glass of orange and sipped from it as her dark imaginings towered like storm clouds into her sky. There was something she had heard and she eventually found it in her memory, which could be tenacious, if her own selfish self-interest was involved.

"There's something going on that Madam is plotting. She said something about Gina's replacement that she'd keep an eye on us." "You know I was wondering how long Gina was going to act up as Wing Governor. Surely there's something in the rules that, after so many months, they have to get a replacement that's permanent. Otherwise, they could go on for ever and it only means that we are one PO down." She had not really thought of this one in advance but it didn't do to look totally stupid, even in front of Sylvia.  
"You don't suppose that Stewart is coming back. She was swanning around like the Queen of Sheba not so long ago." "She couldn't come back. Not a third time." Di was outraged at the thought and it showed. "The POA wouldn't allow it, mark my words. They would be up in arms at the very idea." "You never know, Sylv. These are strange times and you can't put anything past those in charge. The Prison Service is crying out for good officers and for Wing Governors. That Josh Mitchell got to become a PO after being the handyman." "It won't happen, Di," Sylvia said kindly. Di was really getting worked up by anything she said. "It would be against everything I know about the prison service and if Jim Fenner were here alive today, God rest his soul, he would say the same." Di sniffled a bit into her little lace handkerchief and a half smile crept its way round her face. Sylv had been around for a long time. At the end of the day, she trusted her to tell her what was what. "I don't think it will happen. Mark my words, it will be some young upstart with a psychology degree or something equally useless and impractical. That's the sort of high faluting woman that Karen likes. She'll have a head full of theory and no jail craft. She'll have come across her on one of her many free jaunts to Area, or at some conference. Whoever she is, she'll think of her as the bee's knees. The main thing is that she won't know the difference between the threes and the servery. We can pull all sort of flankers on her and she'll never notice a thing." Sylvia laughed gleefully. She sensed the prospect of her freedom coming as much as any con did when their time was up. The trouble with Gina was that she knew too damned much about the place for her own good and Bodybag's.  
"Do you reckon, Sylv? This place isn't what it was. We've got Dominic back for one. God knows what I ever saw in him." "You and Dominic? Well, I never. You kept it quiet," Bodybag said with heavy-handed coyness.  
"It was never serious. It was only one of those fancies that you get over." Di lied twice in quick succession. Then to cover her faint embarrassment at having let something slip even to Sylvia, she hurried onwards. "Then there's that Selena and Colin Hedges, both goody goodies in her club." "Don't worry so, Di. So long as we stick together, we'll be all right. Another drink?" "Yeah, twist my arm.The others can wait……" They laughed together as, after all, they deserved the occasional little perk from time to time and the others could lump it until they were ready to come back. 


	133. Part One Hundred And Thirty three

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part One Hundred And Thirty Three

On the Saturday afternoon, Karen arrived at the rehearsal feeling bruised, apprehensive and thoroughly out of sorts. She wasn't looking forward to facing all the questions, and the curious glances. Denny's fist had really meant business when it had crashed into her face, and Karen had woken up this morning with her left eye barely able to open. She'd contemplated not going to the rehearsal, but they only had one more after this before the performance. She stood outside smoking, trying to work out what she would say to anyone stupid enough to ask her how she'd ended up looking like the archetypal battered wife. When John arrived with George, Karen knew that her endless stream of explanations was about to begin. As soon as they saw Karen, a protective instinct seemed to rise up in both of them. "Which angelic little darling gave you that then?" George asked without preamble. "Denny," Karen told them bleakly. "It looks sore," John said, reaching out to gently touch the bruise just under Karen's eye. "Don't," She said quietly, unable to stop herself from flinching away from his touch. "That's not like you," John said in concern. "Really," Karen said bitterly, knowing he was right, but not wanting to explain her aversion to touch here and now. "Tell me," She demanded acidly. "When was the last time you were on the wrong end of a fist?" "I can't remember," John answered her blandly. "Darling, are you all right?" George asked, a worried expression on her face. "Fine," Karen said tightly. "I'm sorry, it just wound me up a bit, that's all." Clearly seeing that this wasn't all by any means, George strove to lighten the situation. "Well, that's the last time I give her a cigarette," She said, referring to the one evening she'd spent on G wing, in the middle of Lauren's trial. "Since when were you in the vicinity of any of Karen's inmates? Unless you're referring to the time I sentenced you to it." "She isn't," Karen told him. "Well she, didn't tell me about that," John said sternly. "It wasn't exactly a big deal," George replied, knowing that he would probably be a little angry about this. "Yes, it was," Karen said with a mirthless laugh. "Come on," John insisted. "I want to know about this." "Well, leave me out of it," Karen said tiredly. "It was George's decision, and I've heard enough arguments in the last week to last me a life time." As John and George left her to go inside, still fondly bickering, Karen slumped back into her despondency. She didn't know why the incident with Denny had got to her so much, except that it had given her a similar feeling to that she'd felt on the night Fenner was stabbed. In trying to kill the man who had then been her lover, Shell was irrevocably breaking her trust, showing her that all the help and support she'd given her didn't matter. Karen knew that wasn't how it had actually been, but that was how it had felt. Now, with Denny, she felt as though the bond of trust had been broken once more. She'd given Denny every opportunity to keep her nose clean, more than she'd probably deserved, and Denny had quite literally thrown it back in her face. When she saw Jo and Roisin walking towards her, she gave them a lopsided smile. "Oh, dear," Roisin said in sympathy. "I can see what sort of a week you've had." "This is what it's going to be like all afternoon, isn't it," Karen said ruefully. "Is that what they call a perk of the job?" Jo asked, thinking that Karen had more stamina and inner strength than she would have. "That's one way of putting it," Karen said dryly. "That looks like an Al McKenzie bruise to me," Said Roisin, examining it critically. "Close," Karen told her. "I broke up a fight between her and Denny, and because Denny was on speed, I'm certain McKenzie came off worse for once." "Please tell me I didn't ever do that?" Roisin asked, clearly worried as to the answer. Karen gave a small laugh. "No, not even in your few moments of heightened energy, did you do anything like this." At Jo's slightly stunned expression, Roisin said kindly, "Oh, don't look so surprised. It's not exactly a secret that I wasn't a model prisoner." "Hey," Karen reassured her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I've had far worse, believe me." As Jo lit a cigarette and Roisin went inside, Karen thought just how much Roisin had changed since she was in prison, and searching for anything to blot out the pain. Roisin," Jo said eventually. "She, well, she..." "Doesn't look the type?" Karen finished for her. "No, I know she doesn't. But at one time, there wasn't anything Roisin wouldn't do, to lay her hands on something that would take her away from where she was." "Are you alright?" Jo asked in concern. "No," Karen replied quietly. "I'm up to my limit with stress, I feel utterly humiliated, and I'm going through one of my periodic phases of loathing anyone else's touch, which is thoroughly stupid, because the one thing Fenner never actually did was hit me. I'm dreading going in there, because what I can really do without right now is more questions." 

When they did finally enter the hall, every one of Karen's fears were proved right. All eyes turned on her, and she could feel their speculating minds at work. Ignoring the lot of them, and knowing that she was exhibiting nothing less than an utterly vile mood, she put her viola case down, removed her viola from the silken lining, and gave it a quick polish. All she wanted, was to play her part, be allowed to get on with it, and get out of there as quickly as possible, but that wasn't to be. Sir Ian Rochester, had been waiting for this opportunity. Karen Betts was the Governing Governor, who had put the ridiculous shambles of appointing an ex-prisoner as Wing Governor into action, and he'd been wanting an excuse to tell her what he thought of the idea ever since. Remembering what a fiasco Neumann Mason-Alan had made of questioning her, at the Lauren Atkins trial, He thought it might be a good idea to get him on side as well, give him some back up against Deed's latest conquest. Karen felt their intruding presence, long before she saw them, as if a steadily growing tide of treacle were lapping at her ankles. "Ms Betts, or should I say Governor Betts, might we have a word?" Came Sir Ian Rochester's insipid enquiry. "As long as it doesn't take more than two minutes," Karen replied curtly, in no mood for these two, today of all days. "I've got to tune up." "That's a fairly ugly bruise," Sir Ian commented, looking closely at her face. "Is that an observation," Karen answered him. "Or an enquiry after my health." "Got it from a prisoner, did you?" Neumann Mason-Alan asked silkily. "Or will we soon be hearing in court, how yet another of your lovers has in some way hurt you." "I think my love life's my business, don't you," Karen said mildly, inwardly seething at his inferences. "After the pictures I saw of you, Ms Betts, I wouldn't hesitate to suggest that your favours have been spread far and wide." "Are you still smarting over that little defeat?" Karen asked, almost in delight. "You really didn't like it, did you," She continued. "You really couldn't stand the fact that I walked out in the middle of your pathetic attempt at browbeating me, and even more so that I got away with it. Now then, what did you actually come over here for?" Karen asked, having already had more than enough from these two irritants. "What I think Neumann is trying to say," Put in Sir Ian, before Mason-Alan could lose the argument before it had even started. "Is that appointing an ex-prisoner, might not be the way to decreasing the amount of violence within our prison system." "Oh, is that all this is about," Said Karen dismissively. "All done and dusted, I'm afraid, with no going back. Nikki Wade has been appointed to the job of one of my Wing Governors, and anyone seeking to remove her at this late stage, will be stepping into the proverbial shark's nest, I can assure you." "You would do well not to threaten those in authority over you," Sir Ian Rochester said icily. "Is that right," Karen retorted smartly, suddenly realising that the room had gone silent and that she had an audience. "One, the Lord Chancellor's lackies, would do well not to get involved with things that clearly don't concern them, just because their safe haven of the old boys' network appears to be threatened. Two, if you can't even keep your own wife under control, Sir Ian, you might beware of trying to hold authority over those whom you can control even less, and three, if you'll excuse me, I have a viola to play." As she stalked over to her chair, she could feel the whole array of eyes on her. But as she passed between the first desk of cellos and the rostrum, Joe Channing gave her the ghost of a wink. But she was to receive further belief in her own ability to defend herself verbally, when she heard the combined growing laughter from both Neil and John. Neil had been proud of her for standing up for herself so magnificently, as had John, and when Karen had come to the end of her tirade, they had but to exchange one glance for their laughter to erupt. 

As Karen sat down next to Michael Nivin, the voices began rising around her again. "You certainly caused a stir," Michael said with a warm smile. "It won't be the first time," Karen said dryly. "I assume you were given that by one of your inmates?" He asked, gesturing to her bruise. "Yes," Karen said with a sigh. "But I swear, if one more person asks me where I got it, I'll remove my A string and personally garrote them with it." "Ah, then I'll be sure to look the other way," He told her conspiratorially. "I'm sorry," Karen said apologetically. "I can really do without this rehearsal, that's all." "I'm sure nobody would mind if you left," He told her kindly. "What, and let Ian Rochester and his entourage think they've won? No chance." Just then, Neil came up to her. "Before you ask," Put in Michael. "I must warn you that you're in grave danger of being forcefully dismembered." "Oh, dear," Neil said with a smile. "All I wanted to know was who?" He said to Karen. "Denny," She told him regretfully. "But I'm dealing with it, really." "That's fine then," He said trustingly, knowing that she would ask for his help if she thought she needed it. 

They had been joined by the chorus today, and as Vera Everard's droning voice got louder and louder, Karen wasn't the only one to feel the beginnings of a headache. All three soloists sang when they were asked, all trying to shut Vera's noise out from their minds. Sir James Valentine, sitting directly in front of the altos with his timps, was inwardly vowing to personally cut out Vera's vocal cords. When they came to 'The Marvelous Work Behold amazed', not even George was concerned about how she might sound, compared to the positively tuneless din that was somewhere behind her. In fact, it almost encouraged her to sing as loudly as possible, in an attempt to drown Vera out, but to no success. Not even the loudest trumpet or the shrillest flute could cover up the awful racket coming from the alto section of the chorus. They sang and played their way through the two hour rehearsal, giving it their all, in spite of the sheer irritation it seemed one woman could cause. But when they came to the end, George took her father to one side. "Daddy, do I have to beg you to get rid of her?" "Who?" Joe Channing asked, knowing perfectly well who his daughter was referring to, but not relishing the prospect in the least. "Don't give me that," George said scornfully. "I'm talking, about Vera utterly tone deaf Everard. We can't go on like this. She's ruining what was becoming a joy to listen to and you know it." "And just how do you expect me to have her removed?" Asked Joe Channing tartly. "In case you've forgotten, she is Sir Monty's wife." "Fine," George said decisively. "Do you want me to do it for you? Because I can assure you, nothing would give me greater pleasure." "No, I don't," He replied hurriedly, seeing in an instant just how much havoc her attempting such a thing could cause. "Then for all our sakes, get on with it," George instructed her father, watching in amusement as his face took on the very uncomfortable expression it had held, on the one occasion in her teens, when he'd tried to talk to her about sex. This conversation with Vera Everard had the potential to be far more humiliating. 


	134. Part One Hundred And Thirty Four

Part One Hundred and Thirty- Four

A shiver of fear ran through Joe Channing at the full implications of the appalling task that his beloved but impetuous daughter was foisting on him. The situation was intolerable and the compulsion gripped him to put some distance between him and the situation as soon as possible.  
"I want to think this over, George, and reflect over a cigarette outside. Personally I would prefer a large glass of port in civilised surroundings but the local church hall only runs to weak tea and rich tea biscuits." "You haven't any thoughts, Daddy, of sneaking off?" George's determined tones had that steely edge. "You know that I will take complete control of the situation and do it my way if you do. I shall not shrink from expressing my feelings till that ghastly woman is packed off to where she belongs." George glanced at poor daddy as he looked as if he were about to have a heart attack and added more kindly,  
"You know we can't carry on as we are. It's not just me. Even Sir James Valentine, that loathsome specimin of sub humanity is in agreement with me judging by that pained expression on his face." Joe nodded and smiled gratefully at the way George lightened up.  
"Only a few minutes, my dear, for a quick cigarette. Tell John where I am and to deal with anything in my absence till I get back." Joe promptly beat a hasty exit out of the double swing doors with more agility than was thought possible.

As he lit a cigarette and took the first puff, he reflected upon the way he used to stretch his weary limbs in the autumn years of his life. complete with a glass of the finest malt whisky. That seemed a long time ago and, in truth, he had liked the lifestyle of his alternative calling. It was a far different task to cajole and coax the warring ensemble of barristers into a collective ensemble but it was surely working. As for the extra additions to the gathering, he could not fault them on their quiet professionalism. They just got on with what they were supposed to be doing. This realised one of his dreams of being a conductor and giving rein to the theatrically artistic side of his personality. The mere actorish demonstration of his facility with the law was quite on a different level. All this put fire into his veins and propelled him through the day and late on into the evening. He had fondly believed that everything was coming together and had deceived himself long enough until George dropped this bombshell on him.

Of course, George was right about Vera. That infernal woman had drowned out the beauties of the orchestra and of the soloists who performed nobly, even Monty.He asked himself why his hearing had been distorted so that he had somehow tuned out Vera's voice and had diminished the ugliness of the noise that poured forth from her throat. The occasions when the chorus was not present had only served to remind him of what he had shrunk from facing. So why had he not acted before when the brutal truth had stared him in the face or, more accurately, scratched its way across his hearing. He was afraid of her, pure and simple.

Vera Everard was one of those large, dominant women who had always put the fear of God into him. All they had to do was to fix him with that stare with the precision of a laser beam and freeze his bowels when she spoke in that precise, haughty booming voice. It had always crippled his efforts to assert himself as much as he liked despite his elevated profession in the legal profession. When he was at prep school and later at Marlborough, that eagle eyed woman with a fierce voice was there to police the unruly horde of boys and keep them in order. She, the powerful one, was there to ensure that he washed himself behind his ears, that he had cleaned his teeth properly and would not take no for any skimped efforts. She had taken over the mothering that he had received from more gentle ministrations when he was at home. A succession of nannies, all the same no matter how different their names were, had combined to put the fear of god into him. Such memories had lingered through his liftoff course, it was different when he had mingled with his schoolfellows who had followed him on to Oxford and to bar school. That was something that he was familiar as it graduated into the inward looking languid affected clubbable man's club atmosphere of the brethren. As he found his way in the world, the world found its place in him and impressed him with the standards to which he was expected to conform. In such an atmosphere, his self-confidence was boundless and his application and drive was endless as it varied him to the heights of his profession. All was well till the first time he was introduced to Monty's wife and he was lost.  
He pushed this image away from him and the more welcome image of George took its place. He loved his daughter dearly and had done his best to make up for the death of his dear wife. Unfortunately, she had been blessed with a mercurial quicksilver temperament from when she was small. He knew how determined she was and that to procrastinate his way out of the situation was fatal. In his heart of hearts, he knew that if Vera were relegated to the sidelines, his problems would be cut drastically down to size. An inspiration dropped into his mind. Surely, a woman with her talents to browbeat and blow her trumpet could be more usefully channeled into the valuable side of advertising for the performance. He hoped that sweet reason would prevail to make her see the sense of the idea. Unfortunately, he had the sneaking feeling that she would not see it the same way.

There was nothing for it. Memory saved him that he had slipped a slim hip flask into his inside jacket pocket. He reached for it and took a swig. A random memory told him that all the best Parliamentary speeches of old were performed with a generous helping of the blessed elixir of life. As Dutch courage flowed through his veins, he smoked the last of his cigarette, entered the door. Smiling vaguely at George who smiled encouragingly, he headed for the brightly dressed woman who was gassing away to a very bored Neumann Mason-Alan.

"Ah, Vera, I wanted to have a quiet word with you," Joe boomed in his heartiest voice.  
As the alcohol flush faded, his heart sank to his boots with a built in feeling of defeat but he hoped that Vera didn't sense that. It was as well that he did not realise that he was deluding himself. She sensed his lack of backbone in precisely half a millisecond. Neumann Mason-Alan grabbed that split second chance offered to him and slid off discreetly.  
"I hope you appreciate the work of the chorus line. I can hardly hear some of them but thank heaven I was gifted with a pair of lungs so that I can project my voice. All of us girls were trained that way at school." The music teacher must have been tone deaf and has much to answer for, George thought as she hung discreetly in the background.  
"There is a slight problem that way. Nothing very serious that we can't resolve." Joe was sweating visibly and had that sickening feeling that he was debasing himself as much as he feebly tried to assert himself.  
"I have absolutely no idea of what you're babbling about. I've never had any complaints about my singing. My friends say that I have that naturally regal manner." "Appearance and manner does not necessarily make for a chorus singer," Joe muttered in subdued tones.  
Vera hesitated a second as anger gradually filled in her like a hot air balloon gradually inflating and taking to the air. She didn't like what she heard.  
"Are you trying to tell me, of all people, that I can't sing? I've been married to Monty for years and he hasn't complained. You obviously don't know a thing about music." That remark stung Joe to the quick. This pompous bombastic woman was throwing in his teeth his years spent in the cultivation of music, a part of his life which had never been for sale and which he had never compromised. Everything about her was hot air with nothing behind it. He suddenly wondered why he had never noticed this before. "As conductor of the orchestra, I regret to tell you that you are no longer in the chorus. You may have abilities but not in this capacity. I cannot let the others in the orchestra be held back by you, not with less than a month to go to the performance."

He spoke quietly with the restraint of a gentleman trying not to cause any unpleasantness but all the more boilingly determined to have his way. He was, after all, the conductor and leader of the orchestra and, so thoroughly had they got into their roles, that all the others accepted that assertion of authority, not as an appeal court judge. Vera stared open mouthed. This quivering jelly of a man was being unexpectedly obstinate. She had not come across this before but didn't back down, being stupid and having got her way through all her life.  
"I was one of the driving forces of the orchestra when it was first started .I should have taken the part of Eve only I was maneuvered out of it." A crowd started to assemble like onlookers round an accident but there was a reluctance for any one of them to intervene for fear of making a bad situation worse. Karen, Roisin and Babs, all used to authority in their different ways, hung back as they sensed that this was an ancient conflict within the judiciary which had at last burst out into the open. John noted dispassionately that the row was for Joe to deal with on his own and that he stood or fell at this moment. "It's not my place to interfere being a relative outsider but if you had the part of Eve, Vera, you would make it impossible for me to play the part of Adam," Grayling quietly stepped in. "I volunteered for this part for the sheer love of music, the wish to be part of a selfless undertaking. I don't want to be cruel but you simply haven't the talent as a singer even in the chorus. There is a role you could play, like in drumming up attendance and advertising. This comes to my mind from observing your undoubted force of character." A murmur of approval ran round the crowd as someone had decisively stepped in and said what needed saying.  
"Well, it's pretty obvious why your daughter got her part." That spiteful crack finally got to Joe. He wanted this abominable woman out of the church hall as soon as possible. More than ever, he conveyed the tremendous bottled up force of Mount Vesuvius close to the point of eruption if it weren't that obstinate plug in the crater which let only clouds of smoke to waft round the peak.  
"I will thank you not to insult my daughter, Vera. She could have been a professional classical singer if she hadn't been called to the bar. My mind is made up. You are entirely free to take up the role of advertising for which you have a free hand and as much clerical support as the brethren can provide you with. My will on this is inflexible." "Come on. Vera. I don't want us to make a scene. You ought to withdraw from this performance tonight. I'll talk to you, Joe, on Monday." Everyone made space for Monty. He was not the most popular of men but everyone felt for the tight embarrassment that his facial muscles displayed and the sting to his self-esteem by connection to Vera. He stiffly escorted his wife through the parted crowd and out of the door.

Silence ruled them all as everyone searched their thoughts and to come to terms with a decisive shift in direction in the rehearsals. There was a sense of enormity in the recent exchanges and the battle for power.  
"Well said, Neil," John broke the silence and spontaneously stepped forward and shook his hand warmly. "I congratulate you for handling a tricky situation." "It was no pleasure to say what I said, John.Someone had to say it. It might as well be me." George stood limply on her legs, a heartfelt smile on her face for that unlikely looking knight in shining armour that was Daddy. Her face was shining with admiration and that he had summoned up the force of character that she didn't know he possessed. She said a few quiet words to thank Grayling also as he came close to her. "Never let me hear any talk about you being an outsider, Neil," Joe said in gruff emotional tones. He had proved his manhood and was a stout fellow in nobly standing in the breach and coming up trumps in a sticky situation.

Suddenly, George and Joe were talking while everyone else circulated, talking in an animated fashion as the atmosphere had lightened. "I never knew you could do it, daddy." "Yes well, I owe a bit of it to my handy hipflask of finest brandy. I got it as a present from my father. 'Never leave your hipflask behind. You never know when you might need it.' He told me. I always took his advice." Joe had a crooked half smile on his face that was strangely innocent.  
"Oh, Daddy," George called out in mock reproach at her very wicked father. This from George who had flouted convention in her untamed way for over forty years. 


	135. Part One Hundred And Thirty Five

Part One Hundred And Thirty Five

It was a lazy Bank Holiday Monday morning when John was up early and seated at the long dining table at the digs. The word was a misnomer as his suite of rooms were in the style of a scaled down old fashioned hotel dining room in its quietly elegant style. The morning sunshine shone brightly into the room adding to the flavour of well being. It wasn't the only reason, as he sipped his morning tea, having lazily finished the last of his cooked breakfast. Joe Channing's very unexpected but gratifying and praiseworthy stand in giving Vera Everard her marching orders was one reason for good news. More important was the flying visit by his beloved daughter, Charlie who had zoomed down yesterday before she was due to zoom back to studentland later that day.

Typically, all there was to show of her was a huddled shape under a duvet in the spare room where she was sure to be for the next few hours. It gave him time before she woke, to read the morning copy of the Guardian and to lazily study the papers for the next trial. That was part of what being a student was like, that temporary detachment from the world of having your nose to the grindstone for the next forty years or so. At that age, you never think it would happen to you and he made the most of this pleasantly agreeable gap in his life. She was approaching the end of her time at bar school. While her studies were teaching her the rudiments of what it was to be like; locked horns in a court of law, the world of academia still exerted a strong pull.

A shuffling sound announced the gradual arrival of a slim girl with a mop of frizzy brown hair that sprang out from all sides of a thin face with a prominent nose whose eyes lit up at the sight of her father. His greying, distinguished appearance was turned away from her and was perhaps too strong a definition as to what manhood was all about for her own good. "I expected you down later, Charlie," John's humourous voice greeted her. He was not one for petty rules as was his public reputation, least of all to his daughter. Unspoken expectations sufficed for her to be aware of what essential expectations that he had of her. As she grew older, it became easier for life to flow effortlessly by that way. "I'm a carefree student. What else did you expect?" She answered with a spread armed gesture. "Besides I feel comfortable here so that I know that there will be no dawn call, no ring of the gong." John smiled at the fulsome praise, lapping it up like a cat laps up milk. Being a semi lone parent who had had the major part of bringing up Charlie after he separated from George, he was more than averagely receptive to praise in comparison with conventional fathers. "Do you want some breakfast? I can easily order you some." "Not after that super meal you took me out to last night. I do have to watch my weight you know." John supposed that it was a universal rule of female teenagers especially to have a mild neurosis about putting on weight. Charlie inherited the spare build of her mother George and, logically speaking, should have no worries in that direction. However, he was sure that the current range of female magazines did nothing to arrest this tendency, in fact quite the opposite. "Coffee?" "Anything to prop my eyes open," Charlie said eagerly, reaching for the carved silver coffee urn.  
"I was wondering if I'd be seeing much of you for the next month or so," John enquired rather too casually.  
"I don't know. I've still got some work to do before I break up. I've also got places to see friends to visit. You know how it is," Charlie finished, flashing that carefree smile at him.  
"I was only enquiring casually as there is an event coming up which I'm involved with. I was wondering if you would be able to find time for. It's a classical performance." John edged his way very guardedly into a matter that had caused him some concern for some time. It was his dearest wish to see Charlie to see the performance of "The Creation." A major reason for this was that Charlie could see a side of her mother that she had never known of, something in which he had a real disinterested pride and that was George's superlative talent as a singer. He was content that his own presence in the performance would be as modestly understated as would appear to any casual spectator. Hopefully it would melt the coldness between Charlie and George. For once in his life, he was pursuing a personal matter in which he was as utterly disinterested as any decision as a judge to seek right injustice. It had emerged from the back of his mind when Vera Everard's discordant presence in the chorus was thankfully dispensed with.  
"You mean the quintet that you occasionally play with. It's not really my scene but I might be interested. You never know." Charlie's very casual attitude started to make John nervous as he could never quite gauge if Charlie was not really interested but didn't want to be brutal about it or really was interested but some obscure idea of "cool" made her sound less interested than she really was. He sipped the remaining dregs of his morning cup of tea and, catlike, trod the next step very gingerly.  
"It's a bit more than that. I shall be performing in a full orchestra. Violins, cellos, violas, harpsichord, timpanies, woodwind, trumpets, singers, the lot." "Wow," Charlie exclaimed. "You make it sound like the Last Night of the Proms." Her enthusiasm was fully engaged and John's ringing words captured the majesty of the occasion. It looked good on television when she had occasionally watched it but dad was surely not proposing to hire the Albert Hall, was he? You never knew with him what he might come up with.  
"Not quite. The piece is Haydn's "Creation" which, as is fitting for a biblical theme, will be held in a rather large and delightful local church.  
"Who's taking part in it. Is there anyone famous?" "In the realm of classical music, hardly. It is an amateur performance and the musicians are drawn from the brethren, even from the more odious members of the Lord Chancellor's Department. However, I should not be churlish, as Sir Ian Rochester and Lawrence James have shown more musical talent that I supposed that they ever possessed. Their capacity for spiteful intrigue has, regrettably, not disappeared." "Who else is appearing at the concert. You know how I feel about classical music, dad, but hey, it's never too late to be interested." Charlie seemed really interested. There was no attempt to disguise her enthusiasm for the idea. While regrettably she had never taken to playing a musical instrument, the possibility that she might at least sit and watch a performance was starting to become very real. There was one hitch which he thought prudent to leave till last.  
"Grandad will be the conductor. He has thrown himself splendidly into the role and it might be that which found him the courage to sack Vera Everard from the chorus line. We had to work hard to prevent her from muscling in on the role of Eve. The theme is about the story of Adam and Eve set to music, you know." "That is so amazing," Charlie laughed. "I can imagine him being positively caught up in the role. So who is going to be Eve? Is it Jo Mills? I can so see the two of you together." John swallowed hard and loosened his collar. This was going to be the tricky bit. He placed his cup of tea as delicately in its matching Crown Derby saucer as he framed his words to speak.  
"Jo Mills does perform in the orchestra as a cellist. I am first violinist, the leader of the orchestra as you might expect," John said in measured tones, visibly preening himself at the last few words to outward appearance. "The orchestra is honoured to have your mother as an utterly outstanding soprano singer for the part of Eve." "My mother play Eve? I thought Eve was a virgin. You must be joking." "Don't talk of your mother in this way, Charlie." John's face turned red with anger helped by his own inner nervousness.  
"I remember hearing you two saying far worse things to each other when I was a child and you were rowing," Charlie shot back contemptuously. The light had gone out of her eyes as if it were a candle, which had been blown out. "There's a lot that I overheard when I was little." "Any such words were not meant for your tender ears," John retorted coldly. "At all costs, your mother and I have tried our best not to drag you into the situation…." "Yeah, right." "Be that as it may, this all happened years ago. You have to let go and not let this be like a ball and chain around your leg as if you were a prisoner," John exclaimed, his voice trembling a little. "I implore you to see the performance." "You mean, to see my mother in it. That is what all this has been leading up to. My mother is the crux of the issue." "Partly," John avoided Charlie's eyes, discomforted to hear Charlie lapse into legalese so effectively.  
"So who cooked all this up, you or my mother or both?" "Just me. I take full and sole responsibility." John has paced round the room while they were arguing but at this point had stood foursquare on and locked eyes with Charlie in a moment of total candour. "If only you could hear your mother sing, Charlie, you would see another side of her. It is a treat for the senses much as an art enthusiast would feel confronted with the portrait of the Mona Lisa or the Van Gogh museum" "Just that?" "I admit it, I would like to see you and your mother build bridges between you both. It upsets me as a father when I hear the way you talk of your mother. I know now that there was a lot that I didn't know as to how your mother felt, when she had you, how badly she felt about herself which I never knew. All the time I couldn't get past how I saw matters and that I was not exactly blameless. I pride myself as being as good a father as I could be in the situation but I could never pretend to myself that I was a model husband." John could feel the odd tear in his eyes, which he tried to blink away and hope that Charlie would not notice. There was a long silence while Charlie mulled over what John had said. Something in her wanted to believe her father only because he was saying it but her memories of her mother dragged her back. The image burnt into her mind was that the artificiality of that voice, the rigidity of her manner. She wasn't someone who felt that she could cuddle up close to if she wanted comfort. She had denied and rejected her all her life so why should she go soft on her now, the essence of hardness. It was about time that she got a bit of what she had given out all these years. Besides, it was only for short periods of time that she stayed with her and they started out as strangers and when it was time to go home, it wasn't much better. It might have been convenient for the grown ups but was what she wanted really taken into account? "So what's brought on this crusade for my mother? Is she still living with Neil? Being at Uni. makes me get out of touch as to what man she's with." "Neil Haughton is thankfully out of the picture. He has been since they split up." "Thank God for that," Charlie said with deep feeling. "At least she has an ounce of sense." John was inexpressibly pleased that, for the first time since he mentioned George's name they found something to agree with. He did not like having rows with Charlie on personal matters.  
"So who's she with? Have you been seeing much of her?" "The answer to your first question is that as far as I know, she hasn't got another man in your life who's a stranger that you'll need to be introduced to," John said carefully. What he said was the exact and literal truth. He wasn't going to begin to explain the complex relationships that had grown up while Charlie was at university. He was aware from his own experience at university that home life had the appearance of looking through the wrong end of a telescope. You didn't talk too much of home life as it mattered far more who you and your fellow students were rather than being the appendages of your parents as they came to collect you when you were younger and at public school. You were setting off for that first glorious expression of life, which was what being a student in the late 1960's, was about.  
"To answer your second question, yes, I've been seeing much more of your mother and we are on amicable terms." Charlie's attention faded. If her father was deluded enough to find congenial the presence of the "ice maiden" as she contemptuously thought of her, that was his lookout. She was far removed from it all and would be shortly returning in that curious sensation, to her status as a single student rather than as someone's daughter. She was getting bored but she supposed she ought to make some sort of reply.  
"Well, you have a life of your own. It's not cool of me to tell you what to do. Do as you think best." "So will you come to the performance?"John pursued eagerly. He could not be more passionately persistent if he were defending an accused in the trial of the century. In a way he was as George was on trial.  
"I might do. Classical music isn't my scene and I'd like to see Grandad waving his baton and being very dramatic. I'd like to see you and Jo and I'll think about what you say about my mother. But, like I said at the start, I'm not too sure what I'm doing in a month's time." "I can let you know of the details of the performance." "Do that. If I can make time for it, I'll phone and let you know." She was reverting to the slightly bored nonchalance that her generation affected as a uniform. He knew far less than before as to what she really meant with her conflicting loyalties.  
"Do I get the chance of a meal before I go? I am a hard up student." Charlie suddenly said, an appealing look in her eyes. All her focus was on him once again having dismissed everything else to the back of her mind.  
"Of course, Charlie," John said, the words he had said on so many occasions since she was little. 


	136. Part One Hundred And Thirty Six

Part One Hundred And Thirty Six

It was decided that they should hold Denny's case conference on the Tuesday morning, as the Monday was a bank holiday. So, at ten on the Tuesday morning, Karen, Gina, and Dr. Waugh met in Karen's office, and Dominic went down to the gate lodge to escort Yvonne up there too. Karen, Yvonne and Gina lit cigarettes, over which Thomas and Dominic exchanged rueful glances. Yvonne had been shocked to see the mess Denny had made of Karen's face, feeling that inexplicable sense of guilt and embarrassment that comes from one's child doing something terrible. "Jesus," she said, as soon as she walked into Karen's office. "Did Denny really do that?" "We wouldn't be here if she hadn't," Karen said dryly. 

Once Karen's secretary had brought in some coffee, Karen began. "We are all here, because as far as I can see, every lenient, non-punitive tactic has been tried with Denny, and none of it has worked. No matter what exchanges of trust I may have achieved with her in the past, she has started using drugs again, as can be seen by the results of her mandatory drug tests." "We put Denny on the frequent testing programme," Gina explained to Yvonne. "But that hasn't stopped her from taking anything she can get her hands on, even though she knows we'll find out about it." "She's had an awful lot of contact with Al McKenzie lately," Dominic put in. "Which most of the women only ever do, if they're after drugs. Al took over from Buki as the regular wing dealer a long time ago. We do plenty of random, frequent drug tests, plus cell and strip searches, and sometimes we find the odd stash, but we're not catching most of it." "Denny's had three days down the block doing cold turkey," Thomas added. "And she's going to be getting very twitchy by now. If no one objects, I'd like to recommend that she has a spell in the psychiatric unit." At Yvonne's aghast look of horror, Karen strove to reassure her. "It's not the same as it was in your day, Yvonne," She said kindly. "Denny will be looked after while she gets clean, I promise." "And getting her clean is the most pressing concern," Thomas added. "If drugs weren't involved," Yvonne asked, looking at Karen. "What would you do with her for assaulting the Governor?" "I would give her at least a fortnight in solitary," Karen said without apology. "I will not put up with behaviour like that towards any member of prison staff, whether that be myself or someone else. Denny needs to understand that. Once Al McKenzie's ribs aren't in danger of causing her further injury, she'll be getting her own stint of segregation, though for obvious reasons, it wouldn't be as long as Denny's. The extent of her injuries that she received from Denny, is something of a punishment in itself." "Al McKenzie should be able to be discharged from the hospital wing some time today," Thomas put in. "What will happen to Denny, if she is put in the psychiatric unit?" Yvonne asked, only just managing to stop herself from calling it the muppet wing. "She'll be kept in a cell on her own," Thomas told her. "Because people who are either mentally disturbed, or coming off drugs, can pose a significant risk to both prison staff and other inmates, if they are allowed to have association. She'll be given any medication necessary to make her detox easier, and she will be given the opportunity for some cognitive behavioural therapy, as well as daily sessions with a councillor specialising in drug addiction. She will be tested daily, to make sure that she isn't getting any access to any drugs, though this is only a precaution, as she won't be having any contact with any other prisoners while she is there. I would recommend that she stays there for a fortnight, but that the situation is reviewed after a week, just to see how she is getting on." "When she eventually comes back onto the wing," Gina suggested. "Might it be a good idea, to continue to test her on a daily basis, at least for a couple of months, just to make sure she isn't going right back to square one?" "I don't see why it can't be arranged," Thomas replied. "After this little stunt," Karen put in. "I'd like Al McKenzie placed on a daily testing programme as well." "That's a bit like shutting the door on an empty stable, that is," Dominic said cryptically. "Al might be our dealer, but it's not that often that she actually uses." "I think we might have approached that point of no return," Gina said gloomily. "We need to do the one thing that is ninety percent sure to cause a riot. We need to do a random, or at least unexpected, thorough cell search of the entire wing, all in one go." "I don't envy you that one," Yvonne said dryly. "But as long as you don't let one hint of it slip out in advance, it might be the way to clear the wing thoroughly of any drugs. I wouldn't bet on it that it would last, but it might help." "We'd need to put everyone either in the gym, or the exercise yard while we do it," Dominic contemplated, thinking that this was sounding more and more like a suicide mission. "The point is," Gina clarified. "Nothing will be achieved by putting Denny through detox, or anyone else for that matter, if they can come back to the wing and get a new supply as soon as they get out." "If Denny's going to be segregated while she's in detox," Yvonne asked. "Does that count as her punishment, or not?" Karen thought about this. "Let's see how she gets on with detox first. If she puts some effort into dealing with it, and attempts to take some responsibility for her actions, then yes. But if there's just one positive drugs test after she's completed the detox programme, then she will be back down the block. She will obviously get the forty-two days loss of remission, plus forty-two days loss of personal spends, as will McKenzie. That is all I can really do to either of them. But I have to warn you, Yvonne, that if Denny does anything like this again, I may be forced to consider having her transferred, and not just to another wing, but to another prison. If I don't recognise the severity of her actions, I will be undermining the authority that the officers have over the inmates, and I have a duty to avoid that wherever possible. The only reason that I am not shipping her out immediately, is that because of the speed, I don't think she was entirely in control of her own actions, and because I will not wash my hands of her, until we've tried everything there is." "You can't say fairer than that," Yvonne told her, knowing that Karen had been put in an impossible position by Denny's hitting her, and that she was trying to do her job, whilst trying to keep Denny somewhere where Yvonne and Lauren might be able to have something of a positive influence on her. 

When everyone including Yvonne had gone, Karen asked Dominic to bring Denny to see her. Denny was visibly trembling when she was led into Karen's office, with all the pallor of one who had been buried alive. She looked quite literally like death warmed up, and Karen could see that she was suffering. "Give me ten minutes," She said to Dominic, who left to wait outside the door, taking the opportunity to mildly flirt with Karen's very pretty secretary. Denny stood in front of the desk, entirely unable to keep still, whether from the incessant shaking, or the twitch of needing a fix, Karen wasn't sure. Karen simply waited, looking Denny over as she stood there, but eventually Denny looked up to meet her gaze, taking in the bruise that was beginning to fade under Karen's eye. "Shit," She said dully. "Did I do that?" "Yes," Karen told her quietly. "Not one of the nicest days of my life. How do you feel?" "Like Fenner, I guess," Denny said bleakly. "When Lauren killed him. Sorry Miss," She said, seeing the look of distaste on Karen's face. "And I'm sorry for giving you the shiner. I don't really remember doing it. I was a bit out of my head that day, innit." "Yes, on speed," Karen replied, waving the results of the drugs test at her. "Not a very clever way to stay out of trouble, is it. Now, are you going to tell me why you did this, so that we can perhaps think about having a civilised conversation, or am I simply going to tell you what your punishment is." "Just get it over with," Denny said belligerently, in no mood to co-operate with anyone. "Fine," Karen said a little bitterly. "For the next fortnight, you will be under the care of the psychiatric unit." "No way," Denny said in horror. "You ain't putting me on the muppet wing. Don't you remember what they did to Shell when she was down there?" "Denny," Karen insisted firmly. "You need to go through detox, and you need some help to do that." "You ain't doing that to me," Denny protested vehemently. "I ain't going down there, not ever, not for no one." Hearing the raised voices, Dominic appeared in the doorway. "Denny," He said, trying to draw her attention away from Karen. "Yvonne thinks you should." This brought tears to Denny's eyes, tears of sheer, bewildered betrayal. "No," She said, the tears beginning to coarse down her cheeks. "Yvonne wouldn't do that to me." "It's for your own good, I promise you," Karen said a little more gently. "Denny, I can't have you doing what you did last week. I'm trying everything possible here, because the only other option I've got left is to ship you out, and I'm sure you don't want that, do you." "No," Denny replied miserably, seeing that fighting was no use. Karen walked with them as Dominic escorted Denny down to the psychiatric unit, desperately hoping that this time, something would work. Karen knew she would do everything possible not to have Denny transferred, but there was only so much she could do, before her staff began to seriously question her judgment. 


	137. Part One Hundred And Thirty Seven

Part One Hundred And Thirty Seven

When Helen drew up in the carpark of the Old Bailey on the tuesday afternoon, she wondered if she really was doing the right thing. Her heart was so heavy with the decision she had to make, and she couldn't do that without first seeking some advice, both from the legal point of view, and from that of a friend. She wasn't about to shatter Karen's entire life without going through every avenue of possibility first. But she couldn't possibly leave it like this any longer. Karen needed to know, yet legally, Helen wasn't allowed to tell her. Only the judge could provide her with the answers, only he might be able to point her in the right direction. 

Walking through the swing doors into the marble tiled foyer, she felt a certain sense of displacement. The last time she'd been here, it had been a blustery day in mid January. They'd all been here for Lauren's verdict, all sitting or standing united in the public gallery. But now here she was, on her own, and on a mission of mercy. But where did she try and find a high court judge. She'd come after the end of the afternoon's session, knowing that he probably would have been in court before this, but where did she go now. "Excuse me," Someone said to her. "Can I help you? You look a bit lost." It was Coope, and she'd seen Helen standing in the foyer, looking as if she didn't know where to go next. "Where might I find Mr. Justice Deed?" Helen asked, relieved that this woman had accosted her. "I'm Mr. Justice Deed's clerk," Coope told her. "Is it important, only when I left him, he was relaxing over a cup of tea." "It's very important," Helen replied quietly, thinking that she could have done with a secretary like this when she was working under Simon Stubberfield. "Then come upstairs with me, and I'll ask him if he'll see you," Coope told her, wondering if this was about to prove the beginning in yet another of John's female fiascoes. Helen followed Coope up the wide, marble staircase, and along the corridor to John's chambers. "Who shall I say wishes to see him?" Coope asked. "Helen Stewart," Helen said, accidentally slipping back into the use of her former name. Asking her to wait, Coope put her head round the door, to see John feeding Mimi a discrete biscuit. John was surprised to hear that Helen wanted to see him, and always inspired by a mystery, he asked Coope to show her in. 

When Helen walked into his chambers, she was pleasantly surprised at the surroundings. John had been sitting at his desk, drinking a cup of tea and reading the paper, but when he saw her he rose to his feet. "This is a nice surprise," He said, holding out his hand to shake hers. Helen's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Thank you for seeing me," She replied, not entirely knowing where to start. "I thought your name was Wade these days," He said, remembering back to when they'd been introduced at the Lauren Atkins trial. "It is," Helen told him. "But even after three years, I'm still not used to saying it, and most people seem to know me better as Helen Stewart." "Would you like some tea?" He asked her, after telling a very inquisitive Coope that she could go home. Knowing that she could really do with something far stronger than tea, Helen nevertheless accepted, sitting down on one end of the sofa. Sensing someone new, who might also prove to be a soft touch, Mimi approached Helen, and sat gazing up at her, with the wide, sorrowful eyes that Helen suspected John could also adopt when necessary. After pouring her a cup from the pot on the coffee table and refilling his own, John sat down on the other end of the sofa. He could feel the tension resonating in every fibre of her being. Why she was here, he couldn't possibly imagine, but whatever it was, it was incredibly serious. 

"How's Nikki getting on with Prison service training?" John asked, wanting to put her at her ease before she told him why she was really here. "Oh, she's fine, in her second week of it now." "I had the pleasure of personally delivering the success of her interview to those it would most annoy," He said, with a relish in his tone that made her smile. "The prison service won't know what's hit them," Helen said philosophically. "Nikki was responsible for at least two sit-ins while I was there, so she's not afraid of speaking up for anyone." John smiled. "Ah," He said with a certain amount of self-pride. "I did a fair amount of that during my youth, and I've maintained the reputation of maverick trouble causer ever since." Then, turning serious again, he said, "Helen, why are you really here?" "It's about Karen," She astonished him by saying. "I need some legal advice, because I know something that I think she badly needs to know, but that I think I am bound by law not to tell her. George is obviously far too close, and because of the nature of the knowledge I have, I don't think Jo would be able to remain detached enough, to keep it to herself if that became necessary. So, I've come to you, because I'm hoping that you can tell me what I should do, whilst staying a little more emotionally detached from the situation." "Jo would tell you that this is one of my specialities," John said bleakly. "What's happened?" "Two months ago, Karen's son started coming to see me as a patient. I work part time as a psychologist at and NHS psychotherapy clinic, and part time as a psychologist for an NHS drugs rehab clinic. Ross Betts has been coming to see me, for help with drug addiction." John sat perfectly still, allowing the information he'd just received to filter properly through the recesses of his brain. "And you're sure she doesn't know?" He asked, knowing that if Karen had known, he would have been the first to hear about it. "She has absolutely no idea," Helen said regretfully. "I've tried to persuade him to tell her, but he's not having any of it. I've talked to Karen a couple of times recently, and she just thinks he's staying out of her way, doing the must do my own thing, must be independent except when it comes to money thing, that she says he's been doing since he turned fourteen." John couldn't help but smile. "My daughter's the same, and she's twenty five in a couple of weeks. At nineteen, she started committing minor offences all in the name of animal rights, and even though she's now at Bar school, I suspect she will never quite grow out of it." "Has she ever been caught?" Helen asked bluntly, intrigued by a girl who could do this, in spite of both her parents being members of the legal fraternity, though Helen suspected that might be why she did it. "No, but only by luck and ingenuity," He said ruefully. "Ross is twenty one, twenty two, something like that, isn't he." "He's twenty two some time this week, a Gemini to the core." "So's George, in some of her more argumentative moments," John said with a smile. "However, as Ross is over eighteen, no, you certainly cannot break the promise of patient confidentiality. He does, as they say, have the right to remain silent, which is altogether unfortunate." "What the hell do I do, Judge?" She asked, unconsciously slipping into the name Coope had always given him. "Helen, you must also remain silent," He told her gently. "There is absolutely no choice about this." "And what if this was your child, Judge? Would you want to be kept in the dark about something like this?" At John's poker faced expression, she added, "And don't give me that old line of, your daughter is too intelligent to get into drugs. I hear that from parents all the time, even when their son or daughter has the most promising career ahead of them. So, I repeat, wouldn't you want to know about something like this?" "Helen, one thing you must understand about the law, is that there is virtually no room for emotional involvement." "Is that why you did it?" She asked, her lilting, Scottish accent and her penetrating gaze, nailing him to the spot. "That might almost have come from Jo," He said with a laugh, thinking that Ross Betts must have some determination in him not to give into her digging. "However much I might agree with you, and think that yes, Karen certainly does need to know about this, you have come to me for legal advice, and that is exactly what I'm giving you. Ross Betts has a right to patient confidentiality, just as you and I do." "But Karen's my friend," Helen insisted vehemently. "She's your friend." "I know," John said quietly. "Which is why keeping this from her, is one of the hardest things I will ever have to do. Apart from Jo, Karen is the closest friend I've ever had, and if it were possible, I would do anything I could to prevent her from being hurt. But I can't, not this time, and neither can you. However, that isn't going to stop me from seeking some advice of my own. The brethren of judges might sit in sovereignty over a court of law, but that doesn't mean we know all the answers, though I fear that there can only be one answer in this case. Leave it with me, and I will let you know my decision in a couple of days. You did the right thing in bringing this to me, but in another way, I wish I didn't know. But why come and tell me now?" "Until this week, Ross has only been an out-patient at the clinic, because he thought he could cope on the outside, but nothing has been remotely successful. So, the last time I saw him, I managed to persuade him that in-patient treatment was the only option he had left, if he ever wanted to get clean. He does want to get better, he just doesn't have the willpower to do it. What isn't helping him to see that he's got something to get better for, is that he's also HIV positive, and I'm certain Karen doesn't know about that either." "Because of the drugs?" John asked, wondering just how this could get any worse. "I assume so. He thinks Karen won't want anything to do with him after this, which we both know isn't true. He's so...so angry with her." "What for?" "For being a single parent most of his life, for the fact he never knew his father, for the fact that she couldn't always afford to be at home to look after him, but that she could afford for someone else to do it. He thinks that she always put her career first, but then, Nikki used to accuse me of doing exactly the same thing." "What's it like for you, to know that Nikki will be going back to the place that gave you so much grief?" John asked, inevitably curious on this point. "I wasn't sure at first," She admitted. "I didn't want her going back there under any circumstances. I think I thought that even though Fenner's dead, his influence would still be there. So, because Nikki obviously wanted to go for this job, I went and laid a few ghosts, good and bad. When I was in Karen's office, I saw a picture of Ross on her desk. He looked so healthy, so alive, that it shocked me. In his face, he looks quite like her, but that's all the resemblance that's left after months of shoving god knows what into his system. I nearly told her then and there when I saw that." "It's probably better that you didn't," John said quietly, knowing that he would have had exactly the same urge in her position. "Thank you, for hearing me out," Helen said to him. "It's been something of a relief, just to tell somebody about it." "Does anyone else know?" "No, not even Nikki. She hates it whenever I keep anything big from her, because it reminds her of all the problems we had when she was in Larkhall." "What was that like, working in a prison and having an affair with an inmate?" He asked, desperately wanting to satisfy his curiosity. "Pretty much like a judge having an affair with a barrister or two," Helen said dryly, not in the least offended. "Touché," He said with a broad smile, thinking that here was yet another woman in whom the legal profession had sadly lost an opportunity. 

After Helen had gone, John sat for a very long time, mulling over everything she'd said. God, what on earth could he do? He'd told Helen that he would be seeking advice of his own, and indeed he would, but he knew it was no use. Only if a mental health patient was sectioned, could the next of kin be informed against the patient's will. He knew that without question. But this was Karen, this was his friend, and not just any friend. There wasn't anything he couldn't tell Karen, nothing he needed to keep from her. He could see her in his mind's eye, the last time she'd been here to see him, not more than a week ago. She'd been tired, harassed, but to all intents and purposes happy. John didn't ask himself how she couldn't know about her son's drug addiction, because he knew that Charlie was just as capable of keeping some things from him. He could remember every curve of Karen's body, as though it had only been yesterday that he'd slept with her, instead of more than eighteen months ago. She'd been so beautiful, so responsive, that even now he found himself lusting after her. He could remember the way he'd hurt her, back in January, when he'd thrown such angry words at her about George. She'd maintained a stony silence after that until he'd apologised. But would he ever be able to apologise for this, he didn't know. This wasn't something said in the heat of the moment which, no matter how hurtful, could be forgiven and forgotten. This was him, withholding information about her son who desperately needed her. When he realised that he'd been sitting, staring into space for the last couple of hours, he pulled himself together, deciding that his chosen confidante must be home by now. Clipping a lead onto a delighted Mimi, John walked out to his car. 

When he drew up in the broad gravel drive, in front of the enormous gothic monstrosity where George had spent her childhood, he saw that her father's Roll's was already there. When Sir Joseph Channing came to answer the door, he looked surprised to see John on his doorstep. "This must be serious, if you're voluntarily seeking my company of an evening," He said in greeting, to which John offered a half smile. "Can I come in?" He simply asked, not really in the mood for laughing. "Of course," Joe replied, seeing that something was badly wrong with his ex-son-in-law. As Mimi bounded forward to greet Joe's shaggy, old lurcher, John briefly spared a thought to wish that his life could be as simple as Mimi's. No pandering to the establishment, no pretending to like those he loathed, and no keeping confidences about things he would rather be unaware of. "Have you eaten?" Joe asked as they walked towards the kitchen. "Because my housekeeper left me a very good casserole." John wasn't sure that he did feel like eating, but he accepted some to be polite, and then realised how hungry he was. They sat at the scrubbed kitchen table, eating the delicious creation and drinking a very fruity Bordeaux with lots of body. Joe didn't attempt to ask John what the problem was for some time, but as their appetites diminished, he eventually raised the question. "John, you didn't come here, just to partake of my housekeeper's particularly excellent cooking." "It's about Karen, Karen Betts." "As in Karen Betts, Larkhall's Governor? As in the woman who has just introduced one of the most radical manoeuvres within the establishment, that I have ever had the misfortune to witness?" John smiled. "Yes, that Karen, the one who plays the viola next to Michael Nivin." "What about her? Don't tell me you really are having an affair with her after all, but then why would I be surprised. She's pretty, I'll give you that, but she's got a knack for falling into more trouble than you have. I've never read quite so much tabloid gossip about one woman, except perhaps the Duchess of York." "No, I'm not having an affair with her," John told him honestly, thinking that this really would have made things complicated between them all. "I'm glad to hear it," Joe said sonorously. "Because by the look of both you and my daughter a few weeks ago, it is blatantly obvious that you've somehow managed to wriggle your way back into her affections. So, what about Karen Betts?" "I, er, I came into some information this afternoon that morally, I think ought to be passed onto her, but which I know legally can't be." They'd moved into the sitting-room by this time, and Joe was lighting a cigarette. "I had a visit from someone whom I have come to know through Karen. She is a psychologist for a drugs rehab clinic. She came to tell me, that Karen's twenty-two-year-old son, has been receiving treatment for drug addiction." Joe smoked thoughtfully. "And Karen knows nothing about this?" "Nothing," John replied, knowing exactly what he was about to hear. "You absolutely can't tell her, John," Joe told him earnestly. "No matter how much you may feel you should, you can't. The law will not allow you to do so." "Then it's about time the law was changed," John said hotly. "How can that be right, Joe? How can it be right for a mother not to be told that her son is in serious need of her? What sort of twisted, ill-conceived logic is that." "It's the type of logic that allows us all the right to medical confidentiality, you know that," Joe replied quietly. "If he doesn't want her to know, then he has the right to expect that she isn't told, under any circumstances, besides those in which the law does permit a betrayal of such a confidence. You cannot override the law, John, none of us can." "I know," John said bitterly. "I just wanted to make sure." After a while, he added, "I feel culpable, as if I am increasing the hurt that she must and will feel when this comes out, because come out it eventually will. How do I keep something like that, from someone who is probably my closest friend after Jo Mills?" "You will keep it from her, John, because you must," Joe insisted quietly. 

They sat in silence for a while, Joe smoking, and John occasionally sipping from the red in his glass. "Talking of Karen Betts," Joe eventually said, breaking in on John's bitter contemplation. "Precisely what is the nature of the relationship she has with my daughter?" John had been about to take a swig from his glass, but he replaced it back on the coffee table. Now here really was something he hadn't been expecting. That was two out of three things today, so what in god's name would be the third? "What makes you assume that there is any relationship between Karen and George, other than that of fellow musicians?" Joe Channing let out a roar of laughter, making John smile despite his own misgivings. "I never thought I would see the day," Joe said, lifting his glass as if in a toast. "When John Deed would attempt to be both tactful and delicate." "I am capable of it very occasionally, Joe," John said almost innocently. "The Lord Chancellor will be delighted to hear it," Joe said dryly, returning to his previously serious expression. "But I repeat, what is it that exists between my daughter, and the Governor of Larkhall prison?" "That isn't for me to tell you, Joe," John said regretfully, seeing that Joe had already worked it out for himself, but that he only wanted some sort of corroboration. "Yes," Joe said contemplatively. "Very good, confirming my suspicion, without betraying a confidence. Hmmm, very clever, I don't doubt." "George wouldn't want you to know something like that, Joe," John said carefully. "I am neither blind, nor stupid, John," Joe insisted vehemently. "Nor am I as naive and behind the times, as my daughter might prefer me to be." "What evidence do you have to validate your suspicion?" "From where I stand when I conduct, I can see every face in the orchestra, every single one. When George sang, in the first rehearsal we had, Karen Betts' face caught my eye. The only time I've ever seen any woman look quite so blissfully enchanted, was the day George married you. When she heard George begin to sing, Karen stopped playing for almost a page. That look wasn't simply one of musical appreciation, but an expression of something akin to love." "That can't be the only thing," John said fairly, thinking that Karen needed to be a little more careful. "Over the last few months, well, except for the last week or so in April, George has been happier than she has been for a long time. She's been as happy as she was during the first couple of years of your marriage. I don't think this is entirely due to you, because I am well aware that you've been back on the scene for a lot longer than a few months. There is very little that my daughter can successfully hide from me, though I know she would rather have this any other way." John remained silent for a while, wondering how he could prevent this from causing a rift between George and her father. "I knew I should never have sent her to boarding school," Joe said ruefully into the silence. "This wasn't caused by George going to a single sex school, Joe," John told him with a laugh. "Really," Joe said unconvincingly. "She didn't even do anything about it until January this year," John filled in. "It's something she's thought about, probably for most of her life, and all she's really doing now, is exploring that side of her." "And it doesn't bother you, that she's doing this with, another woman," He said, almost disgustedly. "Whilst she's quite clearly keeping your bed warm on a regular basis." "It took me a while to get used to it," John said after a moment's pause. "But George is happy, Joe. I will never want to stand in the way of that. Joe, it would only frighten and worry her, to know that you are aware of this." "Yes, I know," He said regretfully. "So, if she's happy, and not making things professionally difficult for herself, then I will of course leave well alone. I think that one of our finest viola players, is going to need my daughter in the coming months." 


	138. Part One Hundred Annd thirty Eight

Part One Hundred And Thirty Eight

On the Wednesday afternoon, Karen thought that it was about time she filled Grayling in on what had happened. When he'd seen her the previous Saturday, he'd accepted her assurance that she was dealing with the situation, and Karen knew that professionally, she certainly didn't need his help. But perhaps she needed some reassurance of her own, someone to tell her that she hadn't completely screwed up. Letting her secretary know that if anyone needed her, she would be at area, Karen left Larkhall and drove across London to the Millbank district of Westminster. Cursing the lack of parking space round here, she drove in and out of the afternoon's almost stationary traffic until she found somewhere to leave her car. It would have been quicker to get the tube, she reflected ruefully, walking up the steps into Cleland House. As she walked up the richly carpeted stairs, it struck her just how quiet this place was compared to Larkhall. She would get bored if she ever worked here, she knew that. She'd got used to the rattle of keys, the shout of voices from the exercise yards, and the endless clang of metal on metal, which had all become familiar noises of her trade. 

When Neil heard the knock on his office door, he wasn't expecting to see Karen. "Can I come in?" She said, opening the door and putting her head in at his command to enter. "Karen, yes, of course," He said with a smile, thinking that her visit had broken the otherwise dull monotony of a Wednesday afternoon. The bruise was fading on her cheek, but he could see that she was still looking a little on edge, and he decided that she was probably here to talk about the incident with Daniella Blood. "Would you like some tea?" he asked, gesturing her to a comfortable chair near to his desk. Saying that she would, Karen reached for her cigarettes, only to remember the no smoking policy that was ruthlessly enforced in this building. "Remind me never to get a job here, won't you," She said, when he'd asked his secretary to bring them some tea. "The lack of nicotine would finish me off altogether." "That, as opposed to a serious assault from an inmate," He observed calmly. When he'd raised the merest enquiry about her face on Saturday, Neil had seen that Karen was extremely wound up and still quite shaken by the incident, though she would never had admitted it. It was for this reason alone that he hadn't pushed her as to the details of the event. "It wasn't really serious," She said, though knowing it had been. "I shouldn't have tried to separate a fight, that's all." "So, why did you?" He asked. "Because it didn't look like stopping any time soon, and because Sylvia was infuriating me by just standing back and watching, and yes, I have warned her that it will go on her file. It just felt instinctive to try and break it up." "Karen," Neil said slowly and deliberately. "You must take more care with your own safety. I do not expect a governing governor, to become involved in a brawl with an inmate. I am well aware that you know better, but I also know that you will always be a far more hands on governor, no matter how many policies and procedures may dictate otherwise. Under the majority of circumstances, I would have no problem with this, because you have an ability to care, combined with a thoroughly engrained sense of jail craft, that makes you one of the most effective people I've ever had the opportunity to work with. But very occasionally, you must realise when it is necessary to step back from the situation. G wing's officers should have dealt with Denny Blood, and they certainly shouldn't have required you to step in as you did. I hope, that when Nikki Wade takes over, this sort of intervention in a relatively simple, though obviously violent fight, will no longer be necessary." "Is this my lecture from the headmaster?" Karen asked dryly. "You came to see me," Neil pointed out smoothly. "Not the other way round." "I thought I'd be getting a visit from you, if I didn't do it first," Karen admitted sheepishly. 

Neil contemplated her thoughtfully. There was something in her tone, something in her bearing, that was shouting stress at him, but he couldn't put his finger on it. "Are you all right?" He asked a little more gently. Something shifted in her face, belying her curt response. "Fine," She said, not quite meeting his eyes. The moment was broken slightly as his secretary brought in their tea. But when she'd gone, Neil resolved to get to the bottom of what was bothering her. "Why has Denny suddenly gone down hill?" He asked, wondering if this was the problem, though not inclined to think so. "I think it partly stems from her visit to see Shell Dockley a couple of weeks ago," Karen admitted, knowing that Neil had raised a few concerns about it at the time. "Ah," He said, finally beginning to understand. "And you think that this is your fault, for making that decision." "Well, isn't it?" She demanded, the awareness of her own failure evident in her voice. "Karen, you took a calculated risk," Neil said carefully. "That's what half of this job is all about, taking measured risks on a day to day basis. You have tried a number of different tactics with Denny Blood over the last couple of years, and until now, they've pretty much paid off. Yes, perhaps this particular one wasn't quite as successful..." "That's putting it mildly," Karen interrupted bitterly. "...But you can't get it right all the time," He finished kindly. "But that's my job," Karen insisted vehemently. "It's my job to get it right. These are people's lives in my hands, Neil, not some batch of cattle fodder that didn't quite achieve the intended results." "What are you saying?" He asked quietly. Karen got up and began walking round his office, not quite sure how to phrase her question. When she was standing in front of the window with her back to him, she said, "Do you really think I'm capable of doing this job?" He knew that she'd stood with her back to him, so that she didn't have to see his face if he didn't think so. "Yes," He said firmly. "Do you really think, that I would not only have suggested and supported your elevation to Governor three, but openly backed your most recent idea, if I'd for one moment thought that you weren't capable of making that type of decision?" "I just feel a bit, well, out of my depth," She said quietly, incredibly touched by the obvious faith he had in her. "And I think that's got far more to do with Denny having invaded your personal space, than why she's ended up back on drugs," Neil said equally quietly, not wanting to make her angry, but knowing that what he said was the truth. "Maybe," Karen conceded, still with her back to him, not wanting him to see the uncomfortable expression on her face, which he nevertheless knew was there. "I feel so stupid," She said exasperatedly. "I shouldn't let a minor thing like a fist from an inmate get to me like this." "Karen, listen to me," Neil said persuasively, coming over to her and laying a hand on her shoulder, immediately feeling the slight stiffening of all her defences. "You are extremely good at your job, and I have absolute faith in your judgment. You've reacted to Denny hitting you, in a way that you didn't expect, that's all. Now, go home, relax, and don't even think about work for the rest of today. You are incredibly stressed, and you need to take a break. I'm betting that you spent a good proportion of this weekend, including the bank holiday working, so I'm sure they'll do without you for the extra couple of hours that are left of today. This is not an option," He added firmly. "Is that the tone of voice you used on George?" Karen asked, a slight twinkle in her eye. Neil smiled. "She told you about that, did she," He said resignedly. "There isn't much she doesn't tell me," Karen said fondly. "Let's just say that you made quite an impression on her." "It served a purpose," Neil said modestly. "But you're avoiding the subject. If I thought it would do you any good whatsoever, I would send you on a time management course, because you need to start setting yourself a few boundaries. You give more of yourself to your job, than any other governor I've ever met, and whilst that is entirely commendable, it isn't going to do you any good in the long run. Larkhall won't go away if you spend an entire weekend away from it, as you are always no more than a phone call away. Very occasionally, you need to learn when to let go." 


	139. Part One Hundred And Thirty Nine

Part One Hundred And Thirty Nine

On the morning of the seventh of June, George awoke with a feeling of unreality. Today was her forty-ninth birthday. In one year's time, she would reach that all too unmentionable age of fifty. What a truly miserable thought, she mused to herself, waiting for the rest of her brain to gradually emerge into consciousness. When she eventually opened her eyes, she saw that John was also awake, just lying there looking at her. He'd wanted to stay with her last night, because she would be spending the actual evening of her birthday with Karen. "Good morning," He said, leaning over to kiss her. "I'm not sure what's good about it," George said in that deeper, huskier early morning voice that he loved so much. "Is forty-nine so bad?" He asked with a smile. "I wish it was still twenty-nine," She said between gentle kisses. "I don't," He said, eventually detaching himself from her. "You weren't very happy at twenty-nine." "No, I suppose I wasn't," George said with a yawn. Whilst he was downstairs making them both a cup of tea, George glanced over at the bedside clock. It was just before eight, and on a normal day, she would have been out of the house and on her way to work by now, but not this morning. If she couldn't take a day off work on her birthday, then when could she? She was planning to spend some of the day with her father, as he was taking her out for lunch. John didn't have to be in court till ten, so he wasn't in any real rush either. She was in the middle of stretching languorously, when the phone rang. "Happy birthday," Jo said when she answered. "Thank you," George drawled seductively, thinking that Jo really shouldn't call her this early in the day, because it gave her the most delightful fantasies. "I just wanted to ensure that you didn't open my present until John has left for court." "Why?" George said with a light laugh. "Is it something terribly naughty?" "In the wrong company, it certainly could be seen as such," Jo told her evasively. "Coming from me anyway." "Aha, hidden depths," George teased. "I didn't know you had it in you." "I appear to be doing a lot of extremely wicked things lately," Jo quipped back. "And it's definitely all your fault." "You wouldn't have it any other way though, would you?" George asked seriously, for some reason needing that little bit of extra reassurance. "No, of course not," Jo told her softly. "I wish you were here," George said, feeling stupid for saying it. "Yes, well, unlike you, I am not only fully dressed and looking remarkably professional, but I am not on the skive." "Do you have any idea of just what I would do to you, if you were here, instead of going to the office like a dutiful barrister?" "Oh, I don't know," Jo teased her with a smirk. "You're all talk and no action, Georgina Channing." "That name is banned from this house, especially on my birthday," George insisted, giving John a smile as he appeared in the doorway, carrying two mugs of tea and her birthday presents under his arm. Putting everything down on the dressing table, he slipped out of the boxer shorts he'd put on to go downstairs, and slid back under the duvet. "His Lordship's just appeared," George told Jo, thinking that she might be able to wind Jo up even further. "And he's obviously expecting a repeat of last night." "Lucky John," Jo said dryly. "Mmm, I should imagine he will be, if he plays his cards right." Assuming that she was talking to Karen, John thought he may as well take the opportunity to drive her just a little bit insane. As George continued talking to her early morning caller, John traced a delicate pattern, first over her breasts and steadily hardening nipples, and then along her thighs. George knew that he thought she was talking to Karen, or he wouldn't have done what he was doing now, so she made a great effort to keep any hint of who it actually was out of the conversation. "He really is dreadfully wicked, you know," George said in total satisfaction, as John began kissing his way down over her hip and along her thigh. "He knows I'm talking to you, yet he is quite obviously intent on driving me wild." "Except that he probably thinks you're talking to Karen, and not me," Jo said, content for the moment to enjoy this by proxy. "I think so," George said a little regretfully and then gasped as John inched his tongue between her legs. "It's incredibly naughty of me to say it," She added, her voice losing some of its control. "But it's my birthday, so I'm allowed to be outrageous, but I wish you were here too." John laughed on hearing this, as did Jo. "You really do like to have your cake and eat it, don't you," Jo said philosophically. "And precisely what is the point," George demanded silkily. "Of having one's cake, and not being permitted to eat it?" "I'm sure John will remind you of that, the next time he strays," Jo told her. "Well, right now," George said, trying to suppress any vocal evidence of her mounting pleasure. "He can ask for absolutely anything and he'll almost certainly get it." "Tell me what he's doing to you?" Jo asked, thinking that this couldn't possibly be her who was saying such a thing. Opening her mouth to reply, George only just managed to prevent herself from saying Jo's name in time. "I don't believe you just said that," She said in awe. "I am not, having phone sex with you at this time of the morning," She insisted, her gasps of pleasure becoming almost impossible to hide. "Besides, I'm sure you can work it out for yourself." "You going shy on me, George?" Jo persisted, the light of half laughter, half arousal dancing in her eyes. "Yes," George said unequivocally. "Now, before I disgrace myself entirely, I'm going, and I shall talk to you, after I've opened your particularly sin-inspiring present." "Aha," Jo said mockingly. "Would this be another case of your having to turn the oven down?" George broke into a peal of laughter that rapidly turned into a cry of ecstasy, as John began very gently nibbling on her clitoris. "I really do have to go now," She said, knowing that there would be absolutely nothing left of her self-respect after this. Not giving Jo a chance to argue, George switched the phone off and put it back on the bedside table. Touching John's shoulder, she encouraged him back up to lie beside her, even though she hadn't yet reached her peak. "Hey," He said, kissing her. "I was enjoying that." "What, the thing you were doing to me, or the fact that we had an audience?" "Both," He said between kisses. "I always knew you had a taste for exhibitionism," George said knowingly, running a hand caressingly along his arousal that was clearly ready for her. Pushing him onto his back, she sank down onto him, making him groan at the feel of her boiling heat enclosing him. "So, you want to be in control this morning, do you?" He teased, his voice creeping over her like honey. "I can't hear you complaining," She said, her internal muscles gripping him and making him pull her down to lie on his chest. "Nothing to complain about," He said, arching his back up into her with every thrust. "It turned you on to hear me talking to someone else like that, didn't it." "And is that a bad thing?" "No, not in the slightest. But then I've always known you were bad at heart," She said, giving him a particularly vigorous squeeze. "And I thought you liked bad once in a while," He said, having known for years that doing something that perhaps she shouldn't, had always been the way to get George going. "You know I do," She replied, sitting up, and leading one of his hands to her clit. As their mutual orgasm approached, George found herself wondering what it would be like to have Jo there with them, to perhaps have Jo touching her as John was now. She longed to tell him of her fantasy, but until Jo was ready for it, she must keep it to herself. 

When Jo put the phone down and as she drove to work, she couldn't believe she'd actually said some of those things. This wasn't her, this wasn't the slightly straight-laced Jo Mills she knew. This was the Jo that had developed an attraction, a liking, a lust-driven infatuation for another woman. This was the Jo who wanted to actually go to bed with another woman, to have another woman's hands on her, doing the things that John often did. She had been able to tell that George was aroused, because she hadn't hidden her gasps of pleasure as well as she'd thought she had. But when Jo had made her laugh, and that laugh had turned into the most erotic sound Jo had ever heard, Jo had been sorely tempted to call in sick, and take George up on her promise. 

Whilst John was in the shower, George opened her present from him and from Karen, but she waited until he'd left for court before contemplating Jo's. From the feel of it, she decided that it was clothing of some sort. Deciding that she would open it when she could try it on, she had a long, hot shower, unable to take her thoughts away from Jo, and what she'd been tempted to do with her on the phone this morning. Jesus, she hadn't had phone sex since she was married to John, yet Jo had all but tried to persuade her to do it this morning. When she got out of the shower, all soft and supple, she perched on the edge of the unmade bed, and unwrapped the parcel. As she gradually pulled the duck-egg blue robe from the paper, she groaned in wonder. The gloriously silky material spilled over her hands, and as she stood in front of the full-length mirror to put it on, it drifted over her body, settling just above her knees. It caressed her skin as though a thousand delicate fingers were tantalising her senses, making her nipples harden and poke at the front of the robe. Going downstairs, George reclined in a corner of the sofa, and picked up the phone. 

"That certainly is one utterly, incredible birthday present. Thank you, darling," She said seductively, when she got through to Jo. "You like it then?" Jo said with a smile, having been a little apprehensive as to George's reaction. "Oh, don't I just. In fact, I'm wearing it right now, and even though I do say so myself, it looks fantastic." "And how do you expect me to work for the rest of the day, thinking of you wearing it?" "With an enormous amount of willpower, undoubtedly." "Oh, you're so understanding," Jo said drolly. "George," She added slowly. "I'm sorry, about earlier." "What on earth for?" George asked, utterly mystified. "I shouldn't have embarrassed you like I did." "Jo," George told her breaking into a broad smile. "Do you have any idea just how much of a turn on it was? And not just for me, I might add, though John didn't actually know it was you. I do know that if he had, he would have enjoyed it even more." "I don't know what came over me," Jo said, the blush evident in her voice. "I do," George said kindly. "The thought of you being with me and John together, aroused you just as much as it did me." "I might like the idea, George," Jo said seriously. "But I think it'll be quite a long time before I can contemplate actually doing it." "You're not the only one," George said ruefully, thinking that even though she may be a confident lover with both men and women, putting the two levels of experience together, would be extremely odd, but utterly mind blowing to say the least. 


	140. Part One Hundred And Forty

Part One Hundred and Forty

A/n Credits -  
1. Kevin Maguire Wednesday April 14, 2004 The Guardian 2.Daily Mirror Jun 30 2004 EXCLUSIVE: Minister's advice on firing benefit staff By Clinton Manning 3. Public Commercial Services union website news item July 2004 about actual planned cuts to the DTI.

His life was all so different a year ago, Neil Houghton moaned as he glugged back a stiff shot of whisky in some anonymous bar. The words how have the mighty fallen swam round in his alcohol befuddled mind. He desperately wanted the neat spirit to push everything out of focus except that his disobedient memory forced him to replay the past in cruel sharp focus. This was a bad movie he couldn't escape or switch off.

He remembered how as Minister for Trade, he had closely studied the first two sets of papers presented by his Permanent Secretary on how to slim down bureaucracy. The papers, in turn, were prepared by the head of Human Resources and, to his way of thinking, had hit the nail on the head about the underlings who worked for him.

"Restricted - management",

"A majority of staff are not considered to be career civil servants.  
Some 70 were women, many with caring responsibilities, and although the work was relatively low-paid they were attracted by the decent, local, family-friendly employment the department offered and had no incentive to leave or progress. Persuading them to accept reforms, including performance-linked wage increases, he added, was made harder by the resistance of middle-ranking staff. Our biggest concern was how to motivate the substantial cadre of long-serving middle managers within the organisation who acted as a block to cultural change."

It had been plain to him that what had gone wrong was that a historic mistake had been made. The penpushers who did the menial clerical work should never have been lumped together with the central core of high flying ideas men who comprised the real historic civil service. It was some sort of woolly-minded old-fashioned paternalism, which had confused matters. You might as well call the valet who serviced his ministerial limousine a civil servant when he was patently not the case. As a result of this it had led the present crisis of overmanning to creep up and was threatening to drown the country with bureaucrats. It was time that hard decisions needed to be made to curb this uncontrolled growth and the second paper presented him with the means to cut them down to size.  
He had lounged nonchalantly back in his chair looking at the conclusions in the second paper, which followed on nicely from the first. It had suggested a method of damage limitation by issuing managers with very robust solutions on how to sell the policy to the troops on the ground. Immediately, it engaged his interest. It offered a parallel strategy to this other perennial problem, as a Minister in the House of Commons was how to present the actions of the Department in the best possible light. Appearance was everything these days and the soundbite, the arresting headline, the appearance of sincerity on the TV screen was the surefire way of keeping New Labour up in the ratings. Thank heavens the remnants of the 'died in the wool' clothcap wearing Old Labour MPs are being put out to grass and would cease to be the irritating nuisances that drone on and on interminably. Practically, he had no need to worry as New Labour was holding the reins very tightly onto the political machine.

"Best practice in communicating difficult messages" Modern research has concluded that "the way a message is delivered is as important as the message itself, the memo urges bosses to sweeten the brutal pill by smiling, making eye contact, speaking slowly and not mumbling words. It is admitted that for 98 per cent of people change at work is "unsettling". The message is that only 30 per cent of people's reaction are to the words of what they are told. The rest is down to "what you look like when you're saying it (body language) and how you say it (tone of voice)". For this reason, managers are urged to "speak clearly and slightly slower than usual", not to "mumble or gabble excitedly" and not to look bored when delivering the bleak message. Eye contact, occasional nods of acknowledgement and smiling are encouraged. So are phrases designed to soothe tempers such as "That's a very important point" or "I can see why you feel like this". The memo also warns against lying and "negative body language" such as finger pointing.

He had signed off the necessary papers before coming to the technical paper giving the numbers of civil servants to be cut. After all, the mainstream press like the Daily Mail and the Telegraph would lap it up and only protests would come from Trotskyite rags. The administrative decisions had been made and the paperwork would proceed to its destination. Later in the day, he had cast his eye over the press release that was to go to his employees. It wasn't too alarmist and conveyed the right image of hard necessity tempered with sincerity coupled with some hope for the future. "As you know, from my earlier messages, we had identified scope to reduce the number of people working for the DTI in London by 36 (19 relocations and 17 job cuts). We have held to that position in our discussions with Treasury, but it is clear that we are going to be asked for more job cuts, as indeed are all Departments.That will probably mean that we have to review the scale and timing of the relocations we had proposed.

This is going to mean further change, and some tough choices, right across the Department and in all our agencies. I believe that we are well placed to meet the challenge. We have a clear vision for the direction of the DTI providing high quality services to our customers and stakeholders- a Department that has the flexibility to respond to changing requirements. That continues to be our shared vision, and I and my senior colleagues will continue to consult you openly and transparently as we take the decisions needed in the light of the settlement."

That had told them all they needed to know for the moment, he had smiled smugly to himself. The dissemination of information in a controlled, structured fashion was a science that only the skilled and initiated had the right to make claim to. Similarly, sixty years previously, there had taken place an important conference at a remote country house by the side of a lake. It was near Wansee, just outside Berlin, that a Dr Eichmann, a civil service planner set out his strategic vision for a better future. From the soles of his expensive hand made black polished shoes to his briefcase containing the neatly set out paper, he formulated the systematic 'evacuation' of the problem part of the population of Greater Germany. It planned everything right down to railway timetables and the geometric concentration of populations. It was a masterpiece of planning in its own way. All it had taken was the detached scientific outlook and the ability to plan.

A few months later, it was all bedlam. It all blew up out of nowhere, he remembered. At that time, he had been deeply immersed for months in the promotion of overseas arms deals with wealthy Arab states. It helped his career no end that the sheiks were ready to dig deep into their deep pockets or whatever they use to carry wads of notes, to buy the latest hardware and it helped the export drive nicely. The fact that they might use them to take pot shots at each other troubled his conscience not at all. Boys will be boys and toys will be toys, he reasoned to himself. It was all in a day's work for which he was rightly rewarded very handsomely.

He remembered the day when his ministerial limousine came to collect him on time as usual for another day's work. It was Bonfire Night or so the television reminded him although the event was of no significance to him. "What in hell's happened to the limo. It looks as if it has been driven five times round the M25 in heavy rain," He exclaimed.  
Instead of the immaculate shiny vehicle, there was a disgusting thin layer of splash marks on the sides of the car and on the windscreen. It all looked second rate and shabby to him when he had been accustomed to years of nothing but the best. His fastidious nature dressed in his sharpest Saville Row suit revolted against the possibility of being soiled by contact with the car. "There's a strike on, sir. It's all over the early morning news. Thought that you would have known all about it, begging your pardon." "Strikes? What's the world coming to?" His voice screeched in a high pitched tone of rage and frustration.

That was only the beginning of the worst day in his life to date As the spacious limousine drove sedately along the familiar landmarks around Trafalgar Square, turning into…………., he looked out for the familiar impregnable Georgian stone fortress of the Department of Trade and Industry. Unbelievably he spotted a line of policemen wrapped around the front entrance.  
"What on earth are all those policemen doing there? Surely there isn't a terrorist threat? I've not heard anything about it." "It's the civil service strike that I told you about. The union chief was on GMTV saying that his lot weren't going to stand for all the cuts. Someone must have stirred him up good and proper and by the looks of it, he's not the only one." "Trotskyist trouble makers," Neil spat into the air in impotent anger.  
"You're lucky that the private company I work for don't recognise unions. If they did, I'd be called to come out and join them. I wouldn't have any choice. Come to think of it, I could do with some time off to help organise the local church hall bonfire night. Do you like bonfire night?" The middle-aged man was used to driving all the top nobs around London. Funny but if anything went wrong, they really got the hump. They acted like children, most of them leastwise and the best thing to do was to sort of distract them like you do with children. Sometimes his little ploys worked and then again, sometimes they didn't.  
"I loathe and detest bonfire night. It's an excuse for louts to create mayhem with them.  
Put me down, driver. I'll call for you when I need you." "He still doesn't know my name," The driver muttered resentfully after Neil Haughton had slammed the door vengefully behind him. "Now then, temper temper."

Instantly, Neil Haughton was projected into a nightmare scene reminiscent of images of the 1979 "Winter of Discontent." As his limousine faded into the distance, those who weren't policemen were scruffily dressed in jeans and coats and a woman whom he took to be the leader wearing a yellow fluorescent jerkin moved towards him. Her face framed by medium length blonde hair, parted in the middle, lit up at the sight of him and she pushed a leaflet at him.  
"I'm asking you not to cross the picket line." She said in a distinctly northern accent.  
"Do you know who I am? I am going about my lawful business. I am Neil Haughton, the Trade and Industry Minister. Kindly step out of my way." "I know exactly who you are," She answered. "I want you to explain to my members why you think we will be able to carry on with the scale of cuts that your government has imposed on us when we know we can't." "Your union was consulted about the matter." "Oh yeah, first we heard about it was on the six o'clock news, and we saw all the front bench cheering the Chancellor of the Exchequer. Tell me, with a general election in six months time, you explain to my members." And at this point, the woman's edge took on a harder edge and her arm swept sideways in a dramatic gesture. It drew together and gathered in all the picket line outside and those that they represented. "Why should we vote Labour? You give us three good reasons why we should." Neil Houghton turned white at the sharp jab to the one thing importance in his existence. The loss of his position as MP and minister was the one thing, which frightened him and the consequent loss of his sense of overblown self-importance. In automatic mode, his memory retrieved without interruption from his mind the words he desperately needed and his mouth spewed them out in profusion.  
"My government have reduced unemployment to the lowest level since the nineteen sixties, More schools and hospitals are being built than ever before. Hospital waiting times are being reduced. Inflation is being kept down. We are putting more money and effort into being tough on crime so that your members can walk the streets safely…." "Read the leaflet, Mr Haughton. This tells you the truth about the cuts and not your party political broadcast." "I hear what you say. I shall read it at my leisure. Meanwhile, you cannot stop me from entering or you will be in breach of the law." Neil Haughton's temper and pitch in his voice rose as he finished and pushed past the crowd of pickets who had gathered round on both sides.  
"Will your government repeal the Tory anti trade union laws?" She fired as a parting shot. at the pompous, arrogant man as he disappeared into the bowels of the building.

Even though there was hardly a breath of wind and the weather was warmer than he had thought possible, the cold had cut through her clothes. She had worked non-stop in preparing for this day and had burnt the candle at both ends. Her eyes felt raw and her head ached when she had lain her head to rest on the pillow and the alarm had woken her at six in the morning. Her eyes were overloaded with fast moving images before her eyes, of being hemmed in by the police, of those comrades with her whom she had got to know on a more intimate level in these few hours than in years of working. She had been floating down from a high after feverishly planning what she had wanted to say to the "Evening Standard" and the local radio and getting them out in two concise minutes what the strike was about. The arrival of the most hated minister than even she could recall was a godsend and her tiredness vanished in a second. It was good to encounter one of the hated cabal of arrogant and incompetent New Labour ministers, engage him in verbal battle and beat him soundly. After all, he was no more than a stuffed shirt who mouthed out platitudes. He was nothing special except in his ability to crawl up the greasy ladder of success.

They would all soon be making their way to Central Hall opposite Westminster Abbey, a grand theatre where the General secretary whom she admired and a number of principled leaders from other unions would set them ablaze with oratory, warm their spirits as much as being out of their cold and give them hope for a long hard battle for the future. For the moment, they could afford a bit of enjoyment at that bastard Haughton's expense with a bit of chanting.

"Let's give Neil Haughton the message he didn't want to stay around to hear," She yelled into the megaphone she was holding. "Come on, everyone, after me. What do we want?" "No cuts." "When do we want it." "Now." What do we want?" "No cuts." Again and again, she repeated this verbal riff with hypnotic power and the others on the picket line built up the two note refrain as they picked up on the rhythm with a refrain with that gutroot satisfaction in a double thump rhythm like an African chant or a twelve bar blues.

Neil Houghton furiously crushed the leaflet between his fingers as if he were crushing any enemy who got in his path. He threw it away into the nearest wastebin and stomped off upstairs. It was a savage irony that he had lately moved to a spanking new first floor office overlooking the grand sweep of the street outside. It enabled the positively indecent demonstration of the mob let loose, the pressure cooker blowing off the lid of civilised rule. He as one of the leaders of the country had made it his life's business, after he had made his pile of money in advertising, to use his position for the greater good. As such, the lid of the pressure cooker must be kept firmly shut so that good order would prevail and everyone would be in their rightful position in society. He wished the rabble outside would go away so that he could be left in peace. That was all he was asking as his head was in his hands.

"It's terrible, Minister," The middle-aged woman who was his faithful secretary entered the room and her voice interrupted his thoughts. "I don't know what's the world coming to these days. Never mind, the rest of us are all one hundred per cent behind you." He didn't answer. He was uncomfortably aware that this malign contagion of union militancy had infected large numbers inside the office and had swept them away. He couldn't understand it. He had been assured by the head of his department that everyone was rock solid behind him. He had gone round the offices every so often and talked to his underlings, Grade 7 managers and the like, who assured him that everything was running smoothly. To all intents and purposes, the response was favourable to the usual blurb that was put out every Christmas, which had recognised all their hard work and had given vague reassurances as to their future. Life was so unfair, he remembered complaining for the first time in his life. It wouldn't be the first time.

Then there was that dratted General Election. If he had his way, the number of years between elections would be doubled from five years to ten so that he could work more on a long term basis rather than being compelled to save up all the good news in his Department to the six months before the General Election. The idea of postal elections also seemed like a sound one also and get away from hanging round the polling booths and smiling at perfect strangers whom he only needed as voting fodder. Still, given a third term, the legislation would go through to go entirely over to the American model after they had tested the water in a few council elections.

It meant that he had to take his eye off the Department and spend more time taking his turn on going on the political discussion programmes with the likes of David Frost. The man was getting long in the tooth but he still needed watching. In this way, the media fuelled electoral machine slid in its uncertain way into gear and gathered momentum.

It was a curious feature of political life that the onset of general elections suspended the jealousies, bickering and internal rivalries that simultaneously threatened to rend asunder each political party yet somehow constrained it as well. These conflicts lurked like a layer of sludge at the bottom of a polluted river, unseen from the surface but known to those who navigated its depths. In this way, the man whose job Neil Haughton cast covetous eyes upon was now suddenly a sound fellow whom he slapped on the back in the House of Commons bar and almost convinced himself that he nearly liked. The running of each Department went into freewheel as all ministers were closeted together in one breathless cabinet meeting after another. Taken together, they cranked up the fever pitch of excitement which intense scrutiny of the seesaw progress of opinion polls, focus group replies with the percentage answers to one liner questions of burning political importance.

They were on a roll together with that adrenaline rush that fuelled all addicts of all persuasions, that frantic need for that particular fix, that determination to sell their own grandmother if only, if only…. Gone was the languid talk of the greater good. That spoke of the assured unchallenged control of the political machine. When the danger of this was slipping through their hands, that power fix screamed out within them not to be denied the satisfaction of that need. This was a far more potent drug than anything that was sold on the black market and was totally and utterly respectable. After all, tame biographers had glorified the deeds of those who went before them and rewrote history as they saw fit. As Voltaire once said, history is the lie that is commonly agreed upon and in the present cabinet, desperation and ruthlessness knew no bounds.

Less agreeable were his meetings with his local constituency party. True to form, there was a predictable four-year cycle when he patronised them with his company for the number of necessary months. He was duty bound too, to tread the high streets of his constituency and shake hands and smile for the umpteenth time and make vague stirring promises for what New Labour would do for the third term. After a very short time, the novelty wore thin but he had woken up to realise uneasily that the administration had stored up trouble. After all, look what had happened to the previous government, he reasoned to himself.

On the final day, he found himself wound up like a spring and being driven round, complete with the obligatory red rosette pinned to his lapel, shaking hands one last time and talking to the local press hacks whom ordinarily, he would never let near him. Finally, as evening fell, he was whisked away to the town hall where, in the hive, nameless faceless drone workers laboured counting ballot papers for the benefit of which queen bee would rule. He remembered sipping a revolting cup of weak tea with his deadly rivals, the young Conservative smart Alec and the nondescript Liberal Democrat who actually lived in the constituency. He had become anxious when by some conspiracy the UK Independent Party neglected to field a candidate and let all the opposition votes be concentrated on that young upstart. He fidgeted and kept his fears to himself until the word came to stand on the platform and await his destiny.

It must have been either his memory or his hearing, which finally packed up on him. He could only pick out certain key words in the flat tuneless drone, which announced the results.  
"…………..are duly cast" Donaldson Andrew, Conservative, 14,212 votes.  
Houghton Neil, Labour, 14,397 votes Springfield Tom, Liberal Democrat 6,500 votes.  
I duly declare Neil Houghton elected as the MP for………….."

One hundred and eighty five votes, the fingers hammered into his brain as a catcall of jeers went up from the crowd. He could see amongst them the dangerous smile of that fair-haired Trotskyite woman who had accosted him outside his own office. She was his nemesis, like other dangerous subversives out to get him. In her turn, revenge was sweet but she knew that tomorrow was another day and a dangerous level of ignorance among far too many MPs. Some whom unions had sponsored and had helped put them into power had only turned their backs and joined in with the rest for their share in the pig trough, only out for their own interests. That left people like her and so many others to fight a war where there was no discernable end for the future of ordinary people.

Immediately, the reporter and his accomplices wielding a TV camera and sound gear descended on him.  
"How do you feel about nearly being the third minister in history to be unseated by the electorate. First John Redwood and Michael Portillo and nearly you to join them. Could your personal unpopularity have anything to do with it?" "Politics are about majorities," He retorted in as even a tone as he could manage bottling down his frustration at the impertinent finger pointing question. "If fifty one percent of the electorate vote for me, I'm still the elected member for this constituency and still the Minister for Trade and Industry." "Will you still be a minister? The way the returns are coming in means that the Labour Majority has been drastically reduced and the Prime Minister is known to only value success." "That is the prerogative of the Prime Minister," Neil Houghton uttered smoothly, not wanting the footage being filmed to be rerun on prime time television.

He made his way outside as quickly as he could decently manage. He was not intending to go to the Labour Club. Both he and the local constituency party activists knew very well that they would not see him for dust for the next four years.

"Oh bad luck, Neil," An amused old Etonian voice broke in on his fury. "You're still a government minister for me to cross swords with, one whose power and reputation will have become crippled and impotent." John had taken a discreet backseat position throughout the proceedings and had nimbly chased after him and , seizing the ideal opportunity to waylay him, set about exacting his moment of sweet revenge. It had been a long time coming.  
"Were you behind all this?" Neil raged at John. All his frustrations boiled to the surface. "Wish I had been," John retorted dryly. "You came close to being the latest to joining the dole queue. You can find the local Jobcentre if you turn left at the traffic lights, and take the second right turn. It's got a green and yellow sign outside. You can't miss it." Neil Haughton glared speechlessly and stomped off to head for the nearest bar. John let him go as he had other places to go, in particular homeward bound to meditate on the future. It was already occurring to him that those who had arrogantly run the LCD might become more nervous as to their future. The drastic narrowing of the majority meant that the countervailing power of the electorate to give an arrogant, out of touch regime a bloody nose would make them think twice. 

As Neil Haughton drank on his own in some nameless bar, he reflected that he had had a narrow squeak. He came that close to being cast adrift on the job market at his time of life. Unemployed ex advertising executives even with ministerial connections faced tough competition with all the up and coming tycoons. What hurt him most was the feeling of not being wanted. There was so many ways, he told himself, in which he could serve his country. As he tried to put the whole wretched experience behind him, a memory flashed upon him. If George had been with him as his consort, this whole sorry mess would not have happened. It was a long time since he had cast eyes upon her and the events of the last few months had driven everything out of his mind. It was time for a change of direction in his life. He looked at his calendar and realised that it was George's birthday this week. He had vaguely heard a rumour of some concert that she was involved with and decided that it would be a good opportunity to see it and perhaps clear up some unfortunate misunderstandings. She couldn't refuse him, could she? 


	141. Part One Hundred And Forty One

Part One Hundred and Forty One

The empty church hall was a conventionally rectangular room with varnished parquet flooring and had an infinite capacity to adapt itself to the diverse needs of the parish which it served. One Saturday would see it convert to a children's party complete with the amateur disco and flashing lights only to be cleared away for the tables for the Sunday bring and buy sale. The Friday following next would see the metal framed chairs being set out for the amateur theatrical society. On sporadic occasions in between while, these chairs would be stacked up in piles in the corner to make as much space as a rehearsal room for the amateur orchestra just as the Bar Council had directed a mere three months or so ago.

Joe studied the room, which looked quite ordinary enough as the naked fluorescent strip lights cast its everyday light down on everyone with no sense of the unusual. When the music started, Joe felt the prosaic magically transform itself into the magical. The hall fitted in snugly the massed arrays of music stands and instruments at the ready, all arranged according to the traditional game plan the classical world over to produce the pre technological stereo effect for the audience and, pride of place, the rostrum where Joe Channing felt increasingly accustomed to stand. It felt as natural as his central throne in the carved stone majesty of the Appeal Court, that cathedral like structure as much set in its place in the Strand as Joe Channing felt when he held his prized baton in his hand.

He had arrived early to run his thoughts over the last major rehearsal without the chorus, before the performance. There was an added spring in his step since he had found the courage to detach that fearful woman from her tenacious grasp onto his beloved orchestra. He placed the well-thumbed volume of sheet music on the table and remained deep in thought while he charted the uncertain progress of the orchestra up until this point in time. He had that feeling that they had turned the corner onto the home run. One discreet final push would see the orchestra finally pulling together as one, much though he loathed that modern expression. The last performance had seen sparks flying between Karen and Sir Ian but that damned fool had asked for all the trouble he had got in picking on a woman like her who would be sure to give back as good as she received. On the other hand, somehow, he would have placed a solid bet that John and Sir Ian would never managed to coexist in the same room and voluntary give of their own time much less play in the same orchestra without coming to blows.

Karen's black eye had gone through all the colours of the rainbow but had settled down to normal to her relief. She smiled briefly as she entered the hall early and was halfway towards her place when Lady Rochester intercepted her.  
"Your display at the last rehearsal certainly added a bit of spice to the often humdrum lives that we members of the legal profession and various consorts lead. It must come from locking up prisoners for a living." Karen took instant dislike to this woman who damned her with faint praise in that honeyed voice of hers.  
"When you work in a prison, Francesca, you haven't time for playing games and false fronts. I would recommend it to anyone to visit my prison to find that out unless they knew that one already." John was immediately behind Karen and could see at a glance the mischief that this devious woman was up to and chimed in straightaway.  
"I would heartily agree with what Karen is saying from my own experiences of visiting Larkhall. What I find fascinating is that you meet people from all walks of life, from the most lowly to the well to do. You would do well to reflect on what twists and turns our lives can lead and who knows which way the wind blows." In one split second, John caught sight of Joe Channing looking in his direction and with an effort, he jammed the lid on the anger that was boiling up inside him. Right now, before the performance is the one time in your life when I won't call you to account for your reprehensible behaviour. Don't think it is out of any latitude, which you can exploit. It's only because you are a musician so I expect you to play like one."

John's curt words were expressed in curiously clipped tones that plainly warned her to not speak so lightly of prison. This was especially telling as they both knew that she had walked out of court with a suspended sentence while her more expendable boyfriend Giles Rowley was sent down for his share in defrauding her aunt Dorothy Lomax. Sir Ian saw what was going on and drew his wife away from the situation in some embarrassment and whispered fiercely in her ear to leave well enough alone and not bring up reminders before company of the most acutely embarrassing incident in his life.

George greeted her with her usual dazzling smile and they immediately helped themselves to a cup of weak tea, the best that the church hall had to offer.  
"You know, when I see Sir Ian with that woman, spineless though he is, I almost feel sorry for him." "Yeah well, if she'd said one more word more, it would have been her turn to have her face decorated." It was very rare that such an instinctive feeling of repulsion swept over and her and explained the vengeful way that Karen spoke. It was the combination of her smooth as honey voice coming from that oh so innocent lips and knowing that she was as devious and as calculating as they came. The only other woman she knew that was remotely similar to her was Di Barker, sisters under the skin despite outward differences in appearance.

John had circulated quickly over to Joe, after settling accounts with that dangerous woman. He supposed that he wanted to talk to John about it as well as to run over a few details on the rehearsal. When he got there, Joe greeted him with a welcoming smile.

"I know very well how you feel about that damnable woman but I'm glad you restrained yourself and remembered that we have an orchestra to run rather than settle a private score, however justifiable it might be." "It didn't feel that way," John admitted frankly. He was surprised that he had appeared more restrained than he felt inside. A furious torrent of emotions ran through him, his loathing of himself for being so easily led into her schemes, his detestation of the enormity of what she did and of the pressure he was put under to restrain his emotions for the sake of a higher good. He suspected that she knew exactly he would feel so constrained and that only fuelled his anger.

"I'm frankly a little nervous already at this stage of the run up to the big performance. Knowing what we know about Karen's son doesn't make it any easier when she knows nothing of the matter. However, these are side issues. The main reason why I called you over was entirely musical……… "

It was evident that Joe needed a lot of moral support after catching sight of a happy and contented Karen. It had been easy for him to hold forth abstractly about what seemed to be something like a matter of law until he saw Karen in the flesh. It wasn't a guilty secret that they shared but it certainly felt like one. They could see Karen laughing in an utterly unconcerned fashion and chatting to George. Somehow, Joe was glad that Karen had his daughter close to her or whatever new fangled way they talked about such things. In the light of the secret that he and John shared, nothing else seemed to matter.

Sir Ian did not linger long in his wife's company. The terms of his parent's will kept her shackled to his destiny but he did not see why that precluded him from circulating round the fellow members of the orchestra when need arose. He finished his whispered row with Francesca interspersed with false smiles for anyone drifting past. His errand was only marginally more agreeable and that was to approach George on Neil Haughton's behalf. There had been a distinct coolness ever since he presumed on his services immediately after he had struck George in an argument to ensure that there were no legal repercussions. A few days ago, he had suddenly turned up and with a display of false charm, tried to inveigle him to get him a ticket for the performance. It was funny how Neil Haughton was the one man who made him feel unaccountable prickles of conscience in revealing a level of cynicism that made him feel positively virtuous in comparison. He remembered bristling up at him and made a condition of it that he would personally ask George about it first.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you, George but I have a little private matter to discuss with you." He felt awkward as his conciliatory smile felt all wrong as if an inept tailor had badly sewn it to his face.  
"I haven't any reason to give you any special favours, Ian. I haven't forgiven or forgotten the pathetic adolescent performance the other day, of either you or your little helper who tags after you carrying your briefcase." "Yes, yes, George, but this is urgent and a matter I am performing out of a reluctant sense of duty rather than pleasure. Just three minutes and I'll be off." "Go on," George replied in a far less contemptuous tone of voice. He had not tried to verbally retaliate in his usual weak, ineffective fashion. "I'm listening." "I'll be to the point. I have had a request by your very much of an ex, Neil Haughton, enquiring after a ticket. He wanted me to get him one and rather than suggest that he approach Vera for a ticket, I made it plain with him that I would run it past you. I make no special pleading for the man but he is a potential customer but I thought it more than a little off for you to perform and see him on the front row without prewarning you." "Why are you doing me this favour, Ian?" George questioned him, her penetrating eye closely examining his manner. The man sounded unusually candid but then again, he had had a lifetime in selling his soul to the nearest bidder.  
"No matter how much Francesca may have tried to discredit me, I would never raise my hand to her. Anyway, I leave it up to you to think over. There's no hurry and I have discharged my duty." Sir Ian gave a quick tight smile and promptly departed to look out for Lawrence James.  
The crowded room dissolved away into nothingness in front of George. This unexpectedly touching gesture from Sir Ian came from the obsequious weasel whom she had long despised even when she was on the right side of the establishment. That capacity for embarrassment reached out from the depths of her and choked her. It was because Sir Ian had known of that moment of utter humiliation and frightening feeling of powerlessness. The fact that Sir Ian genuinely pitied her for the plight she had been in didn't make her feelings any clearer. She didn't care to think of that repulsive man coming anywhere near her life again, certainly as he still occasionally haunted her dreams.  
"What's wrong, George?" Karen's mellow husky tones broke over her like the gentle surf on the beach and dragged her gently up from underwater.  
"I'm all right now,," George's dazzling smile also answered. She would have said 'darling' if they weren't so constrained by an increasing preponderance of brethren coming in through the church hall front doors. Their attitudes to sexual matters were not exactly enlightened as the emblems of their profession suggested.  
"I know." To George, those two brief words told her everything that Karen was there for her.

John was on the way back to talk to Jo when he spied Grayling enter the room. His sense of gratitude for his intervention made him walk briskly over to him and shake him by the hand.  
"I was going to thank you for stepping forward to back up Joe in slaying that fearful dragon of all time, Vera Everard. There's not many men who would have that sort of nerve even with assistance. You have done us all a favour." "Don't mention it, John," Grayling smiled broadly. "I have been a born again radical, being a thorn in the flesh of my superior, Alison Warner, spreading sedition in the higher echelons of the Home Office. You get used to it after a while, especially after a previous career at various levels in the prison service." "You sound like a man after my own heart," John said enthusiastically recognising a kindred spirit. What was strange to him was that a man like Grayling whose character ran counter to had that indefinable studied ambiguity demeanour.  
"Within limits, John," Grayling observed drily. "I don't share your liking for the fairer sex, for example." "So I remember hearing," John said in a faint reflective tone of voice. It had seemed months ago that George had flung it in his face when he had had that almighty row a couple of months ago about the nature of her relationship with him and he had later challenged Neil about it in not so many words. The words were there in his retentive memory but they had failed to connect with him. It seemed like as much a midsummer enchantment in the way that Shakespeare's "Midsummer Night's Dream" had taken command only in reverse. He had read the play at school but had never given it much credence as somewhat improbable. Now he understood as some reversal spell of enchantment fell from his eyes only it was that insecurity which he would never have thought would be a problem, not where women were concerned. Oh well, you live and learn.  
"Are you all right, John?" Grayling asked in a concerned tone. He had seen that very astute man's blue eyes turn remote and distant as if he were not really there.  
"No, everything's fine……By the way, I was going to ask you if you had any dealings with Karen after that unfortunate incident when she was assaulted?" The expression in John's eyes resumed his sharpness and he smiled. The question had popped into his mind as he was sure that Grayling would know the answer.  
"She came to area and the subject was broached. I was supportive of someone who is a very fine officer and told her not to beat herself up about a matter where she took a calculated risk, which misfired, and I sent her home for the afternoon. I'm very fond of Karen and I'll back her to the hilt." "You are a good man, Neil.I'm glad you are around for her. And now, it's time to take our places, judging by the time."

The last of the orchestra finally filed their way into the hall and the usual round of pleasantries were cut short as if by collective agreement. It was obvious that they were aware of the need not to waste valuable time. In that frame of mind as conductor, Joe felt that a last few well chosen words might well gently remind them that their bounden duty was to answer a greater calling that they originally pursued of their own free will.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I mean fellow musicians," Joe Channing's voice boomed out and like any actor played his pause for just the right split seconds. A feeling of pride rippled through the orchestra from the more sensitive to the more reluctant of them. "I am sure you don't need reminding that this is the last rehearsal but one before the performance. I feel it in my bones that, despite some of the hiccups that have inevitably accompanied the rehearsals, we will prove that we are ready for the big night. Are you all in agreement with me?"

A sound half way between a murmur and a cheer echoed back to Joe in affirmation as the members of the orchestra made themselves ready. Sir Ian on clarinet had exchanged a glance with Lawrence James. Both he and Francesca Rochester on oboe were at last with the others they let themselves be swept along by the collective mood as Joe Channing raised his baton to let the music commence. 


	142. Part One Hundred And Forty Two

Part One hundred and Forty Two

"Mum, when you're inside, you lose track of days and you don't like to ask when you're due out in case you've built up your hopes and you've got it wrong." Lauren mumbled sleepily into the mouthpiece of the phone and kept her voice down low as if she had suddenly gone tired after a long chat with mum. In reality, her mind was working as sharp as ever and better than she let on. She knew that she was due out in two months time just in time for her mother's fiftieth birthday but she wanted to keep this a surprise. The one phone was situated in a corner of the ground floor of G Wing tucked under the metal staircase. At all costs, she wanted to avoid Denny overhearing her on the subject.

She had recently witnessed Denny come back on the wing after two weeks of detox looking like death warmed up. There were dark circles under her eyes from catching up on all the lost sleep that amphetamine had kept her away from. It wasn't the easiest of situations from even the most tactful of the prison officers as Denny was still edgy and paranoid. It made her hearing all the more acute even though the demons in her head intercepted and distorted what passed between ears and brain. It was just a matter of time before that passed. It would be just Lauren's luck for Denny's quirky hearing to overhear her at the wrong time, coming down the staircase for instance.  
"I'd love to get you something for your birthday and get it to you somehow, I won't have anything much though. You don't get to save much out of personal spends and I don't smoke less than I used to." Her face broke into a grin as Yvonne told her not to be a soft sod. Yvonne was at pains not to tell her how much she was missing her. Trigger put a paw on Yvonne's knee as if to signify his agreement.

"I won't be able to keep an eye on Denny in future for you. I only hope the Julies keep a proper eye on her. Gotta go now as the pips are going."

Lauren put the phone down just as she sensed coming down the stairs the distinct footfall and the bottom of Denny's unmistakable khaki brown army trousers. She moved like lightning away from the phone and greeted her as Denny came to the bottom of the staircase. Just then, the bell for association rang and the prisoners filtered towards the bars of the prison gate "You there, Lauren. I thought you'd bleeding disappeared. They do that to you sometimes." There was an unsettling stare in Lauren's direction that worried the other woman. It had happened to her a number of years ago when Shaz had not come down from her cell on the threes and that cow Bodybag had suggested that she see for herself. She'd gone upstairs and in place of what she expected to see, some tart that she knew later to be Snowball Merriman was in Shaz's place and all her stuff was spread out in Shaz's cell. She never got over that shock, most of all when she was coming down off the speed.  
"Oh yeah, like I got myself stashed inside Bodybag's handbag. I'm not that small and even she would notice." "Just checking, man. Only I get worried if I can't see you." The beginning of a foolish grin stole across Denny's face for the first time since she had gone to see Shell in Ashmore. The combination of Lauren's breezy reassuring manner and her bright smile started to disperse some of the dark clouds in her mind.

"The sun's shining, Denny. Today is a good day to be outside."

Denny didn't answer even though the sun shone invitingly from the opening to the association yard and brightened up that part of G Wing. Colin was on the gates, which were swung wide open and was smiling in encouragement, gesturing to Denny to join with the others who were passing through.  
"Come on, sis. You've been shut away too long. Follow me. I'll look after you." Denny clutched at Lauren's hand and tagged on after her after Lauren softly and insistently repeated her suggestion. Immediately the sun zeroed in on her with fierce sunbeams and she felt dizzy as she stood at the top of the stone staircase. She was impossibly high up off the ground. She clutched onto the concrete stone wall that ran alongside the stone staircase, which slanted down to the grass below.

"Hey, Denny, come outside with us and get some fresh air, mate. You look as pale as death." Julie Saunders kindly voice broke in on her sweating fears of what she couldn't put into words.

Denny looked wildly around her and up into the sky. The massive wall of the prison wing seemed to lean dangerously over her head as if it would fall on her. It scared the shit out of her. She clung onto the stone wall, her face sweating.  
"Take a seat, Denny." Dominic's gentle voice materialized from behind her. It was as well that he was there and not Bodybag. She would have tried to get her to go bundle her out of the way as she was blocking the way. If she'd frigging done that, she'd end up down the block and in trouble again.  
"You move when you're ready. You give it a bit and you'll be all right. If you're not well, I'll call for the doctor.  
"I ain't having any more bleeding stuff in me. I want to be real," Denny almost screamed. Dominic nodded understandingly as a little crowd gathered around her protectively. Eventually, she found the strength to edge her way down the stone staircase, pressing in against the protective stone shelf next to her. With legs like jelly, she found herself in the open yard. She breathed in and out loudly, filling her lungs with clean fresh air. Everything was sharp edged painted in almost unbearably fresh colours. She had not been outside for a lifetime. Lauren took her by the arm for a bit till and they walked along the close-cropped grass in a world, which had returned to normal. She felt a little pleasantly drained and free from that constant pumped up feeling which hammered its way through her veins. All that shit frightened her as she thought about it and this was all the worse as she had felt so great, so unconquerable at the time.

"I want to sit down for a bit," Denny said suddenly when they came to a corner of the yard. A short stone flight of steps no more than about three feet high was convenient to hand. They sat down side-by-side and the whole exercise yard opened out for what seemed like miles. The solid grey stonework of the prison buildings felt comfortably distanced.

"I've been pretty stupid recently Lauren, haven't I," Denny suddenly said. She had to get out the words before she had a chance to think about it.

"We've all messed up from time to time."

Denny shook her head in disbelief. If anything went wrong with her, it was the worst thing in the world to her and no one could feel as inadequate and stupid as Denny did. Lauren seemed too perfect and strong and that made her feel uncomfortable for a sister. It ran in the family except mums were there to confess everything to and to be made better. There was never any remote idea of comparing herself to her like there was with Lauren. That was what made it so easily tempting to get back with Shell as they could both be bad and negative together.  
"Not as much as I do. That's the story of my life." "Look at me, Denny. The way I set out to kill Fenner messed things up between Mum and Karen, I mean Miss Betts," Lauren hesitated for a moment as the image of the current Governing Governor who was her jailor clashed with the rival for her mother's affections, something and someone who had really churned her up inside. "I went to pieces for a long time when I first came here. You were the strong one then." A flash of impatience ran through Denny. She wanted to get everything out of her head and Lauren was leading her away from the point, kind hearted though she was.

"Just one day, that's all it took. I went to see Shell at Ashmore and I came out a different woman. How does she do that to me? I really really want to see her out of that place. What do I do?"

Her eyes appealed to Lauren to say and do the right thing. It was a hell of a responsibility for something where the news was going to be bad. She said nothing for a second but slipped her arm round her shoulders protectively. For once, Denny's body wasn't rock hard in rejection of pity or sympathy. She didn't have to be strong and hard like that demon voice in her head was telling her to be.

"I don't know the answer to that one, sis. You can't expect that what you want to happen will happen. She should never be in that place but that's not the same as saying that she'll get out easily especially as if Miss Betts has been on the case. Do you want her to come back here?"

Denny didn't know the answer to this one. She just wanted her to be out of that muppet house. She hadn't thought any further than that.

"There's another thing that's bothering me, Lauren. It's this time of the year since Shaz died in that fire. Do you know, I haven't thought of her this last month. I ain't right in the head if I can be that way."

Denny dissolved into tears when that thought struck home with all the force of an arrow. She was in some bleeding fantasy and off her head. She must be bad to forget her this way. She had promised herself that she would never do a thing like that. What else was the point of that special bush out there in the garden dedicated to her?

"Who do you prefer, Shaz or Shell?" Lauren asked quietly into the curls of her hair.

"I don't know," mumbled Denny. "I love Shaz and everything she meant to me. She made me feel young again. Shell tempts me to be like she is. I can't explain it. I don't get anything right now."

Denny's broken words fizzled to a stop. She was done in and brain dead. Only the warm air, which brushed past, them answered them and the way the Julies had caught up with them and hovered sympathetically nearby as if they were standing guard over them. Denny couldn't see them but sensed that they were there.

By total contrast, Karen was buried deep within the bowels of the prison administration block in her office with her own set of worries. This was Ross's birthday and for once in his life since he had left home, she had heard nothing from him. She didn't even know where he lived, so distant they were from each other and she sensed that if she did visit him, he would be living a life of total squalour. He wasn't exactly domesticated when he lived at home but teenage boys were like that. The only lifeline that she had with him was his mobile even if, more often than not, he would make the few polite nothings before cadging money off her. Whether she refused, he acted like the archetypal teenage spoilt brat. It wasn't fair on her, as she never brought him up to be this way. He never let up making her feel guilty. Despite these mutual resentments, one delicate last winter flower was left of happier times, that he never failed to be in contact on his birthday. There was another curious feature of him that he never failed to be contactable on his mobile. She would have expected to hear the continuous sound of a dead mobile and that he had been disorganised so that he hadn't got money for the 'pay as you go' card. That had never happened to him and she thought fondly that this quirk was the only faint trace of the steadiness that she had tried what felt a lifetime to teach him. She guessed that his finances were a mess. On this time, it didn't happen. Again and again, that last trace of him, his name and mobile number came up and there was no sound, nothing. It felt as if the last umbilical cord were cut and she was worried. 


	143. Part One Hundred And Forty Three

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Forty Three

On the following Saturday, June the eighteenth, George ran into Helen and Nikki, when she was looking for something new to wear for the performance, only a week away. It was mid morning, and the sun was shining, and she felt incredibly happy. She was walking passed a group of tables outside one of her favourite coffee shops, when she heard her name being called. When Nikki had seen her, George had looked to be in a world of her own, barely aware of the people around her. When George looked in the direction of the voice, she saw Helen and Nikki sitting at one of the tables, both half way through large cappuccinos. "You look like you've been busy," George said as she reached them, glancing over at the boutique bags that filled one of the chairs at their table. "New suits to frighten Sylvia into obeying my every order," Nikki said wickedly. "Would you like a coffee?" Helen asked as George sat down. "I'd love one," George said appreciatively. "It might give me some inspiration." As Helen went to get her an espresso, Nikki gave her a conspiratorial smile. "So, how's things? I haven't seen much of you for ages." "Interesting, might just be the word to describe it," George said ruefully. "Scary but incredible." "You're looking good on it," Nikki said scrutinizing George. "Well, you look a lot better than when I last saw you." "I'm sorry about that," George said sheepishly. "Everything was just getting a bit too much." "Don't apologise," Nikki said kindly. "I meant what I said at the time, I'm always here." "So, how was prison service training?" George asked, seeing that Helen was on her way back, and wanting to change the subject. "There were a few bigoted, pigheaded bastards," Nikki said philosophically. "But no more than I really expected. I can't wait for Monday though, to see Sylvia's face if nothing else." 

When Helen reappeared with George's coffee, she said, "So, why are you in this neck of the woods this morning?" George took a grateful sip of the scalding black liquid and smiled. "I'm looking for something a little different to wear for the performance next week. You are coming to see it, aren't you?" "You bet we are," Helen said firmly. "I haven't heard Clare play since university, and I can't wait to hear you sing." "Oh, thanks for the pressure," George said dryly. "Karen says you sing like an angel," Helen said, making George blush scarlet. "Well, she shouldn't," She said with a laugh. "So, what are you planning to wear?" Nikki asked, seeing that George was highly embarrassed. "Apart from the fig leaf." "I really don't know," George replied, lighting a cigarette. "Sexy doesn't seem quite right for playing Eve, but neither do I want it to be too formal. We are supposed to be having fun whilst doing this after all." "Definitely something short," Helen said, clearly trying to picture it. "Without a doubt," Nikki agreed. "You've got the legs for it, so you may as well show them off." "Eve wore very little, while she was being drawn under Adam's spell, so you've got the perfect excuse," Helen said with a smile. "You want to show off everything you've got," Put in Nikki. "Without making it too obvious that you know just how gorgeous you are." "If you insist," George said with a nervous little laugh, flushing slightly at Nikki's compliment. 

After finishing their coffee, they adjourned to the clothes shops that surrounded them, eventually settling on a short, black skirt, which stopped a couple of inches above her knees, showing off her extremely pretty legs to perfection. They then found a simple white, silky top that had a design of climbing roses from hem to neckline, ideal for a performance of the beginning of life. When George emerged from the dressing room, clad in what they'd decided upon, Helen's look of awe, and Nikki's exclamation of 'Jesus', told her just how stunning she looked. "Good job your Adam bats for the other side," Nikki said ruefully. "Or he'd lose himself down your cleavage in that top." "How do you keep your legs looking so good?" Helen asked, utterly mystified. "Swimming," George said succinctly, standing before them. "That, and standing all day in court in the highest heels I can handle. You don't think this is a bit too outrageous for Eve? And this is being performed in a church don't forget." "No, it's fine," Nikki told her seriously. "It's sexy, but right, if that makes any sense. You'll need a strapless bra though," She added, gesturing to the off the shoulder cut of the top. "And if you wear really high heels, your legs will look even longer than they already are." 

After dropping her purchases off at home, and grabbing a quick something for lunch, George drove over to the church for the final rehearsal. This was the last chance they had before next week, to iron out any mistakes. They would all be together, the orchestra, the soloists, everyone. She picked Karen up on the way, and they talked about Nikki's impending arrival at Larkhall on the Monday. "I can't wait to see Sylvia's face," Karen said with a smirk. "She's going to look even more like a fish out of water than she usually does." "From what I saw this morning," George said, trying to find a parking space. "Nikki's certainly going to look the part." As they walked through the churchyard, walking in the opposite direction to that they usually took, the actual church being at the other end, Karen caught sight of something that made her stop in surprise. It was a tombstone, almost hidden among several others, with a small rose bush planted at its base. But it was the name that halted Karen in her tracks, the name that had featured so prominently in two trials, Ritchie Atkins, followed by his dates. Karen hadn't exactly forgotten that he was buried here, at least not that he had been buried in this very churchyard, but perhaps she had forgotten where. "You go on without me," Karen said to George, wanting a moment alone with her memories of this event. "I'll catch you up in a minute." "Are you all right?" George asked in concern, following Karen's gaze to the name on the headstone. "Fine," Karen told her. "I just want a few minutes." "I didn't know he was buried here," George said, not immediately moving away. "I hadn't forgotten, I just don't think I'd expected to be confronted with it, that's all." Giving her hand a quick squeeze, George left her to it, walking the rest of the way to the church. 

Karen moved off the path and onto the grass, standing looking at the inscription. "Stay safe my little angel." Jesus, Karen thought to herself, those words were so Yvonne, signifying everything she had ever wanted for her children, probably speaking for every mother alive. 

As Joe Channing walked through the well-kept churchyard, he reflected that having no Vera here today was a godsend. She had refused to attend either this rehearsal or the previous one, proclaiming herself to be in high dudgeon over her dismissal. Monty had offered him a lift today, and Joe had gratefully accepted. Monty had dropped him as close to the church as possible before going to find somewhere to park. Joe had caught sight of his daughter and Karen Betts in the distance, and had seen them stop by one of the headstones. After exchanging a few words, George had briefly touched Karen's hand and left her to it. It had highly confused Joe to see George exhibit such a gesture of affection to another woman, and he found himself thanking god that she hadn't done anything so obvious as kiss her. He might be aware that his daughter did such things in private, but that didn't mean he ever wanted to see public evidence of it. As George walked away towards the church, he watched as Karen moved a little closer to the headstone, clearly reading the inscription, and taking a moment to dwell on memories she would rather forget. When Joe reached her, he stood on the path, just watching her, waiting for her to become aware of his presence. When she eventually turned round, she didn't look overly disturbed to see him there. "Someone you knew?" Joe asked, though it was obvious the occupier of the grave had been. "Yes, in a manner of speaking," Karen said with a mirthless laugh. "And Ritchie Atkins was anything but a little angel," She added, gesturing to the inscription. "Ah, Atkins," Joe said after reading the engraved words. "There wasn't a judge in the country who wasn't aware of that trial." Joe could remember the highly sensational speculation that had been all over the press at the time, most of it details of this particular woman's sex life. If everything he'd read at the time had been true, she had been cruelly used by too many men one way and another, so perhaps it wasn't so difficult to understand why she had started looking at other women instead. "It's all we ever want for our children, isn't it," Karen said quietly, bringing Joe back out of his thoughts. "To keep them safe." "Yes," Joe said with a heavy heart, thinking of just how much he knew of Karen's son that she didn't. "Even when they're forty nine, and think they know everything about life and all its joys and hardships, their safety is always the concern uppermost in one's mind." They were silent as they walked towards the church, each lost in their own quiet contemplation. "John mentioned that you have a son," Joe said eventually, his curiosity finally begging to be fed. "Yes," Karen said with a fond smile. "He was twenty-two last week, and he thinks he knows everything too." "You don't look old enough," Joe replied, seeing the gentle yet slightly exasperated mark of a real parent in her. "Some might say that Ross is the fruit of my misspent youth. His father died in the Falklands, so it's mostly just been me and my son." She didn't sound resentful of the fact, but almost proud. "George said that her mother died when she was ten," Karen added quietly. "Yes, she did," Joe replied a little sombrely. "And there isn't a day that goes by, that I don't wish she was here to see all that George has achieved." "I bet she was a handful as a fourteen-year-old," Karen said with a smile. "Yes," Joe agreed ruefully. "Though very occasionally, it feels as though the last thirty five years haven't existed," He added conspiratorially, making Karen laugh. "After watching her in court," She replied. "I can quite imagine that." As they walked into the church, and Karen looked for somewhere to rest her viola case, Joe was forced to admit that he did like this woman, even if she had a tendency to get into trouble that occasionally far outweighed John's. 


	144. Part One Hundred And Forty Four

Part One Hundred and Forty Four

Gina had come in on Sunday for a special reason without advising the other prison Officers who were usually accustomed to work without supervision by whoever was most senior. She saw Bodybag's surprised glance but smiled and hurried on to her office, which from tomorrow would cease to be hers. She looked round at it, glancing at every nook and cranny with which she had become familiar over the three months that she had occupied it. She had grown to like her surroundings but only because she knew from the start that it would be a short-term commitment. On Monday, all her personal effects would be back in her locker as she took a grateful step down the prison officer hierarchy. She knew she had grown in that period of time she had been Wing Governor and would have greater understanding than before and she had her freedom back. It would suit her to be squarely back in the PO's room but she could handle the change, the same way she could handle most things in her rough and ready way. She'd made the place spick and span and all the papers in neat order for when Nikki took over. She could do no more than that. Only one more duty remained for her.

As she strolled across the wing, she caught Dominic's eye and duly avoided Bodybag's. She knew that she would be grumbling under her breath to herself as, very conveniently, Di wasn't around. She would be sure to recite the same litany of woes about being dragged in on a Sunday at her time of life even though she was likely to go off sick at any moment. "Dominic, what say we get the Julies to give this wing a good spring clean ready for the new gov"  
He said nothing but strolled away down the corridor, which led to where they would be likeliest to be.  
"Do we tell them who it's for?" he grinned when they had slid off somewhere quieter.  
"So long as they swear blind that they will keep their gobs shut for twenty four hours. I know that their tongues run away with them. Go on, we'll handle them together."

"Nikki Wade, you're joking Miss." Julie Saunders was the first of them to find her tongue after they had stood open mouthed at the bombshell that was so casually lobbed over at them.  
"Do we look like a bloody standup comedy act?" Gina retorted, the grin on her face softening the bluntness of her speech.  
"We did wonder if there is something you could do in return for what we've told you," Gina Added in softer tones.  
"Aye aye, we thought there would be a catch in this somewhere," Julie Saunders spoke in slightly sharp tones, the very body language of the way she stood expressing incipient mutiny.  
"All we're asking for is that you keep schtum about who you're doing the spring cleaning for. We don't want anyone to know about Nikki till she's here. Twenty four hours, that's all we're asking"  
Men, they're all the same, the Julies thought scornfully at first as they heard Dominic's oh so reasonable tones. They exchanged glances as the implications of what they were being asked sank home. It was as if they were asked at the drop of a hat to go cold turkey on cigarettes for a day. Their natural instinct was to hare round the wing telling and retelling the news and laughing in Bodybag's face.  
"We want the wing prepared in advance to look good, like a courtesy gesture..." started Dominic.  
"...but we don't want anyone else to know, not the other prisoners and not the other prison officers. Can't say fairer than that"  
Julie Johnson caught the meaning look in Gina's eye. They meant Di Barker and Bodybag for sure. "OK, Miss Rossi. Me and Ju will have the place spick and span so you could eat a three-course meal off the floor. Right"  
"Right, Julies"  
The two women made a beeline back to the servery where they looked sharply at the surroundings with fresh eyes. It could do with a bit of freshening up for sure. They got the mops and buckets and cleaning materials out and went at the job with a will. The corridors were next in line.  
"Servery's the first place anyone would look, especially"  
Julie Saunders dug her elbow into the other woman's ribs and the other woman blushed. It was so easy to talk about the matter and so hard to avoid putting her foot into it.  
Dominic and Miss Rossi had got them down to a T, they both reflected. They set to work to clean round the hot plates and then to mop the floor very industriously.

Bodybag prowled round the wing looking at everything suspiciously. If she was miserable, she hoped against hope that the opportunity would come that someone else would be equally miserable. What set her off in a bad mood was the complete absence of information about the new wing governor. She had heard that he or she would be due to arrive on the Monday but that was what the combined snooping power of her and Di could find out. It gave her nothing to prepare herself for, what were the weaknesses, which could be exploited. The other prison officers like Selena and Colin were curiously fatalistic and wouldn't be drawn into any speculation. In the old days, they would have found out when their chief fount of information and ideas was around, but he had, as she still hated to say, passed away. As she thought those gloomiest of thoughts, she spied that Atkins woman who was laughing and joking. She was responsible for everything that had gone wrong in her life, she and Madam between them.  
"You're being unusually industrious today?" she asked suspiciously of the Julies who were adding extra vim into their work and not that maddeningly lackadaisical manner whenever she was around.  
"Well, it's a lovely day today and we feel good. You get those good days same as you get the bad days"  
"Well, don't wear yourself out and leave the rest of the wing that doesn't show looking like a pigsty," she said grumpily.  
"Can't blame us if we feel happy today, Miss," Julie Johnson said in her most winning manner.  
"It's Sunday and I'm here instead of at home. What's there to be happy about"  
"Oh no, miss. You've got to be more positive. After all as Miss Barker says, every cloud has a silver lining."

It was only the next day that Bodybag recalled those words with total fury and indignation and wondered if it was all a put up job. She remembered those words for a long, long time. 


	145. Part One Hundred And Forty Five

Part One Hundred and Forty Five

Nikki presented herself outside the gates of Larkhall Prison for the first time in god knows how many years. She stared up at the huge grey walls, which enclosed her future place of work and wondered what in hell she was doing here. Then she suddenly remembered, she was G wing's newest wing governor presenting herself on her first day that she could now come and go within the limits of her contract. The problem was that she only half believed herself now she was confronted with its reality. She just stood and stared around at the panorama view until, with a sigh of relief, she spotted Karen's green MG sports car and her friendly reassuring smile as she approached her. She wasn't here to bang her up this time, she realized, now that she glanced at her similar smart suit.  
"Ready for your first day." "As ready as I'll ever be." "Do you want me to show you the ropes till you find your feet? It's your decision." Nikki was speechless and nodded her head. All her senses were heightened with a mixture of anticipation, nervousness and adrenaline rush. She was happy for this friendly soul to guide her destiny.  
"Ken, allow me to introduce you to G wing's new wing governor, Nikki Wade. You will be seeing a lot of her in future." "Yes, ma'am," Ken responded to her dry tones and a hint of a smile at the corner of her lips.  
"I do want to make it clear to resist the temptation to get on the phone and broadcast the news in advance of the official announcement to everyone. You keep this under your hat. Is that quite clear?" "Oh, yes, I understand." Ken knew Karen well enough to realize that she was deadly serious about this in her dry manner and deliberate phrasing.  
"Morning, Ken," Nikki weighed in brightly and cheerfully, reaching for the role she would assume as she had done with her suit earlier that morning. "Morning, Nikki," Ken stammered automatically. That first exchange was the first tiny stamp to establish her legitimacy and they strolled ahead across the courtyard after Nikki picked up her keys and signed in.  
"What plans have you got, Nikki? Personally, I would recommend I come to your new office as your guest and have a chat." "Suits me fine. You lead the way." The corridors were quiet while the prisoners were locked up and the morning shift was only just arriving. Karen pushed at the door that was very familiar to both of them.  
"This will be your home from home," Karen said. "Gina and the Julies between them have made it nice for you."

Nikki walked forward and a total kaleidoscope of visual impressions overwhelmed her and stopped her in her tracks. So much had happened in this room, mostly when she was in that position of power disadvantage. "It's your office now. You can set it out how you like you know." Karen's kind voice gradually dissolved the layered feelings of shock. She shook her head and walked up to the bureau behind that desk and she slowly ran her hands over the stacked up files while lessons from her training course played back to her as to what they represented. She turned around slowly and stood with her hands gripping the back of her high chair. There her desk was, laid out before her, neatly arranged, not that dissimilar one to the desk she had gladly handed over along with the bitterness of her lost battle for command of the club. This perspective of the room, her room, altered everything, as this was brand new to her. She shook her head while Karen smiled sympathetically and encouragingly. She could feel the other woman's presence in her intuitive fashion.  
"Jesus, the numbers of times I've been in here, being shouted at and the bastard before her……..can I change the pictures, Karen. They're not my style." Her soft reflective voice reached back to the past a slight incongruous thought about her present.  
"You can change them to what you want. It goes with the job." Nikki exhaled what felt like an entire lungful of air along with so much of the tension in her. She fumbled automatically towards the packet of cigarettes in her handbag, offering one to Karen.  
"Let's take a seat over there." Nikki decided.  
"Okay, you tell me what you think I ought to know for starters. I'm all ears." "I thought I'd start off talking about the prisoners who you need to know about. Of course you may form your own different impressions. You remember Al McKenzie for a start." "Yeah, I remember." "She's not the hard nut she used to be. Maxi Purvis's suicide seemed to have knocked some of the stuffing out of her but she's still the resident drug dealer and she and Denny Blood once came to blows over that. Al's keeping her head down for now." "And Denny?" "In my well meaning way but mistaken way, I gave way to Denny's repeated requests to see Shell Dockley at Ashmore. One visit undid all the progress over the last four years and she reverted to the aggressive and paranoid prisoner she used to be, you remember? Lucky that Lauren Atkins shares a cell with her, and is having a good effect on her. You know all about Lauren."

"New to you will be Natalie Buxton. A plausible, scheming woman who was sent down for aiding and abetting her boyfriend in smuggling in underage girls for the sex trade. She conned everyone into believing that she was Miss Innocent whose language school had run foul of income tax laws. Guilty of sexual abuse of underage woman herself into the bargain, she's your chief problem." Karen's deliberately casual voice gradually built up towards a level of suppressed intensity of loathing that struck Nikki like a glassful of water thrown in her face. "Sounds like Dockley," She involuntarily murmured.  
"Even Shell Dockley had genuine feelings for her daughters," Karen shot back, nettled at Nikki's ironic thrust before she thought twice about her words. "I'm sorry….anyway Shell isn't here so she doesn't count any more." The pause was audible and Nikki put her smoldering cigarette to her lips and inhaled to give Karen a little time and space. To her way of thinking, the two words could mean the same.  
"Who else should I watch out for, Karen?" Nikki asked softly and politely. She reached out to steady Karen by reverting to emotionally neutral matters as a loyal subordinate. The tension seemed to evaporate out of Karen's body as she relaxed in her chair.  
"You'll remember Buki Lester, if my memory serves me right. She was the hard crack addict and pusher who's gone through her share of changes. In good times, she's compliant enough but in bad times, she'll reach out to herself to blame for everything and self harm. If you've come across that sort of thing in your life, you'll realize that there is no real cure any more than there is for any other addiction. I have vivid memories of reverting to my former occupation as nurse at a particularly dangerous instance of this with only George around to help out." "I might be putting my big foot in it in stating the blindingly obvious but isn't she a prime candidate for psychotherapy?" "That all depends on how willing she is. You can lead a horse to water but you can't make her drink it," Karen retorted grimly.

The silence that the two women fell into was more companionable, more reflective before Karen resumed her guided tour at her leisurely pace.  
"Then there's Kris Yates. She can be bolshy and uncooperative and keeps a hard façade. She's no real trouble if you're straight upfront with her……" "….. Sounds like I used to be," Put in Nikki with a hint of a smile.  
Karen grinned at Nikki's little jest. It showed to her that Nikki was beginning to relax into her role and one that she tailored to her personality.  
"And finally, .for a bit of old fashioned style, we have the Costa Cons. Two well to do, middle ages expatriates who made a fortune out of swindling gullible people out of their life savings with the most plausible smooth talking yarns you ever heard. Buried deep, they have a ruthless streak but they can be managed if you appeal to their self-interest. They also are known for laying hold of a supply of their favourite tipple, of gin and tonic, oh yes with a slice of lemon." "Sounds quite a circus," Nikki summed up as her head assimilated everything Karen was telling her though her head was starting to whirl. "And what about the prison officers."

"Most of them are pretty reasonable. Somehow the more progressive ideas that Helen exemplified has paid off somewhere in the training. If you give them the right lead, they'll follow. There are two notable exceptions. You will need no introduction to Sylvia Hollamby who has not changed in the slightest. You've seen Di Barker in action at Lauren Atkins trial and she is as sly and devious on the wing as she was in court. She's the most dangerous of the lot. Don't trust her an inch."

The grim expression on Karen's face and the gradual way that her feelings bubbled to the surface showed that Karen was righteously incapable of letting her feelings of anger and sheer detestation fade. She knew that she wasn't acting out of turn in blackening her reputation before Nikki. It was simply telling the truth.

"What do we do now? Do I get introduced to the prison officers and set out my stall and talk to the prisoners? I'm not sure what I should do next." "You turn your questions into statements," Karen grinned reassuringly as Nikki stretched out for tentative ideas that would become certainties. "Follow me."

Now for the moment of truth, Nikki thought. This felt as if she was going up on stage. She imagined the crowd in the PO's room, which she had entered from time to time. Karen grasped the round brass handle firmly and confidently, swung it open and Nikki slid in behind her.

Nikki blinked at the crowd that had been made ready and caught a flavour of the different reactions. To some of the new prison officers, this smart personable well-dressed woman with a short neat haircut smiled in a friendly enough fashion. To Di Barker and Bodybag, it was a case of the welcoming mat to their worst nightmare and another outrageous act by the powers that be in letting an ex-con into Larkhall without security as a visitor but their eyes refused to believe them when they started thinking what they were seeing..

"I am now in a position to clear the speculation about who is to be G wing's permanent wing governor. Nikki Wade who is here before you was successful in an interview in fair and open competition by Area against other candidates for the job. She is a direct entrant into the service having had experience over a number of years as an independent businesswoman running her own club with her former partner. Some of you will know her before when she was an inmate from which she has gained experience of the realities of the prison system. If those of you who don't know, a second court case has left her with a record which is as spotless as any of us amongst us. Needless to say, If I understand her background rightly, she has qualities in abundance of what it takes to work in the prison system." Karen paused while she collected her thoughts, her eyes missing nothing of the mixture of reactions ranging from surprise to glowering anger.  
"I want to publicly thank Gina Rossi for working so hard and conscientiously in holding down what she knew was going to be a temporary appointment and I can testify that she had handed on a wing which has been well looked after...I was wondering if you wanted to say a few words to us, Nikki. After all, as from today, it is your wing."

Nikki stepped forward a pace from under Karen's shelter and could do no more than utter the words which most went through her mind.

"Thank you, Karen and everyone here," she smiled, flushing slightly at the sincere words of praise. Jesus, I hope I live up to everything I've said and has been said about me.  
"Why should I abandon a good living and the so called glamorous life as a club owner for the supposedly humdrum life of working for the prison service? I can hear you think these words. The truth is, I've fought a long and losing battle with my one time partner and with the customers to stop the infiltration of drugs bigtime into the club that I helped build up from nothing and have sacked my sharer of barmaids who abused my trust. This is part of my belief system, which I won't go soft on. I want to repay the debt of kindness that I received when I was last here and to give hope to human beings in a situation, no disrespect to anyone, where it is far too easy to abandon hope..." "Another do gooder like Stewart," muttered Bodybag to Di who were in the background but not unnoticed by Nikki for all that. They had been gossiping away through both Karen's and Nikki's speeches, fondly believing that they would never be spotted.  
"Excuse me, Di and Sylvia, there's one meeting, not two, if you please." All the other prison officers turned round and just looked at them. Both of them squirmed with embarrassment at being so publicly outed. First blood to me, Nikki thought, as she prepared to talk over the heads of that terrible twosome and appeal to the others. If she handled her cards right, gut instinct told her, she could win them over.

"...as I was going to say, I will need your help and you may be sure that you'll get mine in return. I repay loyalty that is shown to me. If anyone of you have a problem with anything I do or say, I would sooner you say it to my face and if I have a problem, I'll do likewise." Karen smiled warmly to herself when she heard Nikki lay open so nakedly, what she stood for. John would be proud to hear Nikki if he were here to listen to her.

"Let's face it, I know that I don't have the conventionally acquired background you might look for in a wing governor but I believe that what I know will work for all that. Let's face it, I'm a realist and if I didn't think that I was up to do the job, I would never have applied for it." 

There was a pause and Gina and Dominic led the others into a brief round of applause, which the others soon joined in, Di and Bodybag merely tapping their fingers together in a token gesture that was utterly false. Di glanced vengefully at Gina and Dominic who were near Karen and Nikki, obviously pleased as punch. They looked happy with themselves from the word go. This was a put up job if ever they saw one. Everyone should have known of this in advance, like in the old days. Good for you, Nikki, Karen thought delightedly behind her suitably composed expression, you've put them thoroughly in their place.  
"I've only got a couple of bits of business. I intend to call a wing meeting and set my stall out, that I'll be just and fair but not soft. I also want to get to know you individually so I'll set up a round of meetings at a time to suit all of us. Other than that, I haven't anything to say. I don't want to hold you up from your duties but this seems a good time to chat amongst ourselves."

In her quiet undemonstrative way, Nikki had slid out from Karen's shadow and softly but firmly asserted her presence. To the newer prison officers, there were allusions to the new boss's past, which didn't make sense, but they liked what they saw and heard. To Di and Bodybag, a con was a con and the world had gone mad. The meeting broke up into a general chitchat and Nikki seized the chance to engage them in conversation. Her sharp mind and memory for faces and names had been developed in all her years of running a club in night after night of the darkly lit more ambiguous party atmosphere. She kept a sharp eye on the time and Karen whispered in her ear that she would volunteer to get the meeting set up. Nikki nodded to her and carried on chatting to Colin awhile. 

"It's time for unlock, if I've got it right. Wing meeting in fifteen minutes. Let's get going." Gina led the way confidently out onto the wing with a broad grin on her face.

The rest of the officers went about their duties, including systematic unlock starting from the 3s working downwards. "Can't make out the new boss. She's different from anything I've seen before," Collin confided to Selena. "Maybe that's an advantage." "We'll all get the chance to talk to Nikki. Let's get the prisoners unlocked," Dominic cut in quietly. 

The Julies knew that Nikki would make some sort of personal statement. It wasn't her style to creep in silently. They were prepared for anything and everything and were keyed up. To their delight, they heard the key turning in the lock. "Morning Mr. McAllister. Breakfast as normal?" "There's a wing meeting before your servery duties." Bodybag scowled at the brief exchanges as she stomped along behind him. Nikki made her way onto the wing, and climbed the metal staircase to the top of the 2s. It was as good a spot as any and gave her a clear view down the wing. Above her, the prisoners from the 3s, came filing down the staircase, soon followed by the 2s. Some of the younger prisoners had only just come to Larkhall. They stared briefly at this tall, elegant woman, dressed in a suit, and wondered who she was and what she was doing here. Nikki politely gave them space and eventually looked down at the expectant crowd who were staring up at her. 

This wasn't the first time she had emotionally been here. Her mind wandered out onto an extremity of its orbit and the angry woman, dressed in a T-shirt and blue jeans demanded that "They should all be sacked." She glanced down at her suit and in a moment of panic, wondered what the hell she was doing here, and who she was. 

But I'm still Nikki Wade, I'm here for everyone now. I live with the woman into whose shoes I am now stepping. Miss Betts, the wing Governor, is Karen, my friend, my boss. Somehow, everything will make sense when I speak. The Julies are smiling up at me, ready to be carried away by me, as are Dominic and Gina. Somehow, I have to bridge the gap. 

Karen saw Nikki's eyes glaze over for just a second before she cleared her throat and was the first to speak. "I want to introduce you, to Nikki Wade, your new wing governor. Before the rumour mill gets to work, yes, she was once an inmate here. But she managed to get this job against the odds. She cleared her name with two court cases and convinced the prison service that she is the best woman for the job, as indeed we all think she is. I have the utmost confidence in her to deal fairly with prisoners and prison officers alike." Karen's short, sharp intro moved Nikki immensely and set her up perfectly to follow on. "I'm not going to talk too long, and keep you from your breakfasts. I want to let you know, that I will have great difficulty in following the high standards set by Gina Rossi, Karen Betts, and Helen Stewart. I want to make it clear to you, that everything I do, will be for a good reason. I hope I use my position wisely and sensitively. It is an enormous responsibility. I also think that I know how prisoners feel about things..." 

"Will you tuck us up in bed at night, Miss?" "You're Natalie Buxton, aren't you." "So what if I am?" "Well, it's hardly likely you're not. I've had a long chat with Miss Betts about you, very interesting. As for your question, you work it out for yourself." A general laugh rose up from all concerned, as the authentic Nikki Wade lightening fast retort struck home. "And for my next trick, I just want to say that I'll back up any prison officer if they are as caring and professional as I hope that I will be. As I was once the other side of the wire, that doesn't mean that I am going to be a soft touch. Oh, and one last thing, if you're thinking of brewing up any alcohol, don't stash it in the compost heap, as I'll know where to find it." Karen's heart leapt inside her with delight as Nikki had walked that tightrope with such aplomb, and had realised before her very eyes every dream she had ever had of Nikki as wing Governor. 


	146. Part One Hundred And Forty Six

Part One Hundred and Forty Six

Nikki's quick mind thought carefully about her gameplan. The first day or so would decide one way or another if she could mark her authority on her diverse group of officers while another part of herself stood back amazed at how far she had gone already. She was up high on the possibilities that opened up to her but aware also as a tightrope walker was of what one tiny slip could mean. She would make her bid for willing acceptance of who she was without interference from her past. In games of cards she had played when she was little, she had been a readier student than her older brother that she should lead from her strongest card. So it would be and, on her brand new scrap pad, she listed her officers and, with the help of her secretary, the arrangements were made. This was a little touch of luxury that would take time to get used to as everything up till now had been done by herself unless Trisha did it, for good or bad.

Gina smiled broadly when she picked up the phone in the PO's room. "Guess I'm first in line." "Yeah, Gina, we know that you'll still be the blue eyed girl around here, in or out of uniform," Muttered Di.  
"Never mind, Wade's put her nose out of joint," Bodybag cut in viciously." I bet Gina thought she was there for life." "The name's Nikki, Sylv. Better get used to it."

Nikki nervously fumbled through a sheaf of reports which she had tried to reassure herself with but they only had the reverse effect. This altogether more formal way of dealing with staff was a different kettle of fish instead of just a casual natter to barmaids in a slack moment. All she could do was to build upon what she had done in her life, what she had learned and to adapt it to who she was.

She flashed a bright smile at Gina and gestured her to the chair. In that split second, she flashbacked to the many times when she had slouched in a bored contemptuous fashion in the hotseat. She knew how it felt.  
"I meant what I said earlier on . I'm really grateful that you've been holding the fort, Gina. Even on a quick glance, everything feels fine."

"Hell, I've been happy to kick Sylvia's arse from time to time but all the paperwork scares me. It makes me nervous," Gina confessed frankly.  
"I would never have thought you'd be nervous of anything." "You must really love the idea of budgets, reports and everything else and all the responsibility that goes with it. I'm happier doing my old job on the wing though the extra money has come in handy." "And how do you see your present job?"

Gina sat back in her chair turning the question over in her mind. This woman certainly doesn't waffle. "I like to think that I'm a good listener and I can keep my eyes open to what's around and I can help prisoners. Mind you, I call a spade a bloody shovel but not to be rude, like. I reckon anyone half way decent respects that more than a load of bullshit that sounds good." Gina stopped short after her words had rushed out in a stream and hears them in mental replay. Where were the usually carefully acquired buzzwords that Sylv was so fond of bending her ear about as rule number one in meeting the new boss? She was always clumsy at that sort of thing and couldn't convince herself let alone anyone else. Last time she tried that, Karen nailed her bang to rights on the real reason she first came to G wing.  
"That's the way I feel, Gina. That sounds like we'll get on fine unless we have an honest disagreement. To continue, are there situations that you have trouble in tolerating in dealing with prisoners. There's good and bad as in any walk of life." "When I suspect that I've been taken for a ride, Nikki. I think carefully before I stick my oar in. There's only so many chances anyone gets. If anyone's honest and straight, I've learnt not to mouth off like I used to and I'll give them the time of day." Immediately Gina felt comfortable and relaxed as Nikki's sharp, friendly intelligence drew out ideas in herself that she'd not really thought of before. She'd always acted by instinct even though it had sometimes got her into trouble in the past. It was interesting that her boss had derailed past experience of that other woman who looked like her who had been here in the past. There was only one niggling question in the back of her mind that demanded to be asked. "Tell me one thing, Nikki. There's a question I was going to ask you." "That's what I'm here for." "Well, it's a bit awkward but it's like this," She began, half anxious, half relieved to get this off her mind. "What if you find yourself with a group of prisoners who start a demonstration because they thought that one of theirs was done down, a matter of injustice and you arrive in the middle of it. How would you feel about it, and what would you do and get us to do?" Instinct told Nikki that her credibility was on the line. This was nothing like the theoretical questions that she'd handled at her interview.  
"You mean something like that demonstration that I started that the Peckham Boot Gang kicked off into a full scale riot?" Nikki asked directly.  
Gina nodded.  
"I've talked that one over with Helen many times and I think she was totally screwed by Sylvia Hollamby." Nikki nearly said Bodybag but corrected herself just in time.  
"It could have been pretty easily sorted out at an early stage without everyone being fired up on both sides with me leading one side and Helen on the other. It should never have happened and I would expect any prison officer to handle any situation with a bit of nous rather than going in feet first. If I were in Helen's shoes as the situation ended up, I would seek out anyone who could explain to me any legitimate demands, anything I didn't know about and try and get some sort of agreement so that nobody feels that they've been humiliated and loses face. Where you get a bunch of thugs like the Peckham Boot Gang that just want to kick off with no reason, there's only so much rope that I would give them before ordering in the heavy mob. You do what you have to do but no settling private scores. Force is last resort but I wouldn't hesitate to use it if it seemed right. I believe in being just but not being a soft touch and everyone should know where they stand with me but not afraid to explain to me if they thing I'm wrong and just why."

Gina's face broke into a broad smile. She had got herself a new boss for real. In return. Nikki was hugely relieved that she had passed the test. The conversation drifted away from what Nikki had to talk about and ambled its way on a more relaxed, friendly level. It was with regret that Nikki was compelled to draw the conversation to a close.

Nikki broke into a wide smile as Dominic was next to come in and took a seat.  
"If I had any lingering doubts at the back of my mind about you being the next wing gov, Nikki, they're gone for good after this morning." Nikki's smile widened as this very kindly man treated her with real respect. He had that knack of getting to the heart of the matter, a quality that she warmed to. "How do you see yourself in the way you do your job, Dominic?" She had to ask though she suspected what the answer might be.  
"The way I've always done it from the word go. Mind you, I've learnt a few things along the way and I'll never stop learning," came the simple but far reaching reply. "I made up my mind where I stood and ignored what Sylvia and Jim Fenner banged on about, and since I came back, added Di Barker to the list. If there's any good in a prisoner, I think I can bring it out of them."

Nikki nodded. She remembered. There was no need to quiz him much further and they drifted off in friendly reminiscences of what they had both done since they had temporarily gone their separate ways from Larkhall. Dominic grasped that the self reliant, independent woman before him had a past that made her grow that way.

Her interviews with Paula, Selena and Colin had a similar thread running through them where she elaborated on her background and what transferable skills she had and casually mentioned that she had noticed them before from the visitor's gallery in the Old Bailey even if they had not noticed her. She talked to them of what authority and freedom meant to her and gradually drew out from them their views on what being a prison officer meant to them. By being open with them, they opened out more than they would have done.

Now for the difficult bit, Nikki sighed as Colin was the last to leave and she lit up a cigarette. It felt strange sitting back comfortably in her chair of office and to wait for prison officers to come to her. Her past experience had been of being part of a procession being taken somewhere to be lead to this very room.

"Morning Sylvia," Nikki greeted the scowling woman who mumbled something back at her and fell silent in that aggressive way of hers.

"I'm getting a few fundamentals straight first. I used to call you Bodybag and you used to call me Wade. That's going to stop on both sides. Times have changed and both of us have to act like professionals to each other. To me, you're Sylvia and to you, I'm Nikki." "I prefer to call you ma'am, if you don't mind," Bodybag said in choked tones.  
"Mmm, that's making me sound like a character out of a Victorian novel. As you please, Sylvia." Nikki's pleasant reply and chirpy flow of words only angered the other woman. She sensed for the first time the power emanating from the other side of the desk. This discomforted her because of the novelty of the situation. She had always hated change even when she was a teenager.

"Now Sylvia, how would you describe the way you do your job?" "I see myself as something of a mother to the ladies in my charge." An ingratiating smile spread over her face as she tried to flannel her way through the situation. Even if her lips hurt, anything was worth it at this stage to keep this infernal woman off her back. "My job is more of a vocation than anyone else….ma'am." "Wrong, Sylvia, You see them as cons to be locked up in their cells for as long as possible and to be punished severely. At best you are the parade ground sergeant major and they are a bunch of raw recruits to be harangued at every turn. You work for the monthly pay check and the pension at the end of it."

Bodybag blushed. She knew that that was the simple truth.  
"Now my problem is, how do I change your forty to fifty years of listening to the wrong lessons in life. How do I convince you that I'm not out to humiliate you at every turn, you and all the other prison officers in my charge? Are you going to believe that I'm not going to set you up as the floorshow for the entertainment of the prisoners? Believe me, these are the last things I have on my mind for you or anyone else." "I know you, ma'am, and you'll never change." "Wrong again, Sylvia. It's you that won't change and you only make a rod for your own back. You really must have the strength to change your mind. I wish I could help you make that break. This is something I could do, for your benefit and mine." Nikki's softly spoken words were pitched with the urgency of a straight emotional appeal. Despite her bitter memories of the woman, she meant it. In turn, a prickling, uncomfortable feeling welled up in the other woman. It made her uniform feel too tight on her and her firmly buttoned up shirt was too tight at the neck. She could not speak.  
"I'm asking for either of two answers from you, Sylvia," Nikki spoke at length as she tried again to get through that suit of armour of ancient prejudices that corseted her in.  
"One is that you are willing to accept changing your ideas but I may be kidding myself that I'll get it. The other is that you will simply do as you are told and no more. What I won't have is your appetite for private vengeance." "What do you mean?" stammered Bodybag.  
"I mean this. You go in for settling scores. For instance, I remembered what happened that night Shell Dockley stabbed Jim Fenner. She was instantly put down the block and Helen Stewart questioned her at length and, when she got answers which were obviously a pack of lies, told her that she would stay there till she came up with the truth. Personalities aside, that was perfectly right. I know that you had to go one better and you and Dr. Nicholson connived together to ship her out to the muppet wing. That was clean against what Helen had ordered. She was in charge of the lifer's unit and it was her call. If she hadn't been in charge, then Karen would and I know that she felt the same. You pull another stroke like that and I won't just demote you like Karen did but I'll run you out of the prison service. Got that clear?"

"Who told you all that load of tommyrot?" Bodybag spluttered.  
"Helen and Karen both did," Nikki said shortly. "Now you'd better get back to the wing and think very carefully over what I've told you."

That was a mistake, Nikki reflected as she reached for a cigarette. You can't let someone like her get to you even if you put the fear of God into her.You've got the toughest nut to crack yet. She relaxed back in her comfortably padded swivel chair as she felt more in command of her room. For once, this was her space, somewhere she did not have to share with someone like Trisha. Just then, the phone rang.  
"Nikki Wade," She intoned automatically.  
"I can see you've taken to it like a duck to water," laughed a dearly loved Scottish brogue into her ear. "Only a quick call but I couldn't resist asking you how you've gone on." "Well, I've talked to both the prison officers and then the prisoners, had a quick verbal fencing match with the worst of them." "And you won." "Naturally. I've talked one to one with all the prison officers, bawled out Body…., I mean Sylvia, telling her that one dirty trick and she's out. All I've got is Di Barker to go. My throat is so dry from too much talking." "Hardly too much, sweetheart. You do realise that you have no more late nights at the club and, right now, I'm having very delicious thoughts of what I want to do with you when you get home." The totally seductive way in which Helen talked down the phone to her roused feelings of desire that were a forcible reminder of how much had changed. Conversations with Helen last time around were hardly like this.  
"I'll be ready for you, darling, once I'm home."

She had to admit that it was a good act. Di Barker simulated just that slight nervous smile and attentiveness to every word from Nikki. She thought she'd give her quite a long length of rope with which to hang herself with.  
"Take a seat, Di.You'll forgive the build up of tobacco smoke in the room." Di just smiled blandly in reply to Nikki's polite gesture.  
"Any reason why you've seen me last, Nikki? I was kind of curious." "No reason. Everyone will be treated equally in my eyes but someone had to be seen last." "I was surprised you ever wanted to come back to this place." "I thought I had explained myself perfectly well earlier on. It's your attitude to being a prison officer that I wanted to discuss." I wasn't wrong, Nikki thought to herself. This is a battle of wills that has kicked in straightaway in ever so polite tones. "You know me, Nikki," She smiled in return. "There's good and bad in everyone, that's my motto. I like to think that I've been around long enough to know my way round here." "Indeed, but you've hardly answered my question. People change. I've been away from here for a few years and I don't take anything for granted. That's my way." "Well," Di kept smiling, her big brown eyes as limpid as a pool. "I believe in really talking to prisoners, trying to understand their problems and maybe doing something to help them." Nikki's bright smile felt as if it were frozen on her face and was turning into a grimace. On the surface, she was saying the right words.  
"And what's your attitude to authority, Di, in particularly mine which is over you?" "As I said, I'm surprised to see you back. Last time I saw you was outside the Old Bailey, damning us all to hell before rushing off with your partner, I mean why ever do you need bolts and bars in your life? You've had enough of that in your time, I'm sure, I thought to myself when I first saw you today. It'll take time to get my head round you being back here as I'm set in my ways but I'm sure I'll give you the support that I think you'll deserve." Nikki gritted her teeth to hear these homely Yorkshire tones and knowing that she was anything but the way she appeared. Only that last disguised snipe at her revealed what she was like. She wasn't being paranoid. That was impossible with Di.

"I'll give you back just as much as you gave Karen that time you slipped those holiday photos to the prosecution barrister at Lauren Atkin's trial." Nikki's smooth tones gently slid in the knife. "Don't forget, I was in the public gallery. I saw and heard everything and I've got a good memory."

"You can't prove it, Nikki," Di suddenly glared back at her as her tone of voice hardened. "What I have said is the solid truth." "As far as it goes, Di.I'll be frank with you. You're experienced and you certainly have some of the qualities that I would look for in a prison officer. I've studied your reports carefully and it matches my recollections." "Why thank you, Nikki," Di gushed with false praise, changing back to her earlier manner in a flash.  
Nikki temporarily gave up and talked of lighter matters for a while. This woman is as slippery as a snake and quick witted. She had little choice but explain at length what she expected of her.  
"Okay, we'd better move on. If you have a problem with anything I do or say, I expect you to tell it to my face. I'm relaxed about it if that is what you do. What I won't stand for is if you go behind my back or set up others to do your dirty work. It's been done before." "You won't have anything to worry about me, Nikki." A slow calculating smile spread all over her face as she sensed that Nikki might let her guard down. She paused just long enough before she struck.  
"You and Helen? We were right about the pair of you and the real reason why Helen Stewart resigned just when she had got to the top, just like Karen Betts." "You work that out for yourself, Di. Karen and I were right when we sat in the gallery and heard all about how you'd deliberately switched the drugs test. Crystal came close to starving herself to death to prove she was innocent of taking drugs. Caring for prisoners, I think not. You know that people in glasshouses really shouldn't throw stones. I think we understand each other. The door will open for you, Di. Better get out while the going's good." Nikki had never before felt so cool, so poised and sure of herself and the situation she was in as she turned the screw on Di. The other woman glared daggers at her, turned as red as a beetroot, got up and stalked out.

Nikki sat back in the sudden calm after the door slammed behind Di. She looked at her watch. Was it that time already? 


	147. Part One Hundred and Forty Seven

Part One Hundred and Forty Seven

Nikki poured herself a large tumbler of ice-cold water, as her throat was dry with so much talking and from the adrenaline release. Her mind went blank. She did not know what to do next.

To answer her need, a polite knock on the door preceded Karen who smiled at her.  
"I was wondering if you'd settled in, Nikki. I didn't want to disturb your first day and while you were busy." "I've blasted my way through chatting to all the prison officers. Jesus, am I tired and thirsty." "Sylvia and Di included?" Nikki nodded wearily in response.  
"You need a break. Want to come with me to the social club to unwind?" "Lead me to it." Nikki's heartfelt answer was delivered in a husky tone, verging on a croak The twists and turns in the corridors were new territory to Nikki and Karen eventually pushed open the brass-handled door. A waft of stale tobacco and stale beer greeted her. The wallpaper was garish 70's swirly kitsch, faded and discoloured over the years if that were possible.  
"Jesus, the seventies revival. Is there Abba on the jukebox?" "You find that it has a perverse attraction after a while. I personally loathed it when I first came here. It's the people here who count, same as any dump."

The large room was quiet with one or two solitary prison officers from other wings nursing their pints at discreet tables or propping up the bar. Nikki spotted a couple of vaguely familiar shapes queuing to buy drinks. They turned round and transformed themselves into Gina and Dominic.  
"Mind if we join you?" Dominic enquired politely. While Karen took the lead and gestured to a nearly rectangular table, Nikki followed her, marvelling that junior officers were asking if they could join her. "Well, Nikki, how's your first day been?" "Gina and Dominic will tell you that I've been chatting to all the prison officers, one to one, even Sylvia and Di." "That's dedication." "Or masochism," replied Nikki to Dominic's compliment. "I could do with a large drink though. They were entirely predictable in their reactions and their dislike of me." "Sounds like you did right. That was a couple of blinders you pulled off this morning, both for us and the prisoners."

Nikki smiled self deprecatingly at Gina's compliment and the obvious agreement from the others.  
"I had to get past being thought of that I'd be on one side and not the other. Well, here's hoping that I cope with everything else this job has to throw at me." "You're doing fine, Nikki." She smiled at Dominic's warm friendly encouragement. She tended to seesaw between rushes of self-confidence, which carried her through demanding situations and moments of self-doubt when she was quiet and on her own. "You're worrying as much as I did when I first became Governing Governor and just look at me now." "Get her, Nikki, she's power mad," joked Gina in reply to the serene aplomb in Karen's voice.

Dominic spotted two shapes move through the subdued lighting in the club. They gave off bad vibrations and pointedly ignored them.  
"More members of your fan club, Nikki," Dominic spoke satirically, jerking a thumb in their direction.

"I feel like handing in my notice. I could do it right now with no encouragement," Bodybag muttered mutinously.  
"Better still, why don't you go sick first for as long as you can string it out. That doctor of yours will be only too pleased to give you certificates. That way, they have to pay you and hold your job open," laughed Di gleefully. Sylvia thought longingly at the prospect of peace and quiet, a morning's leisurely cup of tea, and compared it with the pension she had accumulated over the years. She shook her head regretfully as hard reality kicked in.  
"Can't let the side down that way, Di. The others need my experience. It would affect my pension too much to bow out now. I need every penny I can squeeze out of the prison service. That's what's been keeping me going." "I'd do it, Sylv," Di muttered vindictively. Her heart was black with hatred and her hand shook slightly as she reached for her glass of orange. Bodybag let that pass. Her flat beckoned invitingly to her but, then again, it had done so for many years, every time she set off for work.

"First Stewart, now Wade, an ex-con set up to lord it over us. It gets better and better," Bodybag muttered, unconsciously stealing a line from her late mentor.  
Colin, Paula and Selena entered the room and promptly made a beeline for the obvious group to attach themselves to. At moments like these, Karen was "off duty" and they knew her golden rule. However friendly and approachable she was, as certain formality crept back when she was back on the job.  
"Can I get you a drink, Nikki?" Selena politely offered. She had warmed to this woman who had that air of arriving from strange lands outside the straight line ploughed furrow of life as a prison officer.  
Nikki smiled and accepted an orange as her throat felt less ravaged. She sat back in the high backed pub chair with a couple of drinks lined up in front of her. The attitude of all the prison officers wasn't the obvious sucking up to the new boss from whom favouritism could be wheedled but their own collective unconscious wish to go out of their way to make her feel welcome. With her experience of knocking round the world, she could tell the difference. She chatted away to all of them with that experience from working in her club in holding down several conversations simultaneously. Karen sat back quietly and saw the real Nikki Wade in action.  
"First time I've been in a bar and not had the responsibility. I've worked in so many dives in my time, ending up with the club." "You're forgetting the pub we all went to near the Old Bailey," Karen gently reminded her.  
"That was different. We were passing through." Nikki heard her words and realised that the words came out wrong. That association of friends, new and old, going right across the spectrum could not be so easily dismissed.  
"I meant to say that the place was temporary, not the friendships of those dear to me who are somewhere out there." Nikki's past was very real to her as it flowed past in its entirety but nostalgically sliding away from her and any hurts and pains being gently healed. This was her present and future now.

"We can't let that woman walk all over us. We have to do something," Di whinged at Sylvia.  
"Best keep your head down, Di. Our time may come some day." She saw the gathering crowd growing round Nikki. It boded no good for them.  
"Get those two who I am sure they will be moaning away at and guess who they're moaning at," Gina grinned.  
"It's up to them. They have the choice of being outcasts or not. There was a time when I never had the choice. Now they know what it feels like," Nikki replied bitterly.  
"You'll have to deal with them somehow," Karen gently reminded her. "They say that time is a healer...though whoever said those profound words didn't reckon on them." Nikki laughed at that one.

"Jesus, isn't it late." Nikki glanced at her watch. She felt worn out after an interrupted sleep last night as she turned over in her mind nervously what she was going to do today.  
"You're free to go anytime, Nikki.Just remember that." So it's true, Nikki reflected on Karen's gentle words. She could walk out the prison gates anytime she wished. That was the one thing she would find hardest to get used to. Helen was waiting for her. It was time to go. 


	148. Part One Hundred and Forty Eight

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part One Hundred And Forty Eight

Saturday June the twenty fifth dawned bright and warm, and every member of the orchestra and chorus approached the performance that afternoon, with a feeling of half dread, half anticipation. They were all, each and every one of them, used to being in the public eye, and well versed in maintaining their public dignity, but this didn't prevent most of them from being a little nervous of putting their talent on display. After running through a good stretch of warming up exercises, George lay in a hot, scented bath, listening to the birds through the open window. Would she sing with as much purity as they were doing now? She hoped so. She wanted nothing more than to make her father, John, Jo and Karen sincerely proud of her today, to show them all, as if they didn't know it already, that if given a challenge, she could rise to it admirably. After emerging from the tub, she massaged skin food into every reachable inch of her body, luxuriating in the feeling of her own delicate fingers. She stood in front of the mirror as she did this, and the sight of such erotically dancing digits, was really quite invigorating. After drying her hair, she again stood in front of the mirror, still naked, about to begin the long toil of applying her make up. She not only had to look fabulous throughout the entire performance, but her face needed to last through the little get together which was planned for afterwards. But just as she began selecting the various accoutrements of visual enhancement, the doorbell rang. Cursing whichever being had come to disturb her, she wrapped herself in a towel and ran lightly down the stairs. 

Standing on the doorstep, was Jo, whose presence immediately wiped the glare of interruption from George's face. "You really shouldn't open your front door dressed like that," Were Jo's words of greeting. "If I'd known it was you, I'd have worn even less," George said with a smirk, closing the door behind her. "Oh, I'll give you prior warning next time then," Jo said following her towards the stairs. "You can come and talk to me while I put my make up on." "Eve probably shouldn't wear any, needing nothing but the look of youth and all that." "Which is precisely why I need to wear it," George said ruefully. "Though quite what Daddy will say at the clothes I'll be wearing, is anyone's guess." Once in the bedroom, Jo sat down in the armchair in the corner, and George moved back to the mirror to resume her former occupation. "Actually, there is something you could do for me, if you would be so good," She said, the glint of daring in her eye. "I've been rubbing this into everything I can reach," She said, holding up the bottle of skin food. "I don't suppose you could do my back for me, could you?" "I shouldn't imagine that would be too much of a chore," Jo said with a broad smile, getting up and moving towards her. As George removed the towel, Jo caught her breath. God, George looked incredible, with her ripe, supple skin just waiting to be caressed. "You have seen it before, you know, darling," George drawled mockingly. "That was a month ago," Jo protested with a slightly shame faced smile, taking the bottle of skin food from her. But as George turned and stood with her back to her, and Jo began languorously smoothing the lotion into her skin, George couldn't help but smirk at her reflection. Jo's hands felt wonderful as they moved over her, and George heartily wished she could have asked Jo not to restrict her skilful wandering to such an innocent part of her body. Who was she kidding, there wasn't anything remotely innocent about her today, which considering the role she was about to play, was perhaps a little inappropriate. When she had spun out this ritual for as long as was humanly possible, Jo slid her hands up to George's shoulders, and slowly turned her round. As they gazed into each other's lust-filled eyes, they could both feel the electricity crackling between them. "Well, if that's what me massaging your back does for you, I can't have too much to learn," Jo said in that sultry, husky tone that turned up George's heat almost to boiling point. Not entirely trusting herself to answer, George reached up, put her arms round Jo's neck, and kissed her, their lips and eventually their tongues intertwined as if never to be parted. "It's a shame we have to be somewhere this afternoon," George said as they came up for air, their bodies becoming perfectly aligned. "You'll just have to keep yourself on ice till afterwards then, won't you," Jo said in clear invitation. "On fire more like," George said ruefully, wondering just how she was supposed to resist her calling to internal combustion before the day was out. 

When they arrived at the church, George knew that she was about to make an entrance. Her long, beautifully tanned legs were cast into all their glory by the short black skirt, and her cleavage vaguely reminded Jo of the grand canyon, enhanced by the off the shoulder top with the climbing roses. They were two of the last to arrive, because George didn't want to be hanging around, working herself up into a nervous state of anxiety beforehand. When they walked in, a chorus of wolf whistles from the men, and gasps of awe from more than a few of the women greeted them. "Bloody hell," Neil Grayling said slowly, having always known that George was particularly attractive, but never having had her beauty thrust in his face quite so spectacularly. John just gaped. All he really wanted to do, was to pick up his enchanting little minx in his arms, and whirl her away to somewhere private, where he could systematically remove every inch of make up and clothing. God, she almost deserved to be put over his knee for turning up dressed like that. As Karen walked towards her, she couldn't prevent a thoroughly predatory smirk of ownership from spreading across her face. "Quite how you expect me to concentrate on playing, I don't know," She said, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. "Blame Helen and Nikki," George said with a smile. "They chose it." "Yeah, I bet they did," Karen said ruefully. "I think every man, apart from Grayling, and every single woman, will have sincere difficulty in keeping their hands off you." "Even the straight ones?" George asked, playing along with her. "There won't be a straight one left after this, what do you think, Jo?" Opening her mouth to try and formulate an answer, Jo was saved struggling for a reply by the approach of Joe Channing. "Am I mistaken," He said with a slightly affectionate frown on his face. "In thinking that Eve attempted to maintain her virginity, until after she was at least wedded to Adam?" "Of course, Daddy," George said with a winning smile. "But then in the real thing, all Eve actually wore was, in fact, a fig leaf." "Yes, and I suppose I am expected to count myself lucky, that you do appear to have abandoned that particular tradition." "Oh, come on, Joe," John put in, appearing at his side. "She looks beautiful." "Yes, no doubt this was your idea," Joe said a little disgustedly. "Sorry, but I can take absolutely no responsibility for this," John said blithely, almost wishing he could. "We ought to go and warm up," Karen said to Jo, as they moved away towards the vestry, where it seemed that everyone was storing their instrument cases. As Joe moved away to say something to Monty, Neil approached. "Does your Eve come up to expectation?" John asked when he appeared. "She certainly does," Neil said with sincere enjoyment. "I think I'm going to be the envy of every man in the audience." "Ah, yes, well, there is one particular nose that I can't wait to put thoroughly out of joint," George said in satisfaction. "I want the current secretary of state for trade, to realise precisely what he's missing." "Is this a case of a certain dish being served cold?" "Oh, yes," George said a little evilly. "Almost two years cold." "I'll remember not to ever get on your bad side," Neil said ruefully. "Believe me," John said with more than a little malice in his tone. "This is definitely one piece of vengeance I wholeheartedly support. Neil Haughton deserves to feel as humiliated and trodden on as George can make him." 

As the audience began to arrive, and the musicians began tuning up and taking their places, George and Grayling slipped outside. "Are you sure I can do this?" George asked, desperately needing some last minute reassurance. "Of course you can," Grayling said softly, putting his arms briefly round her. "Besides, you've got what sounds like a pretty disgruntled ex to stamp on, haven't you." "An eye for an eye," She said meditatively. "Or in this case, a black eye for a black eye. I used to think that having a cabinet minister was something of a status symbol, but being ordered to win the Merriman/Atkins trial at all costs, can alter one's opinion ever so slightly. So, every glimpse he gets of my legs ought to hammer home to him precisely what he lost, in that one little moment of fury." "That sounds more like the George Channing who first ripped me to shreds in court," Neil said with a smile, thinking that the courtroom clearly wasn't her only well established stage of battle. As they walked in through the vestry, and moved to take their places on either side of Monty, George held her head high, knowing that no matter how many people were crowded into the pews right to the back of the church, she was going to show every single one of them what she was made of. 


	149. Part One Hundred and Forty Nine

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Forty Nine

As the opening bars of Chaos began to unfold, the audience were immediately captivated. In the left hand pew on the front row, Henry sat with Cassie, who had obviously come to see Roisin's moment of glory, Crystal, Helen and Nikki. They could all pick out various people they knew, including George, the Judge, Grayling, Jo, Karen, Barbara and Roisin. Helen and Nikki could just about see Clare through the ranks of first and second violins, and when they heard the sound of her flute delicately spiraling through the air, they felt an enormous sense of pride. This wasn't the usual type of music that any of these four women were known to listen to, but they couldn't help but be entranced by the beauty of it. Joe Channing seemed to coax every note, every alteration in dynamic from the hordes of instruments before him, personally encouraging each and every one of them to play. 

When Neil Grayling rose silently to his feet, Cassie only just managed to stop herself from gasping in awe. 

"In the beginning, god created the heaven and the earth." 

His voice seemed to creep out of the very bowels of the earth, declaiming the very first breath of life. Crystal, being abundantly aware of the biblical text, couldn't fault his delivery of it whatsoever. When the chorus peacefully began working up to the creation of light, their subtle voices appeared to come straight from heaven itself. They were standing in the small choral gallery that was above where the altar would usually have been situated, giving them the feeling of the angels on high they were there to play. When the word "Light," broke upon the air, Cassie leapt in surprise, receiving the tiniest of winks from George. It was so loud, so mighty, in comparison to what had gone before, that every bat that might have inhabited the old building was forever banished, and as Monty rose to his feet, to begin extolling the end of chaos, and the introduction of order into this brand new world, the audience felt that the performance had truly begun. 

When Grayling again began singing, Cassie found herself wondering why they'd never learnt of this side of his personality at Larkhall. But as his second standing drew to a close, and George rose to her feet, the audience seemed to collectively hold its breath. When she opened her mouth, a warm smile spread over both Helen's and Nikki's faces. Karen had been right, she really did sing like an angel. But their enjoyment wasn't remotely tinged with bitterness, as could definitely be said of the man sitting a few rows behind them. Neil couldn't believe what he was seeing, or what he was hearing. This was George, his George, the George who had sustained so many rows with him, especially towards the end of their alliance. Yet now, here she was, looking more sensational than he possibly could have imagined, and singing with the purity of any of the numerous songbirds that graced his rarely visited country home. He'd never had the slightest inkling that she possessed such a talent, and it was this realisation that made him all the more determined to get her back. But when she rose with that utter assuredness to the highest note in the score, he wasn't the only one to gasp. Cassie stared at her, round-eyed with amazement. George had looked so serene as she'd grasped that note with her bare hands, holding onto it for all it was worth. Her voice had risen above that of the entire chorus, showing even the most tone deaf in the room that she was eons above them all in what she could do. 

Grayling again followed this outpouring of sheer beauty, with his powerful rendition of 'The Rolling, Foaming, Billows'. Cassie was astounded to feel herself shiver at the power behind the words, the sound that instilled the feeling of the roaring waves in all of them. From where she sat at the end of the row, Helen could just about see Karen, staring with utter concentration at her music, her bow sliding deliciously up and down her strings. God, but she'd never thought that classical music could be so sensually played. Those players she knew, well some of them anyway, appeared to be tending their instruments as skillfully as they might a lover, Karen and the Judge being the two most evident to her. The way Jo gripped her cello could be nothing less than sexual, though Helen didn't think Jo would ever admit it, and the Judge, who she could see most easily, was watching the baton with the rapt attention that he usually bestowed on a witness. The throb of Grayling's powerful vibrato gave Helen a tingling feeling throughout her body, that could only be explained as sexual arousal, as his voice gradually quietened, bringing his song eventually to a close. 

As George moved into the delicately pretty opening bars of 'With Verdure Clad', Nikki found that there were tears in her eyes. She'd always been aware of her tendency to become over emotional at truly artistic expression, but this was something else. There was a mournful quality in George's voice, which invoked a sadness, as well as an unwavering awe in her listeners. The aria was of the virtues of spring, the true beginnings of nature, and as George rose to the top B flat, both Nikki, and Neil Haughton shivered. George's voice made the senses crackle, making every nerve ending stand on end, demanding that every passing bird halt in its tracks to listen. The orchestra weaved in and out of her melodies, fluctuating between the gentle caress of the clarinet, followed by the intermittent responses from Clare's flute. This aria may have beautifully established the growing life upon the planet, but it also managed to infect the listening audience with a dreamy enchantment that begged their imaginations to unfold. 

As the chorus sailed joyously into 'Awake the Harp', the audience were brought out of their enchantment and provoked into joining the celebration of God's third day. The timps thundered, the trumpets sounded bright and clear, and the chorus put everything they had into the angels' exultation at such a wondrous achievement. A broad smile spread across Crystal's face as she took in their words. Only she, and perhaps Henry who was sitting beside her, and Barbara who was in the middle there playing the harpsichord, only they really understood what it was to praise and rejoice the true beginning of their world. 

It was then Monty's turn to sing of the awe inspiring birth of the stars, those lights in heaven to guide the creatures of the night, and to keep the world perpetually free from darkness. As the cellos alone accompanied him through the peaceful birth of heaven's lights, and were then joined by the rest of the strings, they all felt a brief return to the dreamy acceptance of the heavens. 

But as the chorus "Announced the fourth day in song divine," George and Neil rose to join Monty, all three soloists standing together for the first time. They had but a few intermittent bars throughout the mainly choral piece, but in their chords they were for now united, the one goal common to all. 

As Joe led the orchestra through the beginning of 'On Mighty Pens', Helen smiled at how pretty it was, with Clare's flute delicately dancing over the top of the rest of them. But as George moved into the actual words of the aria, they could all sense the different birds on God's earth, soaring as if on wings of sound into the sky. George's voice painted the picture of the dove, the lark, and every other bird that had been brought into being on the fifth day. As her words wove in and out of Clare's flute, the intertwining counterpoint seeming to carry the rest of the orchestra through the piece, George gazed out over the audience, knowing that Neil Haughton was out there somewhere, and briefly wondering if the purity of their collective sound would make the remotest impression on his soul of granite. 

As Neil Grayling began to sing of the creation of all other living things, accompanied solely by the strings and Barbara's harpsichord, Henry could barely suppress the pride he felt in his wife. She had practiced so hard for this day, and he knew that apart from the occasional arguments within the orchestra, she had thoroughly enjoyed working up to this point. He realised that this was part of Barbara's way of thanking God for the time they'd had together, however short that might now be.

When George and Monty rose to join Neil for the trio, they moved into a somewhat more cheerful stance. This was to be a celebration of the beautiful planet that had been created, and which was now being steadily populated by all manner of animals and birds. No living creature could do any harm, this being left in store for any future humans. The three voices rose separately at first, decorated in turn by the flute and the oboe, and eventually to join in harmony to give thanks for their fabulous gift. 

When Joe's baton came swiftly down for 'The Lord Is Great', those who were not familiar with Haydn's music were treated to yet another surprise. The sheer speed and complexity of this piece astounded those on the left hand of the front row. Everyone appeared to be doing something different, and each and every one of them competing to be heard. From the soloists, to the violins, to the trumpets, to the chorus, all of them were straining at the bit, their talents bursting free from their confines. George looked as though she really might take off into the air, her voice soaring above that of everyone else, rising effortlessly to the top B flat, and as their combined eruption of sound carried the piece to its fortissimo climax, Nikki gasped at the sheer force of their power. 

Neil then began to sing of the birth of the earth's many beasts, making the roar of lion and tiger come to life in their very midst. But as he moved onto the description of grazing cattle, the music took on a peaceful serenity, the inhabitants of God's new planet being granted the happiness and good will to fulfill their duty. As his telling of the tale of beasts continued into the second aria, the music took on a far more cheerful tone. When he sank confidently to the second octave F, Cassie grinned. His voice was so deep, so rich, that it might almost have been made of melted gold. 

When Monty rose, to move them through the creation of Adam and Eve, George began to feel a growing sense of anticipation. The moment was fast approaching when she would be dancing with Neil Grayling, and showing Neil Haughton just how much she had never needed him. 

"And God created man, in his own image, in the image of God created he him. Male and female created he them. He breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and man became a living soul." 

As Monty progressed through his aria, Cassie spared a thought to reflect on what a chauvinistic wanker God must have been, though she guessed this must have been a sign of the times. Crystal also speculated on this point, though with a far more lenient attitude. It wasn't Adam's fault that God had given him so much self-importance, he'd simply made an error of judgment that was all. She was just as necessary to her children's creation and upbringing as Josh was, she knew that. So why had the creator of all things, the power behind everything she believed in, made such a monumental mistake. Perhaps it was right that Adam and Eve had left the Garden of Eden, giving Eve the eventual opportunity to prove herself. 

"And God saw everything that he had made, and behold it was very good, and the heavenly choir in song divine, thus closed the sixth day." 

As Neil introduced the celebration of the end of the sixth day, the chorus again rose to their feet. The rejoicing both by chorus and soloists that followed, made it clear to all concerned that God's achievement of the birth of man was his cleverest yet. There was a gentler trio from the soloists in between the two louder, far more joyful expressions of praise by the chorus, allowing the appreciation from Adam and Eve to steadily grow. It was made abundantly clear by this that Adam and Eve would soon take up their vows and pledge their lives to each other, just as God had intended. As the chorus gave their thanks for the creation of Adam and Eve, it felt as though they were laying a pure smile of sincere praise and thanks giving over the entire audience. 

Following the joyful exultation of the chorus, came a purely instrumental interlude, allowing the illustration of the tranquility of the garden of Eden to be painted, drawing the audience into the gentility of the feelings that were about to be expressed. Monty joined in with this after a while, adding a few necessary words to make the picture complete. But when George and Neil moved a little way in front of him, moving into their accustomed position for their dance, the audience gazed in awe at the sheer beauty of their togetherness. 

"By thee, with bliss, oh, bounteous Lord. Both heaven and earth are stored. This world, so great, so wonderful. Thy mighty hand has framed." 

As they began to dance, and yet still to sing, the graceful way they moved captured every wandering eye. He held her in his arms, her hand entwined with his, giving the impression of utter devotion to the cause. Neil Haughton stared. Christ, he'd known she was beautiful, he'd known she possessed the grace and agility of a cat, especially in bed, but this was something else altogether. How could she dance like that, and sing at the same time? How could she possess such ability to entrance every soul who watched and listened to her? And who was this man, this man who was holding her as possessively and tenderly as he, Neil was forced to admit, had never done. Their voices were as skillfully moulded together as their steps were, moving with total assurance in each other's space. It wasn't lost on either Cassie or Helen, when John occasionally removed his eyes from the music, just long enough to glance George's way, clearly bursting with pride at what she was doing. 

George and Neil didn't dance through the next piece, which also contained the chorus, but they did stand together, giving praise for their love, and congratulating God for his cleverness. George's voice danced in and out of the chorus, just as her delicate feet had done only moments earlier. She sounded truly happy with her lot, thoroughly unquestioning of the duty of continuing the human race, which had been bestowed on her and her mate. 

When they again took up their dancing hold, they gazed into each other's eyes, their words, just for this moment, briefly engendering the feelings of love and commitment that God had intended. His words asked her to come with him, to allow him to guide her through the rest of their lives, to guard her, to protect her, to cherish her. George in her turn, pledged her obedience, and asked for his guidance, and begged him to be her all, to be her shield. 

But as they moved into the duet proper, and Neil described her as his graceful consort, Neil Haughton couldn't help but think that this was all that he'd ever wanted her to be to him. Haughton supposed it was the man's acting ability, but he really sounded as though he meant every single word he was saying to her. He sincerely meant that he would lull every care of hers to rest. Funny, Haughton thought to himself, but he'd always thought that this was for a woman to do, not a man. A man needed looking after, his woman being there to smooth the way for him. But this man, he was promising George, Eve, everything, from his undying fidelity, to his everlasting devotion. 

"Spouse adored, at thy side, purest joys o'erflow the heart." 

God, how she sounded as though she felt every sentiment. This feeling was indigenous to the entire audience, all of them feeling that tingle of the sparks of love being set alight in their midst. But when their voices joined, the first and second subjects weaving in and out of each other, Nikki gripped Helen's hand. This was incredible! The union between the two dancers was so beautiful, so enchanting, that Nikki could, for this short space of time, forget that this wasn't any ordinary couple. They were expressing the feelings that she knew she and Helen felt for each other, justifying their very existence as one. 

"With thee, with thee, with thee." 

As they rose to this reiterated promise, Nikki shivered, briefly wondering if the panes of the stained glass windows would hold under the throbbing, soul piercing onslaught. 

"With thee, with thee, is every joy enhanced. "With thee, with thee, is life incessant bliss." 

Neil Haughton felt a stab of envy as they sang this, knowing that never in his wildest dreams would she ever say anything of the sort to him. John on the other hand, was feeling every vibration of her words, knowing that some of them at least were meant for him. Even through all the fights and all the tears, somewhere along the line he and George had been destined to be together as, in a different and more lasting way, were he and Jo. When George had married him, she had truly vowed to give herself to him forever. He bitterly regretted the ways in which he'd hurt both George and Jo over the years, and perhaps it was this expression of pure, sincere feeling that was making him convinced that he would never hurt either of them again. As they soared up to the final exultation of, "Thine it all shall be," The audience seemed to hold its breath, as if wanting to preserve this true moment of glory forever. 

As George and Neil moved back to stand on either side of Monty, and he began proclaiming the coming doom for God's errant charges, everyone knew that the end was near. As the chorus moved into the final expression of rejoice, accompanied by the entire orchestra and joined in turn by the three soloists, every ounce of effort that they'd all put into this seemed to come together. They'd made it, they'd succeeded, what better reason to celebrate and give thanks than that. Joe Channing's hands carried every one of them through this joyful finale, in a way expressing his own pleasure and slight astonishment that they'd actually managed to reach this point. But as they sailed into the few final chords, they all felt that the stress and the arguments had been worth it, the eventual product of their labours having been a triumph to behold. 


	150. Part One Hundred and Fifty

A/N: This is jointly written and is betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And fifty

The pause, as the final chords of the ensemble performance faded into the high domed church, was emotionally charged as with one exception, both audience and orchestra were as one. In that second, that driving tension was released from Joe Channing's elastic taut concentration. The showman in him flamboyantly turned round to face the audience with arms outstretched. Till then, the audience had been an invisible presence behind him. His smile of satisfaction was as expansive as his pride. 

The end of the row on which Henry sat, was the first to break into applause, which was amplified and enfolded by the rest of the audience, which had not expected anything like the performance they had enjoyed. By not really knowing individual members of the orchestra as Henry's row did, they had been distanced and had only been cajoled to attend by Vera Everard's gimlet eye and forceful personality. In a concert setting, the unexpected purity of form and intensity of expression hit home. The sole exception was Neil Haughton. As the music ended, the whole elaborate performance faded. It had seemed designed to celebrate George's distance from him, however artfully the orchestra performance was contrived. He was held prisoner in his possession by convention and politeness. Henry, at a nod from Joe Channing, got up from his unaccustomed position in the pew, and walked to the pulpit. "On behalf of Chipping Ongar church, I want to extend to the Bar council an inexpressible debt of gratitude, for magnificent performance. I confess that I never realised until this afternoon, what an overflowing wealth of talent there is amongst members of the judiciary and their friends. It is truly a demonstration of God's will that he intended such abilities by which you earn your living, to be matched by entirely different talents for the glory of music and of God. On behalf of the church, I invite George, to step forward to accept this bouquet of roses for you all." George smiled wholeheartedly, yet nervously walked her way up to the pulpit, where Henry smiled kindly down on her. She felt incredibly whole, bathed by the light and love that was bestowed on her. Yet some instinct told her, that this was not some selfish emotion but one, which radiated between her and the rest of the magic company. She picked out the spirituality of expression on even Sir Ian's and Lady Rochester's faces, and reflected that even they had their rightful place here. 

With legs like jelly, she reached her arms up, and smelt the softly perfumed roses. On her high heels, she teetered her way to the podium, on which her father stood. As she reached up to offer Joe the first rose, the difference in height carried her memory back to when she was little, and had sung for her father. The light in her eyes, and smile across her face, showed her that she could safely wallow in male approval. Daddy was different of course. Turning next to Monty, she generously offered him the second rose. She looked at him, the stiff-necked man in a new light, as a fellow artist. When she approached Grayling, an intense glance of gratitude shone from her eyes. If it had not been for him, she would never had performed here today. She deliberately took her time to saunter up to John, and the spark of understanding crossed between them. She passed her way through the section leaders of the rest of the orchestra, bestowing roses on them, as if it were an ancient courtly ritual. Each group of musicians had played to perfection. "I'm inviting the orchestra, and members of the audience, to stay behind..." In the middle of his invitation, a coughing fit overtook Henry. With some embarrassment, he struggled to finish off his words. "...At the church hall for drinks." Helen, Nikki, Cassie and Crystal, followed in behind the members of the orchestra and rapidly filled up the hall. To their surprise, it was empty of all the instruments and music stands, with which they had laboured so diligently after work and on weekends. With a table laid out with drinks, it was just the church hall. 

There was a heightened sense of animation in all the orchestra, as old rivalries remained suspended. Sir Ian even smiled at Francesca and was happy to chat with her and the ever-present Lawrence James while Neumann Mason-Alan promptly attached himself to the group. The four musicians slid smoothly on a cushion of good feeling that nothing could break. Sir Ian looked on fondly at everyone. Even Deed had performed impeccably. People seemed to move sedately in and out of his vision like a slow moving kaleidoscope in an ever-shifting pattern. First Clare Walker, then Barbara, then Karen, then Roisin moved into view and were irretrievably linked to their individual threads in that wonderful aural tapestry they had woven. Suddenly, there appeared a short, blonde haired woman, hair cut in a short bob. He instantly registered the boldness of her manner and a jagged memory impulse shot into his brain like an electric shock. He cursed his work mode of thinking, something that he heartily wished could be switched off for just one afternoon in his life. "That woman, entering the room, is Cassie Tyler. I remember crossing swords with her at the Lauren Atkins trial," Said Neumann quietly. So Roisin must be her partner and both her and Barbara had served a term of imprisonment, Sir Ian concluded. This revelation upset his secure foundations, and what passed for his morality. Put simply, he was there to lend protective colouration for members of the establishment and fearlessly expose those on the other side of the fence. It ought to have shocked him that two women who he had welcomed into their exclusive company were not as they appeared to be. But they were fellow musicians, dammit, he didn't want to know. "How very interesting, Neumann. Small world, isn't it. Let's not talk shop today, there's a good fellow." He hoped he sounded far more debonair than he felt, as he turned his gaze to attract Brian Cantwell's attention. 

"I must admit, George," Joe loudly proclaimed. "That you and Neil, made a splendid couple. I mean the superb bass singer, and not that other unspeakable man, who I trust will fall on his sword having seen what he has lost." "Hardly, Daddy," George muttered, flushing slightly. While Daddy is here to stay in blissful ignorance of what ever she is doing, there are occasional drawbacks. "Nonsense, George," He boomed, and stopped a moment to think. "Are you talking about your singing partner, or that ex of yours?" "Neil Grayling, of course. He's a wonderful singing partner, a good man and a dear friend, but Daddy, he's gay." George kept her voice down low and looked furtively around, to check in case anyone she knew was nearby. "What!" "Daddy, do keep your voice down. Does what I have told you really matter? If Neil hadn't been here, there would have been no performance, think about that." "How long have you known about this?" Joe asked incredulously after a distinct pause. "Since the beginning, of course," George replied in wide-eyed innocence. "What is the world coming to?" Joe rumbled rhetorically and not for the first time in his life as he tottered off to chat to Henry. He had that air of reassuring normality, as well as a wife at his side. 

"So, Nikki, how did you enjoy the performance?" Grayling's friendly manner broke in unexpectedly on Nikki as she was chatting to Clare Walker. "More than I could possibly say in words," Nikki exclaimed fervently, her eyes shining. "I have never been so moved in all my life. When do you and the rest of the orchestra plan to take this on tour?" Grayling made a self-deprecating gesture, though the thought of it did take his fancy. A new dimension in his life had been allowed to flower within him. "Mrs. Warner would have the perfect excuse to lecture me that my mind isn't properly on the job. I do need to be around to ensure that none of my enemies move in on my pitch, to try and undermine both you and Karen, not that the idea isn't tempting." "You really must have faith in us." "If you've got through the first week without anything untoward coming to my ears, you must be doing fine." Grayling's broad grin was infectious. "You can tell so soon, Neil?" Nikki queried. "That's the way it goes," Grayling replied cheerfully. "If you don't mind, I'd sooner not talk shop, Nikki, not on a day like this." Grayling seemed totally alive and utterly centred. "I'm sorry, Neil." "Not to worry, Nikki. Let's enjoy today. We all deserve it." 

Brian Cantwell circulated round the hall. That often acid tongued egotistical man fuelled inside by bittier prejudices, wore a pleased expression on his face, but this was no selfish sentiment. "Have you enjoyed playing with Jo Mills?" Clare greeted Brian cheerfully. She had seen from her place in court how the two of them had regular verbal sparring matches. "Surprisingly well, Clare," Brian retorted, his mind still alert after the intense concentration of the afternoon performance. "We might even get on next time we appear in court." There was a spiky edge to his voice, and a lurking affection he knew very well not to expose too much to general view. 

Karen and Michael Nivin were comparing notes on their musical contributions when she caught a glimpse of Henry. The lighting in the church hall was bright enough so that Henry could be seen clearly. Her memory of him was that he always had a pale complexion but she couldn't remember his cheeks being as drawn as they appeared today. Babs was smiling and talking in her usual sociable manner, but her eyes never left him. This isn't just the very real love she feels for him, surely. She resolved to quietly talk to her in the lobby now that everyone who was coming to the party was present. "I was rather hoping that no one would notice," Barbara said, looking a little flustered and uncomfortable. "I suppose having once been a nurse, you would be bound to be the first to spot it." Karen started to get really worried for her friend. She hadn't formed any definite conclusions, but Barbara supposed that their plight was more visible than it actually was. "You see, Henry has lung cancer. He's been under the hospital who urge him to rest, but you know Henry. He won't do that while his flock is there and they need him." Karen cut short her immediate reaction, that for once Henry could give way to a moment of selfishness in his life. In contrast, she remembered Ross when he was at home, always childishly demanding, never thinking beyond his own needs. "We must have faith as to the future. If you don't mind, Henry is rather tired, and I need to persuade him that he needs to rest." It upset Karen to see how Barbara's smile was rather strained and forced. She suspected the prognosis was worse than Barbara was letting on. "You may be sure, that everything here will be looked after. Don't worry." 

George was standing with Helen, Nikki, Cassie and Roisin, and feeling happier than she had in years. She had performed to the best of her ability, they all had, and she had enjoyed every minute of it. "I nearly jumped out of my skin on that huge crash of light," Cassie was saying. "Yes, I saw you," George said with a laugh. "And I never thought Grayling could sing like that." "I didn't think it would be at first," George said fairly. "But it's been fun working with him." "I think every member of the audience was staring at your legs during that dance," Nikki said with a smirk. "Just goes to show what fabulous taste me and Helen have." "Oh, so the not so innocent looking Eve was your idea?" Roisin asked, having been slightly astounded when she'd first seen what George was wearing. "Our fault entirely," Helen agreed. "The Judge kept taking his eyes off his music to look at you." "As if he doesn't get more than his fair share as it is," George replied dryly. "It's weird," Cassie put in. "I've listened to Roash practicing her part for weeks, but I'd never heard it all together before today." As she leaned forward to kiss Roisin proudly, George laid a warning hand on her shoulder. "I wouldn't do that here," She said quietly. "You aren't serious?" Cassie said in total disgust. "Very," George explained, not remotely put off by her tone of voice. "I doubt it will surprise you to know, that the vast majority of the legal profession are still living in the nineteenth century." "She's right, Cass," Roisin agreed, gently detaching Cassie from her. "And does that include you and Karen?" Cassie demanded of George, her anger at not being permitted to show her affection all too evident. "In a setting such as this, yes, it most certainly does," George told her. "I'm sorry," Cassie said, feeling a little foolish at her outburst. "Discretion isn't something I've ever really appreciated the need for." "George," Said Nikki, finding the perfect excuse to move away from this far too sensitive topic. "There's a weasly looking bloke heading over here, looking as though he wants to talk to you." As George glanced in the direction Nikki was gesturing, she saw Neil Haughton approaching. "I wondered how long it would take him," She said to no one in particular. "George," He said as he reached them. "Can I drag you away for five minutes?" Giving him the type of in-depth scrutiny, that told everyone around her that she was definitely lowering her standards in talking to this individual, she said, "Five minutes is all you'll get," In that curt, dismissive tone he knew so well. Then, seeing the look of blatant discomfort on his face, she added, "Go and wait for me outside, and I'll join you in a minute, unless you wish to conduct this particularly pointless conversation in public?" At the slight shudder that meant he would rather dip his feet in undiluted acid than have anyone witness his humiliation, she said, "No, I thought not." When he'd gone, Cassie grinned. "Nice one, babe, that's the most accurately delivered dismissal I've seen in years." "Who was that?" Nikki asked, hoping that she would never have cause to get on George's bad side. "Do you remember me telling you about my cabinet minister? Well, that was him, the secretary of state for trade himself." "Jesus," Said Cassie in disgust. "No wonder the DTI's approaching a serious melt down, if an oily git like him is in charge." "Nikki, can you do something for me?" George asked, filing Cassie's comment away as something to use if she ever ran out of tactical put downs. "Can you ask John to come and rescue me in about five minutes?" "Sure," Nikki replied, seeing John talking to Joe Channing on the other side of the hall. "George, what did he do to incur such deep seated disgust?" "You may well ask," George replied, walking away from them and heading towards the outside. 

When she appeared through the doors of the church hall, she saw Neil waiting for her. "Well, well," She said, moving to stand beside him. "This is nice, isn't it." The steely-edged tone in which she delivered these words, belied their actual content. Knowing that it would utterly infuriate him, she lit up a cigarette. "I'm surprised you've taken that up again," Neil said, his mouth working before his brain. "One would have thought, that you would want to keep such an incredible voice in peak condition." "Ah, well, as it happens, I can do both," She said icily. Then, when he didn't appear to be very forthcoming, she asked, "What are you really here for, Neil? What do you want?" "I wanted to see you," He said quietly, and she could see that this at least was the truth. "Well, granted I look an awful lot better than the last time you saw me," She put in before he could continue. "But perhaps that's because I'm happy." "You certainly look it," He couldn't help agreeing. "I am," She confirmed. "I don't think I've ever been as happy with every part of my life as I am now." "George," He said a little hesitantly, after taking a moment or two to work up the courage. "What I did to you, I'm sorry." "For what it's worth," She said quietly. "I know, though whether you are actually sorry for hitting me, or sorry that by doing that you lost me, is anyone's guess." 

As soon as George had gone outside, Helen and Nikki made their way over to where John was standing talking to George's father. "Can we butt in for a moment?" Helen began, seeing as she knew John somewhat better than Nikki did. "Of course," John said amiably, and then introduced them. "This is Sir Joseph Channing, George's father, and Joe, this is Nikki Wade and Helen Stewart." "Nikki, Wade," Joe said contemplatively. "I had wondered if today might be my opportunity to meet the most recent recruit to the prison service. I must congratulate you, on being the first person whose appointment has rocked the establishment, even more than that of the Deed here." Smiling broadly Nikki shook his hand. "I'm not sure whether to take that as a complement," She said, seeing the smile of encouragement on John's face. "How was your first week?" John asked, before Joe could drop himself in it. "Knackering, but fantastic," Nikki summarised. "And before I forget, George would like you to go and rescue her from the secretary of state for trade, in about five minutes. I think she was hoping to give him a bit of a roasting first." "About bloody time," Joe Channing growled. "I was not best pleased to see that waster as a member of our audience." "I would have thought he would have had more sense," John agreed. "But if George is putting him in his place, that is something I would quite like to see," He added a little evilly. But as Nikki and Joe got into a discussion of the merits of custodial punishment, John contrived to move Helen a little away from them. "How is our mutual concern progressing?" He asked when they were well out of earshot. "Not brilliantly," Helen said unhappily. "He's not doing well at all. He needs her, Judge, if he's going to have any chance whatsoever of getting out of this." "And you know that neither of us can tell her," John persuaded gently but firmly. "Did you seek that higher advice you were after?" "Yes, from the very man Nikki is talking to." "What did he say?" "Precisely what I thought he would say. You cannot tell her, Helen, neither of us can, no matter how much we might want to." 

Outside, Neil was saying, "George, as much as it might surprise you to know, you meant everything to me. I thought that... Well... Maybe..." George laughed in the face of his struggle to find the right words. "Neil," She said, her tone dripping with scorn. "What could possibly, give you the idea that I still need you as my status symbol? Because I can assure you, I don't. I've never needed anything less. Do you know something, for the first time in my life, I have friends. Not the kind of friends who demand political support and legal performance in return, but friends who actually care about the person behind the career. I used to think you could be useful to me, just as I was to you, but since then, I've learnt that mere professional advancement just isn't important. You don't know the meaning of the phrase sincere loyalty, do you, but in the last year or so, it's something I've learnt to cherish." "Tell me," Neil replied, with more than a little scorn in his own voice. "When you speak of friends, I assume you're talking about the group of ex-cons I saw you with earlier. Keep on maintaining friendships like that, and you'll soon discover what supposed loyalty can drag you into." "Oh, really," She said scathingly. "Well, I'll tell you this much, I certainly won't be cajoled into defending rotten to the core cases, all in the name of political expediency." When she saw John appear on the periphery of her field of vision, she tried to ignore his presence and keep on going. "My career was heading straight for disintegration, with all the corrupt cases you kept insisting I had to win. I crawled out from under that particularly loathsome rock, Neil, but you're still there, still clinging onto your not so sturdy hand hold in the government's pocket. Everything I was, everything I stood for when I was with you, disgusts me, so why you think I would ever want to go back to that, I'll never know." Neil took a breath to deliver some resounding retort, when he also became aware of John's presence. 

On walking quietly out through the doors of the church hall, John had seen Neil and George facing each other not far away, and he had heard George's last little speech, making him fill with pride that she of all people could come out with such words of sincerity. When he finally reached them, he solicitously put an arm round George's shoulders, just to further enhance her last point. "Oh, don't tell me," Haughton said in resigned disgust. "Don't tell me you've stooped so low, as to go crawling back to him?" "The only time I have ever stooped lower than I deserve," She said mockingly. "Was when I deigned to sleep with you, because believe me, when one adjusts their course of action from sleeping with you to sleeping with John, they are definitely raising their standards. Wouldn't you say so, darling?" She added, smiling lasciviously up into John's face, her expression asking him to play along with her. "You have to admit, she does have a point, Haughton," John replied, the beginnings of a laugh just at the back of his voice. Neil's lip curled, but in the face of her obvious satisfaction, his expression wavered. "You don't like me threatening your overblown sense of masculinity, do you," She said silkily, her voice almost reminding him of how fabulous she'd always been in bed. "But you see, John here, gives me everything I could ever want in a lover. He doesn't concern himself solely with the pursuit of his own pleasure, he doesn't tell me I'm depraved, when what I want is perfectly normal, and most of all, he gives me an orgasm, every time I sleep with him, something you certainly never did." John could feel the slight tremble in her as she let forth this stream of resentment and anger, something which had obviously been begging for release for quite some time now. Neil looked shocked, probably as a result of all her accusations. George couldn't quite believe she'd said all that. Yes, she knew it wasn't strictly true that John always managed to give her an orgasm, and she was quite aware that he knew it too, but the assertion had served its purpose. Never again would Neil think she would lower herself to his level, not after this. When it appeared that George's tirade had come to an end, John said, "I think it might be time for you to leave, Haughton." His words carried such protectiveness, such authority, that Neil would have been testing what courage he had to disobey them. Turning about, he walked to his car, got in and drove away. 

When the smoke from Neil's exhaust had dissipated, John turned George into his embrace, enfolding her in the arms that were most familiar to her. "Are you all right?" He asked softly into her hair. "Fine," She said a little unsteadily. "I wasn't quite expecting to say everything I did, though." "I'm sure he'll get over it." When George drew her face slightly back from him, he could see the sheer need in her eyes. When she reached up to kiss him, he could feel her extreme desire to forget Neil and to banish all thought of his existence from her mind. She'd given him his long overdue dismissal from anything to do with her, and now she simply wanted to move on. Her kisses were fierce, passionate, demanding in the extreme, and at the moment, just the way he wanted them. He had been suppressing his desire for her all afternoon, but now he allowed it to take hold of him. When his hand moved round to begin caressing her left breast, she didn't falter, even though they were stood in the middle of the carpark in front of the church hall. He felt her nipple harden under his fingers, just as she clung even closer to him, aligning their centres, and finding his own hardness begging for attention. "Let's go home, now," She said almost urgently, detaching herself from him and taking his hand in hers, dragging him unprotesting over to his car. 


	151. Part One Hundred and Fifty One

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Fifty One

When John and George got into John's car and roared away, they both knew that they were heading straight for George's house, and straight for her bed, if they could last that long. "I do enjoy seeing you put him thoroughly in his place," George said with satisfaction. "From what I heard before I appeared," commented John. "It sounded as though you were doing perfectly well on your own. Is what you said to him really true?" "What, that he didn't give me an orgasm in the whole time I was with him? Well, I'd say that was for me to know, wouldn't you?" "So you won't just satisfy my curiosity?" "No, I won't. Just forget about Neil. I wish this car could drive itself," She said, her voice dropping to a seductive suggestiveness as she laid a hand on his thigh. Trying to decide which was the lesser evil, being done for screwing George in his car at the side of the road, or internally combusting with sexual frustration, he gently removed her hand and said, "Well, as this car won't drive itself, please don't do things like that whilst I'm driving." "I do like it when you're masterful," She said wickedly, taking his hand that was casually resting on the gear stick and leading it to her breast. "Are you trying to drive me mad?" He asked, though giving in to her request to be touched. "Of course," She replied lasciviously. "I thought you'd have known by now that it's one of my missions in life, to make you give into my every whim." John laughed. "Undo your skirt," He said. "There are far better things I could be doing, which are less likely to get me done for touching you in public." Bowing to his suggestion, George unfastened the button and zip at the back of her skirt. This enabled John to move his hand under the waistband, and to push aside the pitifully tiny scrap of silk and lace she called underwear. When she felt his finger and thumb gently seek out that perpetually warm and silky place between her legs, she stretched them out slightly to give him better access. With his left hand otherwise engaged and his right firmly on the steering wheel, George had to change gear for him whenever he asked her too. "So," She said, trying to keep her voice under control. "That's why you always drive with one hand." "Of course," He said with a grin. "It just involves a little more concentration, that's all." Her hand was back on his thigh, but higher up this time. Having John do this to her whilst he was also driving, was giving her a feeling of supreme naughtiness, and a distinct hope that they wouldn't get caught. She writhed occasionally against his wandering fingers, and he could feel just how much she was enjoying this. Her hand was moving on the outside of his trousers now, coaxing him to full hardness and no longer receiving any protest from him. When he pulled up somewhat haphazardly in her driveway, they were out of the car and standing at her front door as if of one mind. Holding her skirt up with one hand and ferreting for her keys with the other, George smirked at the bulge in John's trousers, which presented far more damning evidence than her dishevelled state. As soon as the front door was open, they were inside, the door was shut and their hands were back on each other, this time determined to remove their clothing as quickly as possible. "I need you," John said as they moved erratically towards the stairs. "And I can't wait as long as it would take to get up there," George said as he unsnapped her bra. They ended up on the floor in the lounge, between the sofa and coffee table, thankfully screened from the bay window by the open lounge door. No initial touching was necessary, as this had been thoroughly accomplished in the car. When John sank his length deep inside her, George knew that this was what made her the woman she was. No matter how much she loved what she had and what she did with Karen, George knew that this type of straight, glorious, almost primeval fucking was what she would always come back to. When John felt her internal muscles squeezing him, he almost lost control there and then. "If you want me to last much longer," He said through gritted teeth. "Then don't do that." "I don't care," George said, and John could tell by her voice that she was as close as he was. As he thrust again and again in to her, he knew that no woman he'd ever slept with, not Karen, not Francesca Rochester, not even Jo, had ever been able to sexually ignite him with as much passion as George. As his movements became faster and more erratic, she clung to him, urging them both on to more frantic gasps of ecstasy. When they simultaneously came, George wasn't the only one to cry out. They had both sincerely enjoyed being part of the performance of The Creation, but the immense adrenaline needed to keep them going had manifested itself in extreme sexual arousal and frustration. Afterwards, John briefly rested his face against her neck as their breathing returned to normal. He might be currently making it difficult for her to breathe, but George loved having his full weight resting on her after they'd made love. But when he made a move to withdraw from her, they both realised just how much sexual secretion they'd managed to accumulate between them. As John reached for the box of tissues on the coffee table, George said with a smirk, "I think you enjoyed that, didn't you." "I didn't hear you complaining," He said dryly, giving her a handful of tissues, which she rammed between her legs. Getting to her feet she said, "Would you like to join me in a bath?" Saying that he would find them some wine, John turned his face away from her so as not to see her make her extremely undignified way up the stairs. 

When they were lying in the bath, sipping from glasses of the Chablis George had left chilling in the fridge for whoever might come home with her, John turned his lips to hers and said, "I was proud of you today." "No more than I was of you," She said, blushing at his understated compliment. "I know how much you originally didn't want to do it," He continued. "Yet you still did." "Oh, and as if you'd have left it alone if I hadn't," She said in mock disgust. "I wanted Charlie to come and see it." "And I suppose you told her everything about it, that you, and Jo and Daddy were taking part, and she was all for it. Then, you will have casually dropped in the fact that I was playing Eve, and Charlie would have instantly gone off the idea. Am I right?" "I wanted her to be proud of you too," He said, his avoiding the question nevertheless telling her the answer. "Oh, John," George said softly. "You know that isn't going to happen. Far too much water has gone under the bridge for Charlie and I to ever have the kind of relationship that she has with you." "I used to think that about you and me," He said, thanking god that he had come back to her, and that she was now reclining in the crook of his arm, as close to him as she had ever been. "It was different with us," George explained. "We were both partially to blame for the failure of our marriage. Charlie certainly isn't to blame for why she only comes to me when she wants something that you won't give her." "And neither are you," He protested vehemently. "Don't let's go into all that now," She admonished him gently. "This afternoon was the most exhilarated I've ever felt out of bed, and I want to go on enjoying it." 

When they eventually emerged from the bath, after some prolonged touching and George being brought to orgasm, George had the mischievous urge not to cover herself up with as many clothes as she'd had on before. Removing the robe Jo had bought her from the wardrobe, she slipped it over her shoulders. "Now that, I definitely approve of," John said, his voice caressing her just as his hands had done. "Yes, it is rather eye-catching, isn't it," She said, tying the belt in front. "But don't expect me to be able to keep my hands off you, if that's all it has to fasten it," He said with a smirk when she turned to face him. "Oh, I'm not," She said with all the confidence she possessed. "In fact, I shall be heartily disappointed if you even attempt to keep your hands off me." Leaving him in mid smirk, she walked downstairs, and began thinking about what they might eat for dinner, all the time feeling the silky softness of the robe sliding over her skin. 

Digging some king prawns that needed eating out of the fridge, plus some vegetables, George began chopping in preparation for a stir-fry. She put on one of Karen's Alison Krauss CD's, the cheerful combination of violin and guitars fitting her mood. When John appeared in the kitchen, he topped up her glass of wine, and stood in the doorway watching her. Her eyes were bright, happy, with none of the darkness of depression that he saw in her far too often. "You look happy," He said with a smile. "Yes, I am," She confirmed, making a detour on her way to the cooker, to plant a quick kiss on his lips. "Do you think we'll be missed?" "I shouldn't imagine that anyone will be in the least surprised," She said knowingly. "I'll go and see Daddy tomorrow. He's the only one who might be particularly disapproving." "He's not quite as much of a dinosaur as you think he is, you know," John said fairly, thinking of the conversation he'd had with Joe a few weeks before. George would have a fit though, if she thought her father knew about Karen. "Daddy wouldn't be Daddy if he wasn't," She said fondly. Putting some rice on to boil, George lowered the heat on the stir-fry and leaned against the kitchen unit, taking a swig from her glass. As she raised her arm, the material of the robe clung slightly closer to her figure, giving John an excellent view of her prominent nipples. Being totally unable to resist, he walked slowly over to her, removed the glass from her hand, and undid the belt that held the robe together. "I wondered how long it would take you," she said in that sultry, sexy tone that always made him as stiff as a board. "Oh, this was all a ploy, was it," He mocked her gently, running his hands over her uncovered breasts, lightly tweaking at her already sensitive nipples. "But of course, my Lord," She replied as he kissed her. When he dropped to his knees, and she realised what his intention was, her eyes widened in anticipation. They'd had sex in here before, but not for a very long time, not since they were married. Gently parting her legs, he began dropping feather-light kisses over her labia, for the moment avoiding the pinnacle of her clitoris. But when he inched his tongue into her entrance, she gasped, the sight of him on his knees before her making her feel incredibly naughty. This was John, this was the high court judge, whom others usually obeyed. She hadn't asked him to do this, but here he was, in the most submissive position he could adopt for her. That tongue of his was so warm, that it set every one of her nerve endings on fire. Reaching over to switch off the cooker, George was glad that the kitchen unit was behind her, because she knew that her legs would be incapable of supporting her in a very short time. He gently held her hips to keep her in place, eventually moving his tongue up and around her clitoris. They could both hear the music playing in the lounge, the pure, clear voice of Alison Krauss insinuating its way into their senses. George didn't say a word as he kept on bringing her closer and closer to the edge, almost as though she didn't want to break the atmosphere. She almost whimpered as he delicately nibbled on her clitoris, not wanting to make more noise than was absolutely necessary. He loved the tiny sounds she made, knowing that he was the cause of every one of them. When she eventually came, her whole body shuddered with the effort it took for her not to cry out. John tenderly licked away every bit of her sexual secretion, savouring it as he had the Chablis in his glass. When he rose to his feet, she pulled him close, kissing him as thoroughly as he'd just done her, taking her taste from him. "You know," She said between kisses. "I'm getting almost as hooked on doing that as you are." "Now that is something I would like to see," He told her, his own arousal evident in his voice. "Not with Karen, I hope," She said with a laugh. "Perhaps," He admitted sheepishly. "But I'd give anything to see you do that to Jo." "Oh, would you now," She drawled seductively, thinking that if everything went to plan, he might just get his wish one of these days. 

As George switched the cooker back on and finished the preparing of their meal, John began to take notice of the music she had on. The current piece was without words, just a couple of guitars, joined by a particularly skilful violin. "I know this," He said, after listening to the violin part. "Roisin quite often plays it when she's warming up." "I can imagine her liking this," George replied, thinking that Roisin playing this, no matter how unobtrusively, would certainly teach the stuffier classical players a thing or two. "If I know Roisin, she can probably play the guitar part as well." "Now that would turn a few heads," John said with a smile, taking in just how difficult the Choctaw Hayride really was. "Karen says she has a beautiful voice," George added, draining the rice. "Like someone else I could mention," He said fondly. They sat at the kitchen table to eat their meal, the homely surroundings of George's kitchen bringing back pleasant memories for both of them. "I wish you'd play more music like this," George said, Alison Krauss's violin again taking over when she wasn't singing. "Not really my thing, George," He told her, after swallowing a mouthful of the stir-fry. "It's pleasant enough to listen to, but you'd never catch me putting my Strad through something like that." "That's just prejudice," George said enthusiastically. "Against something that's just a little bit different from what you're used to. This kind of music can be just as skilful, just as complicated and difficult as classical music, but you don't want to admit it. All it would take is a little bit of guts." He knew she was goading him, and he was forced to acknowledge that her point did have merit, but it still didn't mean it was for him. Just out of interest, he began paying greater attention to the violin part of the song which was playing. "Are you sure that's only one violin?" He asked after a while. "Certain," She said firmly, seeing that he was at least entertaining the idea, even if he wasn't about to say so. "But you'd need to have the fingers of a contortionist to maintain that amount of double stopping," He said almost in horror. "Oh, believe me, darling," She drawled thoughtfully. "Your hands would be well up to the job." "Cassie Tyler must be one extremely lucky woman, if Roisin can play music like this," John said with a wicked grin at George's compliment. "Well, with the amount of finger exercise you get with both Jo and me, you shouldn't have anything to worry about." Even though they knew they could have each other at a moment's notice, they still flirted like this, teasing each other with as much verbal encouragement as possible. "That would be my ultimate fantasy," He said, putting his knife and fork together. "To have you and Jo at the same time." "Actually, I wouldn't have thought two girls would really work for you," She said, getting up and beginning to put the plates in the dishwasher. "Neither would I, a few years ago," He agreed. "But you live and learn." Then, fixing his eyes on the view that was being presented to him as she filled the dishwasher, he added, "Your legs look even better than usual in that robe. I don't know what made you buy it, but I'm heartily gratified that you did." "I didn't," She said, straightening up and turning to face him. "I got it for my birthday." "What, from Karen?" He assumed. "No, not Karen." "Then who?" He asked, now thoroughly intrigued. George laughed. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," She said, knowing that she couldn't give Jo's secret away, not yet. "Try me," He invited. "I promised I wouldn't," She said, which wasn't strictly true, but it would do for now. "But it's no one you need to feel jealous over." "I hope not," He said quietly but firmly, drawing her closer to him as she returned to the table to pick up her glass of wine. When he kissed her, she could feel all the passionate need that he was trying not to betray in his voice. "Do you remember the time we made love on this table?" "Vividly," George said dryly. "I had bruised shoulder blades for days afterwards." Then, looking deep into his eyes, she saw the unspoken question. "No, John, absolutely no way," She said firmly, though with a broad smile lighting up her face. "Oh, that's a shame," He said mildly. "I quite fancy it." "Now, what would the rest of your brethren say to such evil thoughts?" She almost crooned, the wickedly sinful laugh just below the surface. "I don't care," He told her, his hands again beginning to wander. But before he could go too far, she detached herself from him and took his hand. "Come on," She said, pulling him up from the chair. "We might at least take this somewhere more comfortable." 

When they moved to the sofa, he imagined they were simply there for a long and luxurious cuddle, that may or may not lead to a further pursuit of their pleasure, but he was wrong. Once John had seated himself at one end of the sofa, George lay down with her head in his lap. "You really don't have to do that," He said, realising exactly what her intention was. "John, can we get something straight," She said, looking up at him. "I only ever do this when I feel like it, and I certainly wouldn't do it if I didn't. So please just shut up and relax." "That's me told," He said with a smile as she undid his fly. "You really are behaving badly today, aren't you," He added, as she withdrew his length from his trousers. Yes, more than you know, George thought to herself, as her lips encircled the head, contemplating the gloriously sensual kiss she'd shared with Jo before the performance. But thinking of Jo, and doing this to John, had a most unfortunate effect on George. It gave her the positively orgasmic mental image, of herself doing this to John, and Jo looking on in something akin to awe. When he saw the blush inflame her cheeks, he gently detached her from him and said, "What are you thinking?" "Something that really ought to send me to confession immediately," She said with a smirk. "Even though I spent the entire afternoon in a church." "Go on, it can't be that bad," He encouraged, knowing that it would have to be really bad for her not to tell him. "I've just had the rather startling mental image," She said carefully, with her face turned away from him. "Of me doing this, and being watched by someone else." John laughed. "It's all that adoration from the audience today, going to your head." "So you don't think it's highly terrible then?" "Oh, I think that such a sinful thought, deserves nothing less than instant fulfilment, followed by six of the best for wanting such a thing." "John, stop it," She said, feeling her own arousal inexorably building at his words. "Why?" He asked with a smile. "You know you like it." To avoid answering his question, George again lowered her head to him, lavishing every attention she could think of on this beautiful, velvety organ she knew so well. She knew he was amused by her occasional liking to be punished, as if she had committed a misdemeanour, simply by becoming aroused by his voice. She knew that now and then she did have fantasies that were a little kinky to say the least, but John had never minded. He'd never criticised her for occasionally wanting him to try something with her, always having been up for anything new. When she felt his hand creep inside her robe, she still kept on going. His skin was so clean, so smooth, that if it hadn't been for the end result, George would have done this for him as often as he'd wanted. His hand was between her thighs now, no doubt discovering just how much his voice had aroused her. "You really would like to be watched doing that, wouldn't you," He said softly, his fingers seeking out all her favourite pleasure points. Having her mouth full, George simply smiled up at him. "The question is," He continued silkily. "Who would you like to see you in such a submissive position. Now, Karen would be an obvious choice, though I suspect that wouldn't quite be bad enough for you. So what about Jo?" He could see the heightened colour in her face, and feel the increasing wetness surrounding his fingers, telling him that he'd hit the nail on the head. Her breathing had quickened and her movements on him were becoming a little erratic. "What would she think to see you doing what you're doing now?" he asked her, though knowing he would get no answer. "Would you want me to be touching her as you were doing this, or would I be right in suggesting that you would want to do that yourself?" At her almost indecipherable whimper, John's eyes widened. So, she really did want Jo in that way. His beautiful, wicked, utterly sensational little minx really did want to do all those lovely things to Jo that she did to Karen. Now if only Jo could feel the same way. 

When George detached her lips from him, she was breathing hard. "I'm sorry, John," She said between gasps, as he continued to move his hand on her. "But I can't keep doing this. I need you, now." "And it would be criminal of me to refuse," He replied, knowing that her saying that she needed him, was her way of saying that she needed to reach orgasm now. Swiftly divesting himself of his clothes, he joined her on the hearthrug, reasoning that there would be more room here than on the sofa. Spreading her legs wantonly and pulling him to her, George showed him just how much space was necessary this time. She was like a wild thing, writhing under him with all the abandon of a bucking bronco. John thought he may as well increase her pleasure even further. "Would you like Jo to watch us doing this too?" "No," She said between gasps. "I'd like to watch you and her doing this." John hadn't been expecting this reply, and the thought of it made him speed up his thrusts, grazing her G spot every time. He'd never thought he would like an audience all that much, but now George had suggested it, he had to admit that it had distinct possibilities. As they galloped nearer and nearer to the cliff edge of desire, George could feel all the blood rushing from every part of her body, all centring in on the part of her that connected so perfectly with John. She thought she might have screamed when she came, but she just managed to curb the impulse into a shout, though she didn't think he would have minded. As the turbulent waves of her orgasm washed over her, she passed out, the intense rush of adrenaline having been just a little too much. 

Gently withdrawing from her, John lay beside her, holding her in his arms and waiting for her to gradually return to him. They'd had some utterly incredible sex when they were married, and during the last eighteen months or so, but never in all that time, had he ever made her pass out. When her eyes flickered open, she saw him smiling softly down at her. "Are you back with me?" He asked fondly. "I've never done that before," She said a little groggily. "And I've never made anyone do that before," He told her, gently brushing her fringe back from her face. When the tears began raining down her cheeks, he held her even closer, not entirely sure what was wrong. "I love you," She said through her tears. "I love you too," He said, kissing away some of her tears. "I'm sorry I said that about Jo." "Why?" He asked in surprise. "It obviously worked." "I shouldn't feel like that about her," George protested, the full weight of what she was in the middle of almost crushing her. Not only was she leading Karen up the garden path, but in another way, she was also doing the same to John. "You can't help what you feel, George. Does it really matter so much that you clearly find her attractive?" "Yes," She insisted. "Because it wasn't ever supposed to happen." John wasn't sure as to the source of her grief, but he gradually soothed it away, knowing that there was something she certainly wasn't telling him, but in his post-orgasmic state, he was wholly unable to work out what it was. 


	152. Part One Hundred And Fifty Two

Part One Hundred And fifty Two

The closely packed crowd in the church hall had gradually thinned out, as one by one, people had slipped away with expansive farewells to those who were left. The drinks table still had plenty of glasses and bottles of wine set out. The post performance celebrations had been fuelled entirely on adrenalin release rather than alcohol, and now the mood had wound down to that of cosy intimacy.  
"Did anyone see which way the Judge went?" Helen asked out of mild curiosity.  
"Last I saw of him, he was going to act as minder for George, to see off that wanker of an ex of hers," Nikki sarcastically replied. Karen and Jo exchanged glances and carried on talking.  
"We're going to have to pick up the children some time," Roisin volunteered partly against her will.  
"Good, that makes a good excuse to carry on the party at Yvonne's, if she doesn't mind," Cassie smugly replied. "Is everyone coming?" Nikki and Helen's faces brightened at the prospect.  
"Do you want to come as well, Jo?" Karen asked with a smile, to which the other woman nodded her ascent. She might as well go with the flow.  
"Hold it, what about the church hall?" Nikki asked. Years of running a club made that instinct kick in, helped by her present security oriented job.  
"Right, this hall has more than just the one big room. Can you, Nikki and Helen, check out all the windows? I'll find the front door keys and you, Cassie and Roisin, check out the lights," Karen immediately decided.  
"Yes, boss," Helen retorted half saluting and grinning.  
"Is she always like this at work?" Cassie asked a big grin all over her face.  
"Sometimes she's worse," Helen said with a straight face.  
"Just looking after Henry's church hall. Someone has to," Came Karen's rye answer, in response to a chorus of laughter. "We'd really better be going, if that's alright with everyone." As Jo led the way to her car, she noted in passing that John's car was no longer there. Soon the cars set out in convoy,  
Cassie leading the way, and they wended their way along the country lanes. By coincidence, their route took them passed George's house, both Jo and Karen noticed John's car parked outside the front door. Both of them felt a little left out and excluded by the way that John and George had shot off together.  
The cars all crunched to a halt on Yvonne's drive, and Cassie led the way.  
"It's nice to go out somewhere with company, instead of going back to an empty house," Jo smiled turning to face Karen.  
"Yeah, let's make the most of it," Came Karen's definitely answer. Before Yvonne could open her mouth as she opened the door, a fast moving shape shot ahead of her and ran into Crystal's arms. Holding Zandra in the crook of her arm, Crystal followed Yvonne who led everyone into her large, luxurious living room.  
"Where's Josh?" Asked Crystal.  
"Letting Michael and Niamh run rings round him by the pool," Answered Yvonne with a big grin. "Nice to see you all. I'll get you a drink if I've got a spare pair of hands," She added hastily.  
"Let me hold Daniel," Helen urged with a pleading look in her eyes.  
"That's all right with me, Helen." Jo flopped down in a comfortable armchair. Now that she was seated, she was pleasantly tired out, and just wanted to relax. She smiled benevolently at everyone in general. The sight of Daniel who was little and adorable, and Crystal's naturally motherly posture connected immediately with Helen.  
"You're all staying for something to eat. Do you fancy spaghetti bolognese?" the satisfied sounds in response to the idea of Yvonne's home cooking was a ready reply. Yvonne was happy with a house full of close friends and children. It was her idea of heaven. At that point, a four-legged friend who was more inquisitive than anyone, even John, made made his presence known. This was his idea of heaven as well.  
"So no Judge tonight?" Yvonne asked with a smirk on her face, thinking that Trigger would definitely have given the game away if the Judge had appeared.  
"He appears to be otherwise engaged," Said Jo with a straight face, which made Karen laugh.  
"Do you want any help, Yvonne?" Nikki asked tactfully.  
"I'll give you a shout when I'm ready." Yvonne made her way to the kitchen and rustled up carrots and onions to peel and dice.  
"Roisin and I will go out to the pool and see how the children are getting on. I hope they're not wearing Josh out"  
"That takes me back a few years," Jo laughed looking at Karen.  
"I suppose I can remember happier days." Karen's reply was accompanied by a wan smile. Too much water had gone under the bridge in the last few years. "I'm tired." Helen looked away, feeling very uncomfortable. It was at moments like this that she came up against one of the disadvantages of her profession,  
when it intruded into her private life. She continued to make a fuss of Daniel as something to focus on. Nikki had looked curiously at Helen as she cradled the little boy. He looked so small and innocent and was made to be held. She had seen Helen before with Daniel, but it was as if she had been looking through the wrong end of a telescope. It wasn't in her nature just to be an observer of human life all around her. There had always had to be something more than this.  
"Let me hold Daniel for a bit, Helen," she said softly. "It'll give you a break." Helen looked quizzically at the curious expression in Nikki's eyes, that she had never seen before and realised that she meant it. Crystal nodded her encouragement at a moment when Nikki, wing Governor of Larkhall, appreciated it most.

Josh was splashing about in the pool with two excited children. Michael then climbed out of the pool and jumped in splashing Josh with a fountain of water.  
"Kids, give Josh a rest," Asked Roisin.  
"Oh, Mum, don't be such a spoilsport," Michael called back to her. "Look, he's enjoying it"  
"Spare the poor man, Michael, he looks worn out," Roisin persisted, noticing a very exhausted looking Josh who was gamely trying to keep up with two lively children.  
"Come on, Michael," Niamh asked him kindly, as she could see that her near adolescent brother Michael sometimes didn't know where to stop.

It had been a lovely summers day, but the shadows were starting to lengthen across the lawn from the trees nearby. It started to take the heat out of the day but the sunbeams were pleasantly dazzling and made for a delightfully lotus eating sensation, at least for anyone not in the swimming pool.  
"Want to go outside, the fresh air would do us good," Karen asked Jo quietly. The terrace overlooked the pool where they could see Josh still cavorting around in the pool with the children. Both looked back distantly and backwards into their past to when life was simpler, however much hard work it had been.  
"I've heard some bad news today, that I have to share with someone. Barbara told me that Henry has lung cancer. You saw for yourself how ill he looked"  
"Oh, no, poor Barbara. How bad is it"  
"I don't know the details." A shadow seemed to pass over the enjoyment of the day and their view of Yvonne's back garden. For those who hadn't heard the news, time passed slowly while they sat and talked at their ease, while Yvonne prepared the meal.

"Come on, kids, you have to get out of the pool. You'll both catch your death of cold," Roisin's shrill voice carried through the still air of Yvonne's back garden, but was unheard by the children.  
"Dinner's ready," Yvonne's stentorian voice carried out of the kitchen window. Immediately, the two children splashed their way to the steps out of the pool. Their skins were goose pimpled and ice cold to the touch, and they padded their way up the flight of steps, Josh trailing behind them.  
"Typical," Roisin exclaimed to Cassie, while Karen and Jo smiled. 


	153. Part One Hundred And Fifty Three

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Fifty Three

A few weeks later, on the fourth of July to be precise, George drove into the car park of her GP's surgery, wondering just why she was here. After having a routine smear test a couple of weeks before, she had been asked to return to discuss its results. She felt fine, she reasoned to herself. But she wasn't so naive to think that this didn't mean something wasn't wrong with her. They hadn't asked her back here for nothing, after all. The last few months had been wonderful, gradually getting closer to Jo, still enjoying what she had with Karen, and the run up to the performance of 'The Creation'. She knew that she was approaching the point of no return with Jo, that time when a decision, one way or the other, had to be made, to minimise Karen's hurt if nothing else. She'd almost told John about Jo, on the day of the performance. God, it still aroused her to remember how he'd made her feel, and in that moment of pure clarification of her feelings, she had almost told him of Jo's reciprocation of her attraction. Telling him that she fancied Jo, and wouldn't mind being with John and Jo together had been quite bad enough though, making her blush every time she thought of it. This wouldn't solve anything, she thought to herself, getting out of the car and locking the door with resigned determination. Whatever it was, she would deal with it. 

George just couldn't believe it. As she stared at the doctor, a blush of combined fury and humiliation covered her face. Chlamydia! The legal profession's answer to Professor Higgins, both in and out of bed, had given her Chlamydia! "It happens," The doctor simply said to her. "Well," Said George decisively, "The man who gave this to me is going to wish it hadn't." After handing her a prescription for a course of antibiotics, and telling her that she would need to return in a fortnight's time to make sure the infection had gone, the doctor watched as she walked out of his office, feeling a certain amount of sympathy for the poor blighter who was about to feel the wrath of this woman's anger. 

As George waited in the chemist for her prescription to be made up, the caldron of her anger began to simmer, to gradually obtain momentum. But before she allowed it to boil over, there was someone else who needed to know about this. She blushed all the way to Jo's office, wondering just how she would go about telling her that John had not only gone back on his promise to stick with just the two of them, but that he'd given certainly her and probably Jo as well, a sexually transmitted disease. Things like this just didn't happen to people like her. It was unthinkable! After all, that was the only conceivable explanation for this, wasn't it, that John had picked this up from one of his innumerable conquests. 

When she drew up in the car park in front of Jo's office, George just sat there for a moment, trying to marshal her thoughts, to put them in to some sort of order. As she walked through reception, she wondered fleetingly if you could tell just by looking at a person, that they had such an utterly unmentionable infection germinating inside them. Shuddering slightly at this thought, she climbed the stairs and walked along the corridor to Jo's office, all the time praying that she didn't have company. When Jo heard the firm tap on the door, she called, "Come in." She was surprised to see George at this time of the day. It was early afternoon and they should both be busy. But as George came in and closed the door very carefully behind her, Jo could see that something was different. "What's happened?" She said as a form of greeting. George stood for a moment, her hand on the handle of the closed door, just staring at Jo, trying to find the right words to tell her. "Sit down," Said Jo, trying to put George at her ease. George moved to sit in one of the low armchairs in front of the window. "I think we've got a problem," She finally said. Jo had swivelled her desk chair to face George, and she simply waited. "This is quite awkward," Went on George, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. "I need to ask you something that may seem unduly offensive." "This must be bad, if you're giving me prior warning that I'm not going to like it," Said Jo with a shrug, but George didn't smile at her attempt at humour. "Since we made the deal with John that he would stop sleeping with every random woman who caught his eye, and that he would stick to us and only us, have you slept with anyone else?" Jo simply raised an eyebrow. "No," She said. "Why do you ask?" "I thought not," Said George. "But I had to check. I think it's fair to say that John's gone back on his promise." "Explain," Jo said, remaining outwardly calm, but inwardly feeling an ice-cold fear touch her heart. At this prompting, George began to look even more uncomfortable. Her eyes wouldn't keep still. They constantly flitted between the door, Jo, the computer on Jo's desk and back to the door again. "George, what's happened?" Jo cajoled, dreading what was coming. Taking a deep breath, George brought out the words. "John, with his usual level of thoughtlessness, has given me, and probably you too, Chlamydia." Jo found herself blushing in sympathy with George. "How do you know?" She asked, and then could have kicked herself. "Sorry," She said, clapping a hand to her mouth, "Stupid question." "I had a routine smear test a couple of weeks ago," Enlightened George. "I was asked to return to discuss its results. I was worrying about all sorts of things, and it turns out to be some dodgy disease picked up from his latest conquest." "I'll kill him," Said Jo, in that low, menacing tone that George was relieved not to have aimed at herself. "No," She replied decisively. "Go and get yourself sorted out, and then we'll both kill him." Jo looked absolutely thunderous. "Why," She said furiously though still relatively quietly, "Will he never ever learn. I'd have thought that what happened with me all those years ago would have perhaps made him think that safe sex was at the very least, possibly a good idea." George just rolled her eyes. "He's always gone with the heat of the moment," She said derisively. "I know it sounds ridiculous," She continued, "But I've always had the attitude that people like us, barristers, high court judges, you name it, weren't stupid enough to get things like this. I even thought that applied to complete and total reprobates like him." "Oh, grow up, George," Said Jo scornfully. "Anyone who sleeps around as indiscriminately as John used to, or clearly still does, is always at risk of something like this. I take it you haven't slept with anyone who could be responsible for this?" "No, of course not," Said George indignantly. "The only other person I've slept with since this three way thing began is Karen, and I'm almost sure she hasn't slept with anyone else during the time I've been seeing her. Besides, I'd have been pretty bloody unlucky to have picked anything up from her." "Anything's possible, George. But yes, it's far more likely to be from John." "How could he do it, Jo?" George asked in total despair. "How could he go back on his promise?" "I don't know," Jo replied miserably. "But he'd better have a bloody good reason for it." "I've never been so humiliated in my life," Said George furiously. "I wanted to sink through the floor." "You'd better tell Karen about this," Said Jo. "Oh, absolutely bloody marvellous," Said George. "Karen has always been okay with the arrangement I have with John, and because she didn't want anything particularly heavy or committed from me, it didn't bother her. She might change her mind now. I'm just amazed, that with his record, something like this hasn't happened before." "If it has," Said Jo, "I've never been aware of it. The only time I've ever known him to be forced to acknowledge the consequences of his actions, was when I found out I was pregnant." "He owes you better than this," Said George vehemently. "George," Said Jo gently but firmly, "He owes both of us better than this." "It's not the same and you know it," Replied George. "Once upon a time, I might have agreed with you. But you're as much a part of his supposed level of commitment as I am." "I wonder who he caught this from?" Said George, trying to change the subject. "As long as it's no one I know, I couldn't care less," Replied Jo. 

As George drove back to her office, she dialled Karen's mobile number. "Darling, it's George," She said, and Karen could hear the anger and tension resonating in her tone. "Hello," She said, "Talking to you definitely beats wrestling with budgets." "I'm not sure you'll still think so when I tell you why I phoned," Replied George, feeling the blush suffuse her features even though Karen wasn't actually there. "Should we be having this conversation if you're driving?" Asked Karen, realising that this was something serious. "No, probably not," Said George, "But I need to be back in the office for an appointment. Sweetheart, I'm sorry to have to do this to you, but there's the slightest possibility that you might have Chlamydia." "What?" Came the sharp response. "I know, I know," Said George, "Please don't say it. I can't prove it yet, but I'm pretty sure I've picked it up from John." "But I thought he was only sleeping with you and Jo, and Jo doesn't strike me as the straying kind." "Quite. Jo's getting herself tested and I think you should do the same. Before I accuse John without the slightest possibility of being wrong, there isn't anyone else I should know about, is there." "No, of course not," Karen said, though not sounding in the least defensive. Hers and George's relationship had always been pretty carefree, mainly because George wasn't prepared to go back on her arrangement with Jo and John, and because Karen didn't want anything remotely heavy. "The last bloke I slept with was John, and that was over eighteen months ago. Since then, there's been only you." George felt a brief fluttering of pleasure when Karen said this. Whilst she'd never give up what she had with John for anyone, what she had with Karen was still incredibly special to her. "I'm sorry about this," Said George, hating the fact that John was putting her through this. "It's not your fault," Said Karen practically. "What was Jo's response?" "I think her words were, I'll kill him." "Yeah, well, if I have got it, he'll get a roasting from me too." George laughed. "Usually, three strong minded women all in one go would be his idea of heaven. But three very angry women might just be too much, even for John." "I'd have been pretty unlucky to pick it up from you," Said Karen thoughtfully. "I know," Said George, turning in to the car park in front of her office. "But go and get tested anyway." As she walked up the stairs to her office, she wondered if John had any idea of what he was probably carrying around inside him. Did he even know what Chlamydia was, and that if left untreated, it could make a woman infertile? Sure, neither she nor Jo had any plans to have any more children, in fact George would rather cut out her own eyes than do that again. But that didn't mean that John could play fast and loose with anyone's sexual health, especially not with the two women he so often said he loved. 


	154. Part One Hundred And Fifty Four

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Fifty Four

George hated everything for the next few days. She couldn't sleep with John, and she couldn't sleep with Karen. The doctor had warned her not to sleep with anyone, man or woman, until she was completely cured. This meant that her usual level of frustration and tactless comments was exponentially increased. Her secretary was almost ready to resign, and anyone who represented the people her clients were fighting, found themselves coming under the verbal knife at every possible opportunity. Everyone who worked with or alongside George had thought she'd mellowed down a lot in the last eighteen months or so, but they were all beginning to question their judgment on this point, after a few days of a distinct return to the old Georgia Channing. But, on the fourth day after her utterly humiliating confirmation from the doctor, she received two phone calls. The first was from Karen, to say that no, she didn't have anything resembling a sexually transmitted infection, which definitely meant George and possibly Jo had picked it up from John, not her. "This is driving me mad," Said George, and Karen could hear George's resolve beginning to crack. "I really didn't think that a simple case of sexual frustration could drive someone completely insane." Karen laughed. "How long are the antibiotics for?" She asked. "A fortnight," Replied George miserably. "Oh well," Said Karen cheerfully. "Only just over a week to go, and then I'll give you the best night you've had in a long time," She said, lowering her voice to that husky, incredibly sultry, sexy level that never failed to turn George to jelly. "Don't talk to me like that when I'm in the office," She said, half amused, half pleading. Her office door was firmly shut, but she wasn't about to be caught half-aroused in the middle of the working day. "Perhaps that's the answer," Said Karen contemplatively. "What is?" Said George, her frustration almost palpable. "Well, if your secretary is going to get the slightest chance of a moment's peace from you," She said, a smile in her voice. "Then you need to release some of that tension that's coming off you in waves." "Well, at the moment," Said George, the old bite returning to her voice. "That's pretty bloody impossible." "In the normal way," Continued Karen unperturbed, "Yes, it is. But seeing as my voice appears to turn you on at the merest suggestion, maybe it could be put to good use." A slow, wicked grin crossed George's face. "Good god," She said in realisation. "I haven't done that since I was married to John and he spent so much time travelling all over the country defending anyone at a moment's notice." She stretched like a cat, thinking that Karen's suggestion definitely held possibilities. "So, will that thought keep you going till tonight?" Asked Karen with a smile. "Definitely," George replied, in the slightly exaggerated upper class drawl that had attracted Karen to her in the first place. 

The second call she received was from Jo. "Yes," She simply said, "I have got Chlamydia." "And Karen hasn't, so I think we know where and who we got it from." "I haven't felt so humiliated since the day I had to go and ask for a termination," Said Jo, and George could hear the resurface of some of Jo's worst memories. "Are you all right?" Asked George in gentle concern. "Yes," Said Jo, making an effort to keep it together. "I'm just angry, quietly but murderously angry. I don't think I've been this angry since John told me he'd slept with his therapist." "Well then," Said George decisively, "I think it's time we poured some of our combined fury over his head. Don't you?" "Oh, yes," Replied Jo. "He's not going to forget this in a hurry." "Why not ask him over this evening?" Suggested George. "Make him think he's got a relaxing evening in store, and hopefully he'll go away thinking that his fights with me when we were married, were a picnic compared to what's coming to him." 

As it was a Friday, Jo asked John to come over that evening. She asked him to come later, making work the excuse for her not cooking for him. Jo knew that she certainly wouldn't be able to sit through a meal with John, with all the anger and hurt churning away inside her, and she thought that George's ability to eat full stop would have disappeared completely. All day, as she dealt with clients and prepared her opening speech for the trial that was starting on Monday, her thoughts kept going back to John. Just where or from whom had he caught this? And more to the point, how long had they all had it? The doctor had told her that a disease such as Chlamydia often had no symptoms whatsoever, meaning that she could have had it for ages without knowing. He had also said that if left untreated, it had the potential to make the infected woman infertile. She was forty-three now, and no, having any more children certainly wasn't something that she thought of as being on her personal agenda. But that did not give John the right to put her at risk like this. George had been having similar thoughts, spontaneously breaking into bouts of sheer fury at the thought of it. However, as she had to wait all through the day before tackling John, her fires were allowed to build, the coals of rage being stoked up in readiness to release her wrath. 

When she arrived at Jo's just before nine that evening, she was relieved to see that John wasn't there yet. She needed some time, and a very large, very dry Martini before she began on him. When Jo let her in, she could see that George was as tense as reinforced concrete. When she'd closed the front door, and they were moving towards the living-room, Jo put a hand on George's shoulder, turning her to face her, and enclosing her in a pair of gentle arms. No words needed to be said, they were both feeling hurt, angry and betrayed. George returned the embrace, resting her cheek against Jo's neck, taking in the warm, subtly female fragrance of her skin. "Are you all right?" Jo asked, gently running her hands over George's back, easing some of the tension out of her muscles. "I am now," George sighed almost contentedly, wishing she could stay here forever. "But I've been verbally scrapping with everyone all week." Jo laughed softly into George's hair. "I should feel sorry for your secretary." "She'll resign if I'm not careful." When George drew slightly back from her, Jo could see the question in her eyes. George clearly wanted to kiss her, but she wasn't sure if such a gesture would be welcome in their current situation. When Jo gave her a soft encouraging smile for an answer, George reached up to tentatively place her lips on Jo's. The last time they'd done this had been just before the performance of 'The Creation', and it felt as though they'd waited far too long to do it again. Their lips were soft and gentle, exchanging a warmth that went far beyond the texture of their skin. "I needed that," George said when they eventually came up for air. "Could you do with a drink?" Jo asked, fondly touching her cheek. "Definitely," George replied. "A positively enormous martini might just help me to give him his just desserts." 

When John arrived, about half an hour later, George breathed an inward sigh of relief. Yes, she knew that the coming row would be a huge one, but she couldn't go on waiting as she had been doing. She'd been lighting one cigarette from another, the tension positively exuding from her every pore. John was surprised to see George's car in the drive, because he hadn't been expecting her to join them. "I wasn't expecting to see you tonight," He said when he walked into the lounge. "Surprises come in many forms, John," She said sardonically. As he moved to kiss her, she jerked away from him, walking away to put the coffee table between them. "What have I done?" He asked, sitting down on the sofa, and getting that old familiar feeling of apprehension that usually preceded one of George's tirades. "Oh, he's learning, Jo," George said with a brittle smile. "Mind you, he's had years of giving us both the run around to acquire the practice." "All right," John said impatiently. "Cut to the chase. We've all had a hard week, and could no doubt do without your particular form of verbal sparring." "Would you like me to pour you a glass of wine, John?" Jo asked almost sweetly. "Because I think you're going to need it," She added with more bitterness than he'd heard in her for a long time. This worried him far more than George's sniping. Putting out every one of her spiky barbs, was George's raison d'etre. She lived for fighting, both in court and out of it. Even though she had mellowed down significantly over the last couple of years, it didn't mean that she couldn't be riled up in an instant if necessary. But Jo was different. John positively hated it when Jo was angry with him, because he could always see her hurt just below the rage. "You better have one too," He said to George. "It might help to quell some of the smoke that's coming out of your ears." He knew he was goading her, but until he had been accused of something against which he could mount a defence, he would go on giving just as good as he got. Instead of seeking to put out her fire, George lit up another cigarette. She couldn't stay still, her body like a coiled spring, getting ready for the kill. "A couple of weeks ago," She began, once John had been given his glass of wine, and Jo had sat off to the side in an armchair. "I had a routine smear test. I was then written to, and invited to return for further consultation. Now, why do you think that could be?" "I've no idea," John replied, his tone belying the fact that he was fervently hoping that she was all right. "Well," George went on, taking a long and satisfied drag. "I was politely informed, that casually germinating away inside me, is a lovely little disease called Chlamydia." "Ah," John said quietly, the thoughts slowly and painfully coming together, to tell him that he had given it to her. "Oh, you know what it is, do you," She said scornfully. "Well, I suppose that's a start. You see, not only did you give it to me, but you also gave it to Jo. The only respect in which you have been lucky with this, is that Karen didn't manage to pick it up from me, though I am told that could have been possible. So, what was her name, John, or are you going to tell us that she isn't relevant. I do hope for your sake and hers, that it isn't someone either of us knows." His thoughts briefly straying to the Sunday afternoon he'd spent with Yvonne, John tried to formulate an answer. 

"I think her name was Angela," He said eventually, for the moment not looking at Jo because he couldn't bear to see the hurt in her face. "Oh, a real little angel she must have been," George said sarcastically. "Is she your only conquest since this relationship began, or is she one of a few?" "She's the only one," John told her, knowing that if either of them ever knew about Yvonne, he really would be for the high jump. As George took another drag, John used the opportunity to start apologising. "I'm sorry," He said, looking between her and Jo. "Oh, really," Jo replied scathingly. "So why did you do it?" "Jo, I..." "I thought this relationship actually meant something to you, John," She continued, furious tears rising to her eyes. "Let's face it, that's why it originally began, to keep you on the straight and narrow. I don't want to hear the apologies, I don't want to know how sorry you are, because you've been saying that for as long as I've known you. I just want to know why, so that we might both have some idea of how to stop you doing it again." "Or shall I take a shot in the dark," George put in, bringing his gaze back on her. "Because I can think of only one thing that might have made you wander again after all this time." "You make me sound like a roving tomcat," He said disgustedly. "Oh, and do you blame me?" George retorted hotly. "Would I be right in suggesting, that you picked up this little angel of death to fertility, on the night we had that awful row?" She could see immediately by his face that she was right. "But... You..." Jo just stared at him, the clashing thoughts in her mind removing her capacity to formulate a coherent sentence. "I all but accused you of doing that, the night after that rehearsal, where you and George..." She didn't finish the description. "I said to you, how do I know whether or not you did exactly that, and you said you hadn't." John felt terrible. He knew he'd been skating on the thin edge of truth that evening, when she'd told him how bad things had been for George that weekend. "I'm sorry, Jo," He said, the weight of guilt for what he'd done to her pressing down on him. "Do you know what Chlamydia does, John?" George continued. When he didn't answer, she said, "If it is left undiagnosed and untreated for a significant amount of time, it can render the woman infertile." "Well," He responded without thinking. "You're not planning to have any more, are you?" "And do you think that makes what you did any less actionable?" She demanded. "No, perhaps not," He replied, growing tired of her prosecution. "But you've only had it three months, less than. I'm sorry that I didn't live up to expectation, though quite why you still expect me to after all these years is beyond me, but I can't turn the clock back. I'm assuming you've both been given a course of antibiotics for this, so I'll go and get some for myself. I really am sorry for breaking my promise, but your shouting at me isn't going to achieve anything." "So, what you're saying," George strove to clarify his assertion. "Is that if we hadn't argued as furiously as we did that night, you wouldn't have gone out and screwed some random tart?" "I wish you wouldn't talk like that," He said almost as an aside. "But yes, if you like, that argument got to me more than I'd thought it would. Forgetting about it for a while seemed to be the best solution at the time." "What did she look like?" George threw back at him, using the increasing hurt to fuel her anger. "You don't need to know that," He told her, not wanting to admit that the girl, Angela, had looked just like George at twenty-years-old. "No, go on," Jo prompted. "I'm interested. It would be nice to know precisely what you find attractive these days." Looking straight into George's eyes, where she stood across from him, John took the bull by the horns. "She looked very much like you did, when I first met you," He said quietly. This hit George smack in the gut, making her stand stock-still, staring at him in horror. Feeling the tears mounting in her throat, and the hurt at his actions almost choking her, she rounded the coffee table and moved swiftly towards him. As she raised her hand to deliver the slap, Jo saw in an instant what she was about to do. "George, no," She protested, but it was too late. The crack of George's hand connecting with John's cheek was a sound that none of them would ever forget. It had been easy for George, because she was standing, and John was sitting on the sofa. As a result of George's exponentially increased stress levels, she'd not eaten much all week, and this had meant that she'd lost even more weight than she normally managed to maintain. The delicate sapphire ring of her mother's that she always wore on the forth finger of her right hand, had slid round her finger, so that the jewel was on the inside. As her frightened eyes flitted between her upraised hand and the cut on John's cheek, she could feel all the anger draining out of her. There was a long, awful pause, as they all took in what George had done. John just stared at her, not knowing what on earth he could say. Not even during the countless times he'd played away during their marriage, had she ever done anything like this. His face stung where that sapphire had caught him, and as he became aware of the slight trickle of blood running down his cheek, he rose from the chair, barely sparing either of them a backward glance, and strode out of the front door. 


	155. Part One Hundred And Fifty Five

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part One Hundred And Fifty Five

As John drove away from Jo's house, he couldn't believe what had just happened. Yes, he knew that George was furious with him, but to strike him as she had done, that was something else altogether. Jo had seen what George had been about to do, and she'd tried to stop her. That surely meant that Jo wasn't as angry with him as George, but he secretly knew that this was clutching at straws. George had exhibited the anger of their situation, Jo the hurt. It caused him a physical pain to see such a feeling of betrayal in Jo's eyes, it always did. So why did he keep on doing this to her? What he'd said to George had been right, if they hadn't argued as bitterly as they had back in April, he never would have picked up Angela, and they now wouldn't be in this predicament. Did that make it his fault, or George's? He wasn't sure, not entirely his at any rate. But the Chlamydia hadn't been why she'd slapped him, that had been due to the fact that he'd picked up a girl who'd looked very like George, when he'd first met her at that New Year's Eve party when she was only twenty years old. God, he thought to himself that was nearly thirty years ago now. So much had happened to all of them in that time, so much that he'd done wrong, and couldn't really put right. 

When he drew up outside Karen's flat, he wondered for a moment why he'd come here. She obviously knew about the Chlamydia, because she would have been tested for it herself. Hoping that he wasn't about to see a similar performance from her, he locked the car and rang the doorbell. When Karen opened the door and saw the blood running down his face onto his pristine white shirt, she grinned broadly. "Did George do that?" She asked in greeting as she let him in. "It's not funny," He insisted, following her up the stairs. "No, of course not," She replied, trying to force a serious expression onto her face and failing. "Not in all the fights we've had, has she ever done anything like this," He said as they reached the lounge. "Well, now you know how I felt when Denny did similar to me," Karen said matter-of-factly. "That's different," He protested disgustedly. "George wasn't out of her mind on speed." "Anger can be just as powerful, John, and she's been building up to this row all week. Add a hefty dose of hurt and sexual frustration to the mix, and there you are." "Have you got some cotton wool or something?" He asked, wanting to remove the evidence of George's wrath as quickly as possible. "Sure," Karen said, leading him towards the bathroom. "And then I'm going to give you, the most humiliating lecture you've ever had in your life," She promised firmly. "Oh, I'll look forward to it," He replied sardonically, seeing that she hadn't even started yet. 

When John had cleaned the cut on his face, and joined Karen back in the lounge, she poured them both a glass of wine and they sat on the sofa. "So," Karen said, lighting a cigarette. "Are you going to tell me what this was all about?" "Back in April, when George and I had that fairly bad argument, I got over it by picking someone up in a bar after George threw me out. Her name was Angela, and no, I don't know her last name. I'm not proud of it, but I thought it was just one of those things." "Is there anyone else, who ought to go and find out if they're carrying around the same nasty little surprise?" Karen asked silkily. "Such as Yvonne for example?" John stared at her. No, she couldn't, she couldn't possibly know about Yvonne! "Please tell me that neither Jo nor George know about that?" He asked almost hoarsely. "No, and they never will. I only worked it out, because I know you far better than you think I do." "How long have you known?" "Since about the middle of April. So, if that was when you picked up this woman, Yvonne doesn't need to know about the Chlamydia." "I can't believe she slapped me," He said, the shock only just sinking in. "Yeah, well, if you'd managed to give it to me too, I'd have been tempted to give you one on the other side," Karen said firmly. "They're hurt, John," She added more gently. "Hurt and angry. George will probably be just as shocked as you are that she slapped you, and she'll probably feel incredibly guilty for it. Give her a day or two, and she'll almost certainly come and apologise." "I know I shouldn't have broken my word, but it's not as if I've never done it before," He tried to reason with her. "And it's not as if Chlamydia isn't curable. I'm not entirely sure I know what all the fuss is about." Restraining the urge to wring his neck, Karen replied with an ever-decreasing supply of patience. "John, do I have to treat you like my son?" She demanded curtly. "Because I can assure you that right now, you really are behaving like him." John opened his mouth to tell her precisely why he was behaving nothing like her son, and then closed it again. Tonight wasn't the night for revelations that it wasn't his place to provide. "Not to put too fine a point on it," Karen continued. "You've given Jo and George, something that you picked up from being inside another woman. Now, they've both had this for almost three months, which means they will both have been going over and over the times they've slept with you during that time, wondering precisely when you passed it onto them. I'm sure that some time this evening, one or the other of them has pointed out to you, that Chlamydia can make a woman infertile, if left long enough. I know that neither of them has any plans to have any more children, but that does not give you the right to take that kind of risk with their health. I don't want to frighten you, though perhaps I ought to, but something as catastrophic as HIV can be passed on in exactly the same way." Again John's thoughts strayed to Ross. Had she ever given him this type of lecture, told him how to keep himself and others safe from that particular infection? Yes, she almost certainly had. "John," Karen added regretfully. "If you insist on picking up nameless, faceless women, even though you've got more love and commitment at home than most people find in their entire lifetime, then you must, be, careful. I cannot impress that on you too strongly." "Am I supposed to feel humiliated?" He asked after a long, thoughtful pause. "Yes, to a certain extent," Karen told him matter-of-factly. "So that in future, you might spare the most fleeting of thoughts to possible consequences." After taking a swig of his wine, He said, "I don't think it was this that made George slap me. They wanted to know what she looked like, and I don't think George was very happy with the response." Karen simply raised an eyebrow, inviting him to continue. "She looked just like George, when she was only twenty, when I first met her. She had hair right down her back, and was wearing a skirt that was virtually non-existent." Karen winced. "Then I'm hardly surprised she slapped you," She said bitterly. "Knowing that you'd picked up someone who resembled what she used to be, that would have hurt her immensely, John." "I know," He said regretfully. "I think I picked on her, because I wanted to remember a time when George had been happy with me, when she hadn't begun to question who I was." "We all change, John," Karen said quietly. "Believe me, there is nothing I would like more, than to go back to a time when Ross still appreciated my existence, and didn't disagree with me purely on principle. But I can't, and you can't do the same with either George or Jo." It hurt John immensely to hear her talking so regretfully about her son, because she didn't know the half of it. "Your son doesn't know how lucky he is," John said vehemently, with a depth of emotion in his voice that Karen couldn't place. "I'll send him to see you, when we have our next row," She said philosophically. "You do that," John said quietly, fervently hoping that one day, she could. 

When John had left, they listened as his car roared away. George was standing where she'd been when John had stalked out, just staring at the hand she'd used to slap his face. After a moment's silence, Jo got up from her chair and slowly walked over to George, seeing such an expression of appalled bewilderment on her face that she instantly forgave her. Taking George's still upraised right hand in hers, Jo swivelled the sapphire ring round to face the right way, and gently persuaded George to sit down beside her on the sofa. "I can't believe I just did that," George said into the silence, her hand still in Jo's. "Yes, it was something of a shock," Jo said in that understated fashion that right now, was necessary. "Jo, I didn't mean to do it, just... I... I just saw red when he said that she'd looked like me." "Which is perfectly understandable," Jo said reasonably. "No, no, it isn't," George protested vehemently. "I did precisely what Neil did to me nearly two years ago. I reacted without thinking to something that really riled me. That's just what he did. That makes me as bad as him. I should go and find John right now, and tell him I'm sorry." She had tears in her eyes by this time, and all Jo could do was to put her arms round her. "Listen," She said slowly and deliberately, trying to calm George down. "Talking to John tonight is the last thing you should do. You both need to calm down, which means that you both need some space from each other. Let him lick his wounds, and go and see him in a day or two. You're not the only one who'll have some grovelling to do." "But don't you get it?" George asked in complete despair. "This was my fault. Most of the bitterly horrible things that were said between us back in April, most of them came from me. If I hadn't said some of the things I did, he might not have picked up that girl, and we wouldn't be in this situation now. You've ended up with this utterly disgusting disease, all because I don't know when to keep my mouth shut." "George," Jo held her at arm's length and slightly shook her. "I am not going to let you do this. Arguments happen, even terrible ones that you instantly regret for whatever reason, but it's how we deal with them that counts. Going out and picking up the first woman to catch his eye, was the worst way of dealing with an argument that John could have chosen. You always have to find a reason to feel guilty, even when it's clearly not you who needs to feel it. This, is, not, your, fault, and I will not let you blame yourself for something John has done. That's John, not you, not me, but John. No, you shouldn't have slapped him, but he will forgive you, I know he will." "I hope so," George said quietly, grateful for Jo's unending wisdom. "Who's was the ring?" Jo asked, touching the jewel that had cut John's face. "It was my mother's," George said regretfully. "Daddy wouldn't be very pleased that I'd inadvertently used it to hurt someone." "You'll lose it if you're not careful." "It usually is a bit loose, but I've not eaten much this week, so it's acquired even more room for manoeuvre," George said dryly. Jo knew that George's assertion of not having eaten much was probably on the conservative side, but she didn't comment. "Do you feel like eating something now?" Jo asked, hoping she would though not banking on it. "Thank you for the concern, darling," George said with a fond smile. "But eating is definitely the last thing I want to contemplate." "You can't blame me for trying," Jo said a little sheepishly. 

After putting on some soft music and topping up their glasses, Jo returned to the sofa, she and George slipping into the type of closeness that neither were used to with the other, as if they'd been doing it all their lives. Few words needed to be spoken, as it was the closeness that mattered. With her head on Jo's shoulder, George could hear the reassuring sound of her breathing, together with the slow, regular thud of her heart. Jo smiled to herself when she realised that she was running each strand of George's hair through her fingers, knowing that two years ago, this would have been unthinkable. Each woman was submerged in her own thoughts, the soft music and their gentle embrace, serving to relax them both. "I could get used to this," George said, breaking in on their mood of growing tranquillity. "Is there any reason why you shouldn't?" Jo asked softly. "Yes, at the moment there is," George said regretfully. "Karen. I can't go on keeping her in the dark like this, Jo." Taking in a long, slow breath, Jo had to admit that she was right. "I've got to tell her soon," George persisted gently. "You know I have." "Yes," Jo said quietly. "I know. I suppose I'm just not ready to tell John quite yet, and we can't tell one without the other." "Darling, I'm not trying to pressure you," George assured her. "I just want you to give some thought to it, that's all." "Thank you," Jo said gratefully, briefly touching her cheek. "I almost told John, the day of the performance," George admitted with a wry smile. "I didn't, but I came very close to it." "Oh, and what led to such an impulse?" When George blushed, Jo laughed. "If you can't talk about it, George, then you certainly shouldn't be contemplating doing it." "I'll remember that one, thank you," George said with a smirk, thinking that she might one day have to turn that little saying back on Jo. "I'm not sure you'll really want to know," George added, wishing she hadn't started this conversation. "You've started now," Jo goaded her. "So finish." "I was lying on the sofa, giving John oral, which isn't something I do very often, and I was presented with the rather tantalising image, of me doing that, and being watched by you." "Well, well, Ms Channing, how positively deviant of you," Jo said grinning broadly. "Don't you start," George said blushing even further. "That's pretty much what he said." "Oh, well," Jo said philosophically. "I suppose you could always show me how it's done." "Have you never tried it?" George asked, without an ounce of scorn or disbelief in her tone. "Once or twice, but I've never found it that appealing, and I've only ever taken it so far." "Well, believe me, the end result is definitely anything other than appealing. Whereas doing that for a woman, well, I personally think it's one of the most erotic pastimes in the world." George had drawn slightly back from Jo, so that she could look straight into her eyes, and after proclaiming her particular liking, she ran the tip of her tongue across her upper lip, leaving Jo wondering just what else she could do with it. When their lips met, the exploration was deep and lingering, possibly the most sensual they'd yet shared. "Did you really find that idea worth thinking about?" Jo asked, when they came up for air. "Oh, yes," George said firmly. "The eventual orgasm was so mind blowing, that it made me pass out, not something I've done through sex before. But it was when I came round that I nearly told him about us. It just struck me that this was all getting far too complicated, at least far more complicated than it was ever supposed to be. I know it's going to hurt Karen, and that's the last thing I want to do, but unfortunately, it's unavoidable. There will never be a good time to do it, so no, I'm not in any great rush." They stayed like this for a while, softly kissing, and murmuring gentle words of affection. Glancing at her watch a good while later, George said, "I should go, whilst I can still drive." "I'd rather you didn't," Jo said quietly, not altogether sure how George would take her invitation. "You want me to stay?" George clarified. "Yes," Jo told her simply. But when George's eyes widened in surprise, she added, "Just to sleep." 

A while later, when she'd leant George a nightie and a toothbrush, Jo was lying in her soft, double bed, listening to George taking a quick shower. She'd had a bath earlier in the evening, trying to make herself relax a little before the row began, though it hadn't really worked. When George appeared in the bedroom doorway, Jo glanced up at her and laughed. "You look ridiculous," She said, as George cross to the bed. George was wearing one of Jo's nighties, and as a result of Jo's greater height and slightly fuller build, it almost hung off her. "I've no doubt," George said with a laugh of her own, as she turned back the duvet and slid in beside Jo. She was lying on Jo's left, presumably where John usually did. How would it work if there were three of them? George couldn't begin to imagine. It seemed so natural to move into each other's arms, though this was the closest they'd ever been. The contours of their bodies appeared to fit together like a jigsaw, leaving no gaps between them. "This feels odd, but right, if that makes any sense," Jo said, smiling a little at her confusion. "I know," George agreed with her. "It does, the first few times." When they kissed, they could taste the other's toothpaste, their own distinct flavour becoming gradually familiar. Jo's hands occasionally moved on George's back, coming into contact with her very prominent and bony shoulder blades. But after a while, she said, "I have an almost overwhelming urge to touch you," watching George's face for any sign of disapproval. "You already are," George replied, laughing softly. Then, at Jo's slight look of embarrassment, she added more seriously, "Darling, there's no one here telling you not to." Very slowly, gazing into George's endless blue eyes as she did so, Jo gradually moved her hand round to the front of the nightie George was wearing. George's breast was undoubtedly smaller than hers, but its size suited George's slighter frame. It was so soft under the cotton of the nightie, really the only fleshy part of George's body. George began to relax under Jo's tentative caresses, and when she felt Jo's finger graze over her nipple, she gasped. It was odd, Jo thought, that George's nipple could be so hard, so erect, compared to the softness of the rest of her breast. Jo wasn't sure what made her do it, but after a short time of doing this to George, she felt for George's hand, and led it to her own breast. Perhaps she didn't want to be the only one doing this, or perhaps she simply wanted some of what she was doing to George. This hadn't really surprised George, but before accepting Jo's invitation, she exchanged a questioning glance with her, just to make sure that this was what she wanted. Jo's chest was definitely fuller than her own, though not as extensive as Karen's. When Jo felt George's gentle hand on her, she stopped what she was doing for a moment, because the sensation was so new to her. No man had ever been so gentle, so delicate, so sensitive to each and every pleasure point. "You do realise," George said between kisses. "That because of the Chlamydia, we really can't take this much further." "Would you want to though, if it was possible?" Jo asked, wanting to be sure. "Without a doubt," George said unequivocally. "Would you?" "Yes." They continued like this for a while, exchanging long, glorious kisses, and gentle though nonetheless arousing caresses, until Jo tentatively slid her hand inside the low-cut V-shaped front of George's nightie. When George felt Jo's beautifully smooth, infinitely female fingers on her skin, she couldn't help but emit a moan of pleasure. Jo moved her hand to the other breast this time, coaxing that nipple in turn to full hardness. Following Jo's actions, George slipped her hand under the cotton, finding Jo's warm, soft skin ready and waiting for her. Their hands began stroking in rhythm with each other, moving over soft flesh and teasing at nipples. Jo couldn't believe she was finally doing this, that after all this time she was actually touching and arousing another woman. George's breathing had noticeably quickened, her kisses becoming more frantic. Jo had let out a cry of surprise when George had encountered her bare nipple, but other than this, she hadn't made hardly any sound at all, usually being fairly quiet in bed. Realising that George was approaching a climax, Jo altered her position so that she could give George attention from both hands, gently rolling her nipples between finger and thumb. George felt incredible. Not for more years than she cared to remember, had she been in danger of coming just from this. But here she was, fast approaching an orgasm, just from having her nipples played with, and by someone who'd never done anything of the sort in her life. When she came, her whole body stiffened, her teeth clenching so as not to let out the cry of abandon that she might have under normal circumstances. Jo watched her in fascination, the sight of George reaching orgasm possibly the most intensely bizarre thing she had ever witnessed. When George let out a long, satisfied sigh, pulling Jo against her, Jo kissed her and smiled. "Sorry about that," George said sheepishly. "Oh, my pleasure," Jo said dryly. "That was certainly something of an eye opener to say the least." "I should have waited for you though," George said apologetically. "Whilst trying not to cast aspersions on your unquestionable skill," Jo said with a fond smile. "I don't think you would achieve the same result with me, just from that. It usually takes an awful lot to get me to go that far." "I can try, if you want me to." "No, not tonight. Just having you here, is more than overwhelming enough." As they lay cuddled in each other's arms, contemplating the entire evening's events, they both wondered how this whole complicated tangle of feelings would eventually pan out. Karen would be hurt, John would be confused, and would they all be able to come through it. As Jo watched George's eyes finally close, she reflected on how far they'd come in the last two years. Instead of sniping, bitching, fighting at every possible opportunity, she and George were now sleeping in the same bed, held safe in the other's arms, and destined one day to do far more. 


	156. Part One Hundred And Fifty Six

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Fifty Six

When Jo awoke on the Saturday morning, George was sprawled sound asleep next to her, breathing softly, and with a look of total tranquility on her face. She looked so peaceful in sleep, that Jo could barely put this woman lying here, with that of the furious being of last night. She knew why George had been so angry, and in truth, she had also felt the rage building in her at John's blatant disregard of the seriousness of the situation. But George shouldn't have slapped him. Jo knew that George had felt guilty for reacting in that way, and she also knew that George would eventually summon up the courage to apologise to John. Would she, Jo, have slapped him, she wondered? Had she ever been angry enough with him to do something like that? She didn't know. Almost as if she could feel Jo's wandering scrutiny, George gradually opened her eyes. George felt so comfortable, lying here in Jo's bed, the inviting warmth of her body only inches away. "You look so peaceful when you sleep," Jo said quietly, seeing that George was awake. "I suppose there has to be a first time," George replied with a yawn. They moved into each other's arms, both feeling that drowsy, early morning softness that demanded no urgency. Nothing needed to be said, because no words were remotely adequate to express how content they felt. They could hear the birds gently twittering through the open window, the soft, early morning breeze promising another hot July day. 

A few hours later when she eventually tore herself away from Jo's gentle company, George felt that lazy, sultry type of relaxed that only a sunny day could bring. After dropping in at home to change her clothes, she thought she might just call on Daddy. It was funny, she mused to herself, that whenever she had something to confess, she always sought out her father, even if she didn't really want to tell him what she'd done. If it hadn't been for the memory of what she'd done to John weighing a little on her mind, she would have born that aura of serenity that made her eyes shine with happiness. But she had done wrong, and when she was ready, she must ask forgiveness for it. But in the meantime, it probably wouldn't do her any harm to seek Daddy's counsel. 

It was almost one o'clock, and she found her father sitting out on the patio eating lunch. Looking very pleased to see her, Joe was about to rise to his feet, when she waved to him to stay where he was. "Come and join me," He invited, gesturing at the bread and cheese on the table in front of him. Retrieving a coffee cup from the house, George poured herself some of the steaming, black liquid from the ornate pot. "This is an unexpected pleasure," Joe said, cutting himself another slice from the crusty loaf. "I've done something that I suspect you will highly disapprove of," She said, helping herself to some Edam, and taking a few grapes from the bowl. Joe smiled. "And since when has that prompted you to appear at my table? On the contrary, it usually makes you avoid my company for as long as possible." "Daddy, have you ever slapped a woman, in the heat of an argument, I mean?" suddenly putting his knife back down on the plate with a clatter, Joe said, "No, certainly not," Making George wonder if she should ever have broached this subject at all. Then, calming down a little, Joe began spreading butter on his bread, and asked, "What happened?" "I had a row with John," George told him miserably. "And no, believe me, you really don't want to know the details." "That's hardly a surprise," Joe said dryly. "Anyway, it all got a bit heated, and I slapped him. I didn't mean too, at least not really, and I felt terrible immediately afterwards." Joe held up a hand. "George, why are you telling me this?" After taking a sip of her coffee, George replied with, "Why do I ever tell you anything slightly suspect about my life, because you usually have something sensible to say on the subject, because occasionally, I need to be told how stupid I am, and because you always listen." Joe thoughtfully munched on his bread and cheese, mulling over what she'd said. It always touched him when she reaffirmed how much she valued his opinion, and he knew he would always listen to her, no matter what it was she had to tell him. 

"Unless I am very much mistaken," He began slowly. "John has never raised his hand to you. Now, whilst I don't doubt that he is perfectly capable of making you furious enough to react violently to whatever he might have done, that does not give you an excuse. You, must, apologise, and then try to find a far more amicable way of sorting out your differences." "Yes, I know," She said regretfully. "And I will apologise, really I will. I just feel as though, well, as though everything's becoming a bit too complicated." Her voice had descended into that tight, quiet tone that told him there was a lot more to this assertion than met the eye. Gently removing the coffee cup from her hand, because all in all, he was rather fond of his Royal Doulton, he took her hands in his and asked, "Is... Is this anything to do with Karen?" Immediately, George went absolutely still, the ice cold sweat of fear spreading over her body. Her face assumed the blank, thoroughly noncommittal expression that belied her tension. But she couldn't prevent her eyes from flitting around the garden, looking at everything but him. Tentatively clearing her throat, she said, "What, has this, to do with Karen?" The beginnings of a laugh rumbled away in Joe Channing's chest. "Did you really think, that I wouldn't find out about her?" Joe asked her seriously. "I hoped you wouldn't," George said a little hoarsely, not having been prepared for this little shock in the slightest. Then, furiously withdrawing her hands from his, she tried to dash a few angry tears from her eyes. "How, Daddy, how do you always manage to do this? Why is it, that you always seem to know everything, even when I do my damnedest to keep it from you?" "George," Joe tried to reassure her, putting a hand out and laying it on her shoulder. "You don't need to be quite so afraid of my disapproval. Am I so much of an ogre, that you don't feel able to tell me why you've been, for the most part, so much happier over the last few months?" "I didn't think you would understand," She said quietly, feeling a certain amount of guilt and stupidity that she hadn't trusted him. "And I'm not entirely sure that I do," He said fairly. "But what I do know, is that as far as I am aware, you are happy, and I'm not about to severely disagree with that. I don't understand how you could want more than one person in your life at a time, and I don't understand how or why you would want to be involved with another woman, but I'm not about to alienate my only daughter, just because she is living a life I will never quite understand." "That means a lot to me," George said hesitantly, laying a hand over his where it still rested on her shoulder, signs of affection never having been all that common between George and her father. "But how did you find out?" "Ah," Joe said carefully, not wanting to completely drop John in it. "You mustn't blame John for this." "John told you?" George demanded in outrage. "Not directly, no," Joe tried to placate her. "I am quite capable of making deductions without assistance, you know. During the first rehearsal we had for 'The Creation', I saw the expression on her face when you began to sing. I don't think I've ever seen anyone look quite so enchanted as she did then, except perhaps you, when you stood next to John at the altar. That, and other minor occurrences were what led me to believe that there was far more to your friendship with her than met the eye. At the end of May, when John came to see me about something else, I rather unkindly put him on the spot. I was very impressed. He managed to walk that extremely thin line, between giving me the answer to my question, and yet preserving your confidence by not telling me directly. He said something very enlightening to me that day. He said that this was something you had probably thought about for most of your life, but that you were only now getting round to exploring that side of your character." George blushed. "I sometimes think he knows me far too well," She said a little ruefully. "John also said, that as long as you were happy, he would never want to stand in the way of that, and I happen to think, that this is a sentiment which should not be thrown away in a fit of anger. There aren't many men, George, who would allow you the freedom to discover this particular facet of your personality, at the same time as trying to maintain a relationship with them. I never thought I would say this about John, but his love for you, is something that ought to be protected and encouraged, not violently dismissed, just because I suspect he has been up to his old tricks again." After a moment's silence, she said, "Daddy, why do you always make me feel so humble?" "Because that is one of the duties a father is there to perform," He replied with a warm smile, thinking that no matter how old his daughter might be, he would always think of her as the errant, impetuous young girl, whom he had hopefully brought up to value everything she had. 


	157. Part One Hundred And Fifty Seven

Part One Hundred and Fifty Seven

Eventually, John took his leave from Karen to make his leisurely way back to his digs. He drove very sedately back to his digs and his mood was subdued and thoughtful. He quietly let himself in. made himself a cup of tea and sipped it gradually while he lay back in his favourite armchair and surveyed the length of the dining table as it slanted away from him. That view of the length of the room always pleased him, especially when the summer sun brightened up the room. It made it easier for him to contemplate his present situation.

He had never before conceived that his sexual experiences over the years had any consequences over the years except from the very painful and 'one off' experience of when he had made Jo pregnant and that fateful day when he had driven her to have a termination. That memory was one which he had succeeded in blotting out from his conscious memory apart from when it stole its way into his dreams when his spirits were low and his defences were down. There had been so many women in his life and pleasurable experiences as part of a journey in his life, which had been a life affirming confirmation of whoever he was supposed to be. The morning after, he had felt sexually replete as he sprawled contentedly in a tangle of the quilt as he lay on his back. He had presumed that the nameless, faceless blondes felt the same way as he did. Being younger than he was, single and fancy free as far as he was aware, he supposed that they were as agreeable for his departure as he was. In that second, as he walked out that particular door, they were frozen in time. They did not exist beyond that point and somehow, there were no untoward consequences. The saying 'je ne regrette rien' could have summed up his attitude to his experiences over the years. It had become more of a habit in his life than he had cared to contemplate and had carried on up until the point when he became as bound as any legal contract to his three-way relationship. He thought he had behaved impeccably months ago when Jo had broached that very unconventional idea. After all, he had freely given his consent.

Karen's stern, precise clinical treatise had shaken his equilibrium as much as George's hurt anger and Jo's seething rage. She was a friend, after all, and he had been accustomed to his male friends in expressing opinions on impersonal matters with a certain reticence. What further unsettled him was the mobilisation of facts in an area of learning in which she was his superior. This forced him against his will to acknowledge that there was no one who was his intellectual superior. The events of tonight had been an unpalatable lesson that not even he was impregnable.

Unusually for his habits, he helped himself to a large measure of spirits and lay back in contemplation. He had to give ground on this matter as Karen's pitiless logic was framed in terms of real friendship, for his sake as much as for George and Jo and finally herself. That was a sentiment that he could appreciate however unpalatable the message. Perhaps he needed to rethink his ideas a little. It was just that if he were confronted with an image of himself, which he did not like to look at. It was fortunate that the conversation had eventually shifted away from that awkward topic onto safer areas, or so he had first thought. A sharp sense of mingled pity and guilt was next to come to the surface as he remembered that he knew something about Karen's life that Karen herself did not know. He knew that he was naturally inquisitive and that went with his profession. For the first time in his life, he had come into possession of knowledge that he wished that he would sooner not have come by and he was sure that Joe Channing felt likewise. For all their august red robes and emblems of a high and ancient calling, that did not give them universal wisdom. At that moment of laying the problem before the older man, which revealed that Joe himself had similar moments of self-doubt. He sensed that grim events were being played out in Karen's son's life all the time that he led his own parallel existence. He felt impotent as he was utterly unable to influence what was going on, only to watch and wait for who knows what. It was not like him to entrust his destiny to any external force, presence or being but this time, he was compelled to in exactly the same relentless way that he was being forced to examine the consequences of one ill advised impulsive decision. Who knows but one day Karen would come to him for comfort and support and he vowed that if that should happen, he would behave as unselfishly to Karen as she had behaved to him. Truly, sound advice from a good friend could wear the strangest disguises.

Suddenly, a verbal collage of accusing words whirled round his senses, alternating between George's hurt anger and Jo's seething controlled rage "….you wouldn't have screwed some random tart…….""…………..it would be nice to know precisely what you find attractive these days……." "………….do you know what Chlamydia does, John…..""………..oh really, so why did you do it…….?" In this moment when he was at his most tired from a hard week's work and when past events were cruelly forced back into the present, untypically his memory haunted him. Neither George nor Jo should deny that what he had said in his self-defence was not factually correct but that it fell short of the situation that he was starting to see through their eyes. This was most disagreeable, or to put it more accurately, more haunting. It challenged the very basis of who he thought he was.

Suddenly he noticed the piece of scrap paper that had appeared in his hand, something which he had unconsciously been crumpling as he had been immersed deep in thought. The same room was there before him, much as it had been since he had entered it. He threw it in the direction of the wastepaper bin but it just missed its destination. He would have to apologise for his bad behaviour and make the decision that was being forced on him entirely his own. It was only just that he should. He would see Jo first and then George. There was no rhyme or reason as to his choice, it was just random instinct. But what could he say to her? He felt as if he were going to debase himself, to swallow that pride which was such a driving force of his whole personality. He would have to be a supplicant with no mitigating case to present.

He looked at his watch. Had it been so long that he was lost in contemplation? He didn't realise that his deep brooding could take so long and take it out of him. He had not had the easiest of weeks, he conceded to himself but he was forced to admit that there was more to the situation than he had first concluded. He resolved to sleep on the matter.

The next day, it was a hot summer day and he slept in late as he lay in a half dream, half wakeful state of mind. He needed that rest which he normally denied to himself. The sash windows were part open and they lent a soothing fresh breath of air to take the edge off the heat, which he appreciated. When he was ready to get up, he was curiously refreshed, with a purpose in his life. For the rest of the weekend, he had a quiet, almost ascetic existence of perusing the trial papers for the directions finding hearing, which was set for the Monday. The listings sheets indicated that, fortunately, neither Jo nor George would be appearing before him. Instead, the dull and plodding Neumann Mason-Alan and the more fiery though reactionary Brian Cantwell were appearing before him, acting out their ritual moves including asking leading questions and letting their prejudices show. He could handle both of them though since the performance of 'The Creation' their once barbed exchanges had mellowed down to more of a muted ritual. If he couldn't handle them, he smiled ruefully, he must be slipping. Of more concern was the lunchtime break when he made his way back to his chambers and picked out his mobile and nervously punched out the familiar number.  
A friendly voice intoned in her familiar voice in a way that wasn't quite the human being on the other end, the product of new technology which addressed a human being wanting contact by a pre recorded voice. "This is Jo Mills. Please leave a message and I'll get back to you." "Hello, it's John. I really want to talk to you and make up for my bad behaviour……." He could hear his voice stiffen as the last words came out of his mouth. "Please phone me. If you see fit to meet me, I'll see you wherever you choose." The deed was done, he said to himself. All he has to do is to maintain his resolution and let the words choose themselves. He did not exactly know what he was going to say but trusted to whatever in life he trusted to.  
As he intoned the formula to bring both parties back at a date, which suited both Cantwell and Mason-Alan and the respective attendant solicitors, the court usher noted the court record book and laid claim to the courtroom for that slot in time. Such mechanics are easy in contrast to what is required in private life. He smiled briefly, closed the court and went back to his chambers to lie down and take it easy.

All at once, the jangle of his mobile disturbed the silence of his chambers.  
"It's Jo," Said that very real voice of Jo. "I've got your message and I'll see you in chambers in half an hour. It's as good a place as any. So long as you know that you've got a lot of explaining to do." "As bad as that?" Jo's keen hearing detected the distinct undertone of fear in his attempted debonair response. I know you, John Deed, better than you think I do. She smiled briefly to herself but she was only making it light. There was a real sense of anger and betrayal and she was not sure on what she was going to say. It all depended on the way John was going to behave. The time passed slower than he was accustomed as if the second hand on the wall clock was being dragged back and he became a little apprehensive, not that Jo wouldn't turn up but what she would say when she did. This was an experience that was new to him, as his self-assurance with women from an early age had not even allowed himself to ever ask either question of himself. Presently, there was a knock at the door and within seconds, Jo was standing inside the room, her lips pursed and her face expressionless.  
"I've said it before, John, that you phone me and I come running." "This time, I anticipate that matters will be a little different." There was a slight nervous laugh to accompany his reply that was new to both of them. "Take a seat, Jo." "Such formality after knowing you so long," Jo's teasingly arch tones held an undertone of meaning and was clearly playing with him. This made him feel more uncomfortable than ever.  
"Let's come to the point, Jo." "This must be a first," Jo cut back, unconsciously borrowing a phrase from Nikki that she had overheard once. It had that cutting quality that suited her mood right now.  
"It is a first, Jo," John said with a slight tremor in his voice. "I know that I have some explaining to do." "You can say that again, John. Okay, let's hear what you've got to say for yourself." "First of all, I feel dreadful when I realised what I had done to both you and George…….." "……and nearly Karen also…" "I realise now why you were both so upset about the way that I went off the rails a bit. It happened at a bad time for me after having that almighty row with George. I felt that I wasn't loved." There was a slightly woebegone look on John's face that called to a primeval comforting instinct within Jo to clasp him to her bosom like a child and say, there, there, I'll soothe all your troubles away. It came natural to her and women like her as emotional nurturers to follow this blind instinct, from her own sons and probably growing up as a girl. She couldn't put her finger on it, or set out the evidence but she knew that it was there. Somehow, some chance thought in her mind pulled her away from this train of thought. Even John's overwhelming charm, that infuriating ability to make her feel sorry for him did not quite work this time. She remembered George and Karen and felt that she owed them a debt to them 'not to go soft on John'. The moment she arranged those very last words in her mind was the finishing touch. Her arms which had been ready to reach out for John held back.  
"A very good performance, John, but not quite good enough," she finally spoke in stern tones. "Let's look at the facts, the evidence and see where that leads us. That's what you trained me to do so many years ago." John gulped. He was in for trouble and he knew it.  
"You freely entered into an agreement with George and I that you would share a bed individually……" She spoke in an exaggerated legal tones to counteract the effect of John's bullshit and nearly added the phrase 'severally' but she wasn't ready to get into that contentious area. "You have kept your side of the agreement apart from one lapse which could have had serious consequences for us if George hadn't had quite by chance a smear test which immediately cast the finger of suspicion on you, quite rightly as it turned out. The worst part of the matter has been that none of us would have known that we were infected with Chlamydia for months if not years if it had not been for that chance event. Your feeble excuses have been to assume probably rightly that George and I are beyond the age of considering having any more children and that it is easily curable. That does not detract from the point that both of our health were at risk due to your irresponsibility. The fact that you have been ignorant of sexually transmitted diseases only makes you more blameworthy. At your age, you should have known better." If John had felt uncomfortable during Karen's lecture, Jo's controlled incisive anger made him feel as if an ice cold bucket of water was thrown over him with considerable force. He had received her hurt and anger before but this forceful, clinical dissection of his moral deficiencies was the most severe scorching lecture he had had in his life. When he was much younger, he had someway verbally wriggled his way out of his transgressions. His spectacular failure to do so this time had a cataclysmic effect.  
"You know, I never realised how totally lethal you are in your summing up speeches in court," he murmured. It had always been someone else taking the fury, not him.  
"I meant it to be this way. I told you once that you have an addiction and the only answer is tough love. For this reason, I'm not apologising for one syllable of what I've just said. Got that clear?" "Abundantly." It was unfortunate that a nervous habit made his word sound ironic. For once in his life, the very assured debonair man was stripped of his defences but it did not look that way to Jo.The pressure cooker finally blew apart and her feelings of hurt and anger came to the surface.  
"You make absolutely sure that you stay on the wagon for the indefinite future. There are only so many chances that George and I will give you." It was Jo's turn to cast off any layers of assumed roles and theatrical props. Her blue eyes were large, angry and riveted John's attention with her sheer anger. John looked into her. She meant it. "I'm truly sorry to you and George. I mean every word I say. I couldn't bear to lose either of you as friends much less as lovers. I couldn't bear it." Jo looked deep into John's soul. He had had a really bad scare and she believed his simply delivered words. At last she believed him. "Just as long as you keep your word. Your word is all you've got, as you told Roe Colmore once." John remembered those words he had uttered vividly. He had meant every word he had said. It shook him for those words to be turned round on him like lethal weapons.  
"Am I forgiven?" Jo shook her head in exasperation at that little boy look of his but the first real smile spread across her face.  
"You are impossible, John. I won't forget but I'll forgive you on condition. You know what I mean. George and I don't want to lose you, that's all. " John melted into Jo's arms. She had driven the toughest bargain in his life and he felt drained but curiously relieved at confessing all. He was relieved deep down at retrieving that false step in his life. It was just like him that the words had to be dragged out of him to say so. 


	158. Part One Hundred And Fifty Eight

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Fifty Eight

On the Thursday evening, George finally decided that it really was about time she broke the silence between her and John. But as she drove over to the judges' digs, she wondered how he would be towards her. He would probably do what he always did after they'd had one of their rows, be unbearably polite whilst waiting for some sign or signal from her, to either relight her anger, or banish it altogether. It was a very clever ploy, she thought wryly to herself, to force her to make the decision as to how they would behave. As she walked up the carpeted stairs and along the corridor towards his rooms, she could hear his violin. So, he was playing, which would definitely mean that he was at least relaxed. Not wanting to disturb such a beautiful sound, she slipped silently through the unlocked door, and stood in the shadows, just taking in the purity of his art. 

John was standing with his back to her, but he was immediately aware of her presence, by the subtle aroma of her familiar perfume. He knew why she'd come, and he could feel her tension in the air around him. She was frightened of the reception she would receive from him, and she felt unbearably guilty for slapping him on the previous Friday evening. He knew George so well by now, that he could nearly always interpret her feelings, simply from being in the same room as her. She wasn't trying to hide them tonight, which made it all the easier. He kept on playing, letting her think that he wasn't aware of her being there, letting the music gradually seep into her soul and persuade her to relax. He was playing one of the Mozart violin concertos, fervently wishing that he had an orchestra to accompany him as he sailed rapidly through the many pages of the score. Purely to please his audience, he added an extra poignancy to the slow movement, trying to express his own apology through the music. George wasn't the only one who was sorry for what she had done. John had been accorded quite enough time to feel some sense of regret for his reckless actions back in April, a regret that he had expressed to Jo only two days ago. 

When he reached the end of the fast and furious third movement, he still didn't break their silence, instead making his way over to where the violin case lay open on the table, and laying his instrument and its bow gently down in the padded satin lining. When he'd fastened the silver clips of the case with slow deliberation, he walked over to stand in front of her, fixing her with his soft inviting gaze. They stood like this for some moments, neither knowing quite what to say. Their eyes seemed to be saying everything for them, the two pairs of endless orbs telegraphing their every emotion. He could see equal amounts of need and hesitation battling in her expression, as she didn't know whether to seek his embrace, or to maintain her distance. The look of sheer relief that passed over her face when he gently put his arms round her, touched his heart, but still they didn't say a word. Their eyes were fixed on each other, as if never to be torn asunder ever again, the growing electricity crackling between them, forming an arc along which so many varied feelings were projected, from need, to apology, to plain and simple love. When, by a single move, they clung even closer together, their lips furiously crushing against the other, determined to leave no space unfilled, it took both their breath away, and seemed to release the words they had so far been unable to express. "I'm sorry," George said almost desperately, her voice very unsteady with the depth of feeling coursing through her. "So am I," John replied, equally unsteadily, the relief at having her back in his arms again throwing him temporarily off balance. They moved haphazardly over to the couch, mouths and hands perpetually wandering, the instinctive attempt to remove the other's clothing a predictable part of their usual pattern. But when they were lying in each other's arms on the long sofa, John's hands trying to undo the buttons of her blouse, George suddenly remembered the seriousness of their current situation. "John, we can't," She said a little feverishly, taking his hand in hers and halting his progress. "We can't, not until it's gone." Inwardly cursing every lack of thought that had made him pick up this damned disease in the first place, John stopped what he was doing with a significant amount of effort. She could see the battle going on inside him, the suppressing of his desire, fighting against the desperate need to let it run its course. When his pulse had calmed somewhat, and he was back in control of his body, he simply lay there, breathing in the familiar smell of her hair, and revelling in the feeling of having her close to him again. 

"I think we need to talk," She said eventually, knowing that they couldn't stay like this forever. Still keeping his arms round her, as if he was afraid that he might lose her again, he agreed. "All right," He said, dropping feather-light kisses along her jaw line. "Tell me why you slapped me." Before she fulfilled his request, she ran a delicate finger along his cheekbone, to where the tiniest mark bore evidence of the cut her sapphire ring had given him. "I couldn't bear the fact that you'd cheated on us with someone who looked like me, or at least who looked how I used to, when you first met me, far too many years ago. It felt as though you'd wanted to completely eradicate everything that's happened in between, which I suspect, for a time, you probably did. When I thought about it afterwards, part of me couldn't really blame you, because I was far nicer, and far less complicated at twenty, than I am at nearly fifty, but then the saying is absolutely right, the truth really does hurt. I felt guilty for being the cause of not only you picking up the Chlamydia, but for reacting in the way I did, and then I was cross with you for making me feel like that." "George," He said, fondly kissing her. "Yes, you are complicated, but I really wouldn't have you any other way. Yes, you have the capacity to irritate me to distraction, and you also possess the ability to make me blisteringly angry on occasions, but that doesn't mean that I don't love you, or that I would rather the last thirty years hadn't happened. That argument we had, it was one of the worst we've had in a long time, and I think I wanted to hurt you, which I probably did a little too successfully." "I know, and if you'd only given the Chlamydia to me and not Jo, I'd have been cross with you for being so irresponsible, but I would probably have left it at that. But Jo got caught up in it all as well, and she certainly didn't deserve that." After a moment's silence, John tentatively said, "You feel a lot more for Jo, than you are really prepared to admit, don't you." "What makes you assume such a thing?" George asked, her body stiffening in his grasp, and immediately giving away her true answer. John laughed softly, loving the utter transparency of her. "Because the amount of highly irrational anger you showed towards me last Friday, is born out of nothing less than true, sincere loyalty of the highest kind, and," He added, kissing her more deeply this time. "Because you are now, trying far too hard to hide it from me, and given that this would add a further, very significant complexity to everything, I can hardly blame you." "John, I don't want to talk about that," George said carefully, her feelings for Jo still being far too new to her to discuss them honestly with anyone as close to the situation as he was. "Sure," He said mildly. "But you won't be able to hide from it for ever." 

They lay there for quite a long time, softly kissing, occasionally talking, both of them trying to regain the feeling they were used to having for each other, trying to assuage some of the hurt they'd put each other through. When his hand tentatively moved to begin caressing her breast through her blouse, a slow smile of satisfaction spread over his face. "You really shouldn't come here, without wearing a bra, when you know I can't make love to you," He said between punctuating kisses. George laughed evilly. "Oh, I'm just putting My Lord's willpower to the test, that's all." "Now that really is positively cruel," He said in mock disapproval, his hand still moving over her silk covered skin, his thumb grazing over a steadily hardening nipple. But as he did this to her, it made George almost painfully aware of the night she'd spent with Jo last Friday. Jo had touched her like this, perhaps not with anywhere near as much skill, but with just as high a level of intensity and feeling. "This is so unfair!" She said in sheer exasperation. "I'm so frustrated, I could scream." John laughed. "Then I suppose I ought to do something about it, oughtn't I." "But that's the point, you can't," George replied acidly. "Remember all those other times I couldn't touch you?" He said with sudden inspiration. "Nearly every month you'd feel like this, desperately craving release, yet not being able to achieve it in the normal way. We usually managed to get round it then." "Oh, how right you are," She drawled in smirking memory, beginning to undo her blouse without further delay. When she had cast the cream silk aside, he briefly leaned over her to reach the remote control on the coffee table, flicking on the stereo, which currently contained Lohengrin. "There," He said as the music began. "Now you don't need to be quiet." "Think of every eventuality, don't you," She said with a sultry smile. "No, not always," He said a little ruefully. "As Karen forcefully pointed out to me." "Oh, dear," George said, trying to curtail her laugh into something not quite so mocking. "Did she lecture you?" "I felt as though I was fourteen again," He said, only now relinquishing the embarrassment he had felt. "Oh, you poor darling," She said without a hint of sincerity. But as he began kissing her again, cutting off further expressions of her amusement, she immediately abandoned any thought of further prolonging his humiliation. Dipping his head, he enclosed one of her nipples in the soft, warm, agile lips she knew so well. As he slowly encouraged her nipple to rise to a pinpoint deliciousness, she groaned in steadily increasing ecstasy. "Just try and picture Jo doing this to you too," He said, briefly detaching his lips from her, and beginning to stimulate the other nipple with his fingers. This was almost too much for George, because she had been thinking the exact same thing when he'd suggested it. Glancing up at her, John could see the faint blush on her cheeks, telling him that she'd been thinking it too. She could see it now in her mind's eye, John doing this to one breast, Jo to the other, and she almost came at the thought of it. 

But just as George was approaching that point of internal combustion, there came a knock on the door. Sitting up slightly, though making no attempt to remove his hand from caressing the fleshy softness of her breast, John bade whoever it was to enter. When Jo walked into the room, she took in the sight of John and George lying in each other's arms on the sofa, and George's discarded silk blouse not far from them on the carpet. The slight glisten of saliva on one of George's nipples, made it all too clear what they'd been doing before she arrived. To break the slightly awkward pause, George said dryly, "I wish you wouldn't do that, you never know who it might have been." "I recognised the knock," John said confidently, completely unaware that his hand was still gently sweeping over a small area of George's left breast, until she removed his hand and held it in hers. "I'm pleased to see that you two are quite obviously speaking again," Jo said with a soft smile, desperately trying to keep her fascinated gaze away from George's chest. "Come and join us," John invited provocatively. Opening her mouth to reply, Jo found that she didn't quite know what to say. Foregoing any direct response, she asked, "Would you like me to go?" "No, certainly not," George replied, sitting up and reaching for her blouse to cover herself up. When John also rose to his feet, and moved to put his arms round Jo and to kiss her, Jo took one look at him and grinned. "I can see you've gone without sex for far too long," She said matter-of-factly, gesturing to the bulge in his trousers. "I think that's supposed to be my pennants," He said ruefully, kissing her for as long as it took for George to do up the buttons of her blouse. Jo found herself fancying that she could almost taste the distinctive flavour of George's skin on his lips, but this must be in her imagination. 

They all sat close together on the sofa, with John in the middle, sometimes talking, but mostly just enjoying being relaxed in each other's company. When John glanced at the clock, and saw that it was nearly eleven, he had an enormous desire not to let either of them go home tonight. "Will both of you stay?" He asked quietly, hoping that he wasn't going to get the same response he had last time he made this suggestion. "How observant are your keepers these days?" Jo asked seriously, badly not wanting another encounter with the professional conduct committee. "They're far more relaxed than they used to be," John replied, knowing what she was worrying about. "Besides, they can't prove that I didn't sleep on the sofa, now can they." "Oh, so that's why you bought this sofa," George said with a self-satisfied yawn. "To maintain the pretense of propriety, whilst carrying on your illicit activities on the quiet." "Of course," John told her blandly. "Why else?" "Oh, and I thought it was so that you could be like this with both of us at once," Jo quipped in a mockingly petulant tone. She looked so defiantly cheeky, that it made John laugh. "You'd never have won with the PCC if you'd looked like that," He said in amusement. Then, turning serious again, he said, "I'm in Monty's good books at the moment, so no one will be any the wiser." "The things we do for you, John Deed," George said fondly, as he switched off the stereo, drew the curtains and followed them both upstairs. A little while later when they were all lying in his large double bed, Jo on his left, George on his right, both clad in only their underwear, John thought he must be in heaven. He had an arm round each of them, and they had their arms around him, making him feel happier and more content than he ever had done in his life. "I can't believe I'm finally getting my wish after all this time," He said quietly. "Only half your wish," George replied drowsily, tucking one of her legs over his. "A man can dream," John said philosophically, gently running his fingers through George's hair, as he ran a softly seeking hand over Jo's skin. "Someone ought to be calling out all rise," George said with a laugh, laying a hand over his boxer-covered hardness. "Don't, tease," He said firmly, lightly flicking his finger against her cheek. "At least you've never been presented with that particular reaction whilst in his chambers," Jo said with a smirk. "Ah," George said knowingly. "But has he ever said that he'd quite like to take you in his court, on the bench no less?" "John, you didn't," Jo said in half awed amazement, half shy disapproval. "That was a very long time ago," John said with more than a little embarrassment. "Anyway," He added when neither of them appeared to be taking his word for it. "I wasn't the only one who wanted to try that, we just never got round to it." "Only because you weren't a judge in those days," George replied, determined to have the last word. "He always did prefer to live dangerously," Jo put in fondly. "Look who's talking," John objected with a laugh. "After all, how do I know that both of you being here is just to please me? You might be fulfilling some bizarre little fantasy for all I know." Again finding herself slightly tongue-tied at how close to the truth John was getting, Jo was heartily grateful at George's continued bickering with him, it very usefully covering up her inability to form a coherent sentence. They grew quiet after a while, all three of them gradually drifting towards sleep. But just before the peace overcame them, he said, "I love you both," So openly and so sincerely, that it demanded a response from both of them. "And we love you too, darling," George said sleepily, as Jo leaned over to kiss him, both the words and the actions coming simultaneously from each of their hearts, uniting the three of them in this one, deeply held sentiment. 


	159. Part One Hundred And Fifty Nine

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part One Hundred And Fifty Nine

Over a week later, George still couldn't get the memory of that night out of her mind. She, Jo and John had all slept in the same bed, closer than they'd ever simultaneously been on any occasion. George had been the first to wake early on the Friday morning, and had found that her hand was entwined with Jo's, their interlocked fingers lying on John's bare chest. This simple act of closeness had displayed such a level of intimacy to her that it had almost been frightening. As John and Jo had still been asleep, George had slipped out of bed, silently put on her clothes and gone quietly downstairs. She'd left a note on the table just to let them know where she was, using a discrete departure from the digs as her excuse. She had needed to go home for a shower and a change of clothes, but she knew that she could have stayed longer if she'd wanted. But she didn't want any of that awkwardness that might have existed between them if she'd still been there when they'd woken. This way, she was saving all three of them a certain amount of perfectly natural embarrassment. 

But here, now, on Saturday the twenty-third, most of her was happy. She'd seen both Jo and John over the last week, and they were all three of them back to the way they'd been with each other, before the fiasco of the Chlamydia had come to light. The only steadily growing concern that was slightly marring her feeling of contentment, was the knowledge that she was fast approaching that highly volatile day, when she would have to make a decision, one way or the other about Karen. Though, she conceded, decision was really the wrong word, because she couldn't halt the progression of her feelings for Jo if she tried. But Karen needed to know, and soon. It simply wasn't fair to keep her in the dark like this. 

She cooked dinner for her father this Saturday night, and it was something of a break for her to have his emotionally undemanding, yet intellectually stimulating company. Joe Channing could see that his daughter had something that was weighing on her mind, but unless she ventured to tell him about it, he wouldn't probe. George was still trying to get used to the idea of his being aware of Karen's position in her life, and even though she had talked to Karen about this, it was still very new to her. Daddy wasn't supposed to know about things like this, not about his one and only daughter anyway. John had looked a little sheepish when she'd mentioned this to him, as he had been partially responsible for Joe's knowledge of George's extended private life. But George had gone through more than enough recent conflicts with John to even think of starting another one. George and her father had eaten the meal she'd cooked, and they were now sitting in the lounge, Joe nursing a large glass of port. It wasn't long after nine, and George found herself relaxing, even under her father's scrutiny. 

When the doorbell rang, Joe looked up in surprise. "It's probably Karen," George said, getting to her feet. "She's been working today, and said she might call round this evening." When George opened the door, Karen looked tense, tired, but as though she'd certainly been home to change before coming here. But as Karen moved to kiss her, she saw the slight stiffening in George's body. "My father's here," She said quietly, at which Karen understandingly settled for touching her cheek. As they moved through the hall, George observed, "You look as though you've been fighting." As she said this, she gestured to a faint bruise on Karen's cheek, most of which had been cleverly concealed by make up. "Er, restraining where necessary, if you don't mind," Karen corrected with a wan smile. "Yes, it has been one of those days." "Restraining who where necessary?" Joe asked in amusement as they entered the lounge. "A violent new inmate with a nice little line in crack dealing," Karen told him without demur. Then, lifting a hand to cover a yawn, she added, "Just what you want on a Saturday afternoon, and because we always end up short staffed at the weekend, I usually end up getting far too involved." "Would you like a drink?" George asked, this question being pretty much superfluous after a day like this. "A large scotch would go down a treat," Karen replied, almost in hunger, digging out her cigarettes. "I'd clap that one in irons and leave her to stew, if you ask me," Joe concurred with a rumble of disapproval. "You know, Joe," Karen said wearily. "After a day like today, I might just agree with you." "I wouldn't let John hear you talking like that," George said, sitting down at the other end of the sofa from Karen. "Or he'll put you down as a thoroughly lost cause." "It's all right for him," Karen said, knowing she was goading Joe in the process. "He only hands down the sentence." "Very rarely without good reason," Joe replied ominously, immediately rising to her less than subtle bait. "The sentence any judge chooses to impose, is built upon years of experience and not without the due process of thorough consideration." "Oh, sure," Karen said lightly, taking a long drag of her cigarette. "But dealing with inmates on the ground as it were, doesn't usually allow for the time necessary for the due process of thorough consideration. Decisions have to be made at a moment's notice, and as far as possible, must be right every time. There is very little room for human error, when you're dealing with a confined quantity of women, who are as volatile and unpredictable as the atom bomb. At least when a high court Judge, or any Judge for that matter, makes a mistake, the appeal court is there to rectify that mistake. We don't have that sort of safety net." "That's as maybe," Joe said dismissively, not actually wanting to consider his role in the appeal court too closely at this point. "But my question is, that if those such as your officers are as professional as you say they are forced to be, why, in the grand scheme of things, is the prison population continually growing?" "Oh, I didn't say that all my officers were professionals, anything but," Karen said with a broad smile. "Half the time, it's like running a ship where not enough of the crew are willing and able to do the job. Far too many of them see it as ample opportunity to take out their anger against the world, on some of the most vulnerable members of society." "That's very open and honest of you," Joe replied, liking her candor. "But why do you put up with such a lackadaisical approach from so many of your staff?" "It's all about finding sufficient grounds for disciplinary action, Joe, you know that. Trust worthy evidence isn't just the be all and end all of the judiciary. It's the lack of such evidence for dismissal that keeps some of my staff in a job. The other consideration is, that if I were to have all the witless and incompetent members of my staff suitably dealt with, I'd be hard put to find enough enthusiastic individuals to take their places. That is, of course, if I were actually given the go ahead to find replacements." "What makes you cast such doubt on that inevitability?" "Because the home office expects us to perform bloody miracles, under an increasingly dwindling budget." When she saw the soft expression on George's face, Karen asked, "What are you smiling about?" And gently touched her cheek, remembering too late that George might not want her to show such a sign of affection in front of her father. "You sound just like John," George said almost in wonder, briefly taking Karen's hand in hers. "It's usually him being so forthright about the failings of the system." "I often sat here with John, arguing like this, didn't I," Joe said in fond memory. "Yes, I remember it well," George said dryly, thinking just how much times had changed. This wasn't John, and she and Karen weren't married, but in all other respects the situation was the same. 

Their discussion continued in the same occasionally heated vein, for roughly another hour and a half. But when Joe finally decided that it was time for him to be making tracks, George went upstairs to find a jacket to put on to drive him home. She'd picked him up earlier, so that he could drink and relax. Whilst she was upstairs, Karen and Joe were left in companionable silence. Nailing her briefly to the spot with his penetrating gaze, Joe said quietly but firmly, "I love my daughter." Softly smiling back at him, Karen replied, "And though she doesn't know it yet, Joe, I love your daughter too." Having obviously obtained the answer he'd been looking for, Joe relaxed back into his chair. "Why don't you tell her, if that's the way you really feel?" He asked, thinking that it was possibly the most legitimate question he'd asked that evening. "Because I don't think she's quite ready to hear it," Karen told him, without adding the suspicion that she didn't think George would ever be ready to hear that particular sentiment from her. 

Saying that she wouldn't be long, George left with her father to drive him home. Karen took her glass out into the garden, taking in the cool evening air, her thoughts lingering over the slowly growing question of how long this relationship with George would really last. She wasn't stupid, she could sense that George's attention was somewhere else at the moment, but George didn't seem able to tell her. Well, that was the point of a fairly free and easy relationship, wasn't it, but Karen found herself realising that this was no longer what she wanted. She wanted everything, the commitment, the difficulties, everything, and at the same time knowing for sure that she wouldn't get it. 

In the car, George and her father were quiet for the most part, but when Joe asked, "I assume she is staying?" George came out of her quiet contemplation of the road ahead of her. "Daddy," She protested with a blush, always highly embarrassed at any of her father's fairly obvious enquiries into her sex life. Joe laughed. "And just how do you suppose you came into the world, young lady?" "My, 'coming into the world', as you put it, is something I'd really rather not contemplate," She replied tartly, making Joe laugh even more. "It happens to us all, you know," He said fondly. "Yes, I am very well aware of that, thank you," She said with an emerging grin of her own. Then, to put him in his place for embarrassing her, she added, "And yes, Karen is staying with me tonight, and I should imagine I will enjoy every minute of it." "Stop, right, there," Joe said firmly. "I have no desire whatsoever to know the details." "Well, then, don't ask," She quipped back, as ever determined to have the last word. They lapsed into silence again, until they turned into Joe's gravel driveway. When she brought the car to a stop by the front door, he put out a hand and briefly touched one of hers. "Don't take Karen too much for granted," He said gently, causing her eyes to widen in response. "You were testing her, weren't you," She said in realisation. "That's what this evening was all about." "Not really," Joe replied evasively. "Karen was clearly looking for an outlet after a very frustrating day, and when deftly prodded into a heated discussion, she reacted with admirable finesse. If I took advantage of that invaluable opportunity, to assess the woman my daughter has become involved with, you can hardly blame me. All I am trying to say to you is, that in not wanting very much from her, you are in fact expecting an awful lot." "I don't understand," George said quietly, wondering just what he'd managed to deduce from this evening. "You go away and think about it," Joe told her, always wanting her to work the puzzle out for herself if she could. But as he reached for the door handle, she put out a hand to stop him. "Daddy," She said softly. "Don't get too attached to her, will you?" "Just you think about what I've said," He replied cryptically, getting out of the car and walking towards the house, leaving her with more than one niggling question in her mind. As she drove away, she knew that in another couple of weeks, perhaps even less, the time would come, to end what was between her and Karen, to shatter all the pointless hopes her father seemed to have for her in that direction, and to make the way clear for she and Jo to bring John up to speed with the unstoppable progression of their feelings. But this wasn't going to happen tonight, not if she could help it. For tonight, George wanted to be with Karen, and only Karen, to make love with her, to exchange the touches and kisses and murmurs of pleasure that had become so familiar to both of them. 


	160. Part One Hundred And Sixty

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Sixty

Friday, the twenty-ninth day of July, was to prove the beginning of Karen's longest, most horrific nightmare. The rape, what had happened with Ritchie, they wouldn't even come close. She and George had been out for a meal, neither of them feeling like cooking after a hard week at work. Karen was driving, with the top down, as the evening was very warm, a light breeze blowing around them. George yawned luxuriously, anticipating nothing more strenuous than some utterly blissful lovemaking once they reached Karen's flat. But when the insistent tone of Karen's mobile broke in on their mutual contemplation, it seemed to irrevocably shatter their peace. "If that's Larkhall, they can cope without me," Karen said, lowering the roof back into place to cut out the noise of the traffic. "It's not," George told her, glancing at the screen of the mobile. "It's Helen." "Hello," Karen said with a smile, leaving the phone on hands free as she was driving. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" "Are you in the car?" Helen asked without any further greeting. "Yes," Karen replied, hearing an undertone of enormous weight in Helen's voice. "Will you pull over for a minute? I've got something to tell you." Karen couldn't be certain, but she thought she could hear the threat of tears. "The phone's on hands free," She told Helen. "So as long as whatever it is can be said in front of George, go ahead." "Karen!" Helen snapped exasperatedly. "Will you listen to me for once in your bloody life, and get off the road!" The command was given in Helen's broadest accent, it always being far more defined when she was angry. Turning off the road they were on into a side street, Karen switched off the engine. "What's happened?" She asked, taking the phone off hands free. Helen didn't know where to begin. How on earth do you give a mother such a piece of news as this one? "Sweetheart, I'm sorry for shouting at you," She began, "But I don't think you should be behind the wheel of a car, to hear what I'm about to tell you." Helen hesitated at this point. "How long is it," She asked carefully. "Since you last spoke to Ross?" Karen's eyes widened in astonishment. What could Helen have to tell her that had anything to do with Ross? "A couple of months ago. Why?" "And how was he when you spoke to him?" "Belligerent and aggressive, because I refused to give him money, until he started sorting himself out. But again, why?" "So, he didn't tell you anything about what he'd been up to lately?" "Helen, what does my son have to do with whatever you want to tell me?" Karen cut straight to the point. "For the last four months, he's been a patient of mine." "Go on," Karen invited, knowing there was a lot more to this than her son having sought any form of psychotherapy. "Karen, he came to me, not for psychotherapy, but for help with drug addiction." "So," Karen said in dawning realisation. "That's what his behaviour over the last few months has been about. In a funny kind of way, it makes sense. But if he's been coming to you for four months, I'll assume it hasn't so far been successful?" "No, not as such," Helen said evasively, seeing the point of no return creeping nearer and nearer like a treacherous tide. "Did you have to make him an in-patient? Is that why I haven't heard from him in over two months?" "Yes. He asked for it, because he knew he couldn't stay away from it if he didn't." "Why the bloody hell didn't he tell me?" Karen demanded in total despair. "I don't know," Helen replied somberly, knowing that she did, but thinking that this wasn't the time for it. "Helen, why are you telling me all this now?" Karen asked, a sneaking, terrible suspicion beginning to inch its way into her mind. "Sweetheart, I don't know how to tell you this," Helen said, the tears rising to her eyes. "I don't care how you say it," Karen told her almost desperately. "Just tell me!" "Ross, killed himself, about an hour ago." Karen felt like something had kicked her very forcefully in the chest, pushing all the breath out of her, and making it almost impossible for her to draw another one. When George saw the colour drain from Karen's face, she knew that something terrible had happened. "How?" Was all Karen found herself able to ask. "He cut his wrist," Helen told her, both of them knowing just what a painful, drawn out way to die this was. Karen couldn't say any more, she couldn't bring herself to even contemplate any other detail. "Sweetheart, talk to me," Helen pleaded with her, but Karen couldn't. Switching the phone off, she put it back into its slot on the dashboard. But when she reached to start the car again, George stopped her, taking Karen's hand in hers. "Darling, what's happened?" She asked, seeing no sign of a return of colour to Karen's cheeks. Karen opened her mouth to tell her, but the words simply wouldn't come. How could she say it? How could she sit here, and tell George that Ross was dead, that he had died by his own hand? She tried several times to get the words out, but not a single sound would pass her lips. When she again reached for the ignition key, George said, "I'll drive." Karen couldn't argue with her, so she got out of the car and they swapped places. George moved the seat forward to accommodate her shorter legs, and drove them towards Karen's flat, wondering what on earth had taken place to give Karen the look of a ghost. 

Karen didn't say a word as they mounted the stairs, but when they reached her lounge, she did something that George at first found peculiar, but held greater significance later on. Karen picked up the nearest picture of Ross from the sideboard, one of him at eighteen, looking healthy, exuberant, and very alive. She sat down on the sofa, cradling the picture between her two hands, gazing with an expression of pure pain at his face. Seeing that she wasn't going to be enlightened any time soon, George made them some coffee. But when she put a mug down on the table next to Karen, it was barely given a glance. "Darling, please talk to me," George said gently, trying to break in on Karen's all too evident misery. But Karen didn't seem to notice that she'd even spoken. Gently turning Karen's face towards her, George was shocked to see the almost total lack of expression. Karen's eyes looked haunted, dead, as if all the happiness had suddenly gone out of her world. Knowing that Karen wouldn't take any notice of what she might say, George picked up the phone and called the man she always turned to in a crisis. 

John was sitting on the balcony that adorned his rooms in the digs, drinking a glass of wine and listening to some soft classical music. Jo was away this week at a conference, so he was at something of a loose end. When his mobile rang, showing Karen's number on its screen he answered it with, "Hello, this is a nice surprise." "It's George," She told him, before he could say anything else in that flirtatious drawl of his. "Are you busy, because I need you to come over." "What's happened?" He asked, her tone of extreme seriousness bringing him back down to earth. "I don't know, that's the point. We'd been out for a meal, and were on the way back here, when Karen got a call from Helen, who told her something terrible. I think it was something about Ross." John took in a slow, deep breath. So, that day had finally come, had it, that day when Karen would discover what he and Helen had kept from her for far too long. "But you don't know exactly what Helen did say to her?" "No, but she seems to have gone into some kind of emotional shock. I think you might be the only one who can pull her out of it." "You place too much faith in me, George," He said somberly, because George didn't know the half of it. "I'll be right over." 

Switching off his stereo, John was down the stairs and in the car within what felt like seconds. As he drove across London, he punched in Helen's number, because he needed to be put in the picture before he got to Karen's. "It's John Deed," He said when she answered. "Where are you?" She asked, and he could tell that she'd been crying. "On my way to Karen's. George says she's gone into emotional shock, but that she doesn't know why. I thought you might be able to tell me." "Ross is dead," Helen told him bleakly. "He cut his wrist, and there wasn't a bloody thing anyone could do about it." "Oh, God," John said very quietly. Helen laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, yeah, we could have done with a look in from him." "When did this happen?" "Nearly two hours ago. I got a call from the night staff at the clinic when they couldn't resuscitate him. Karen was always listed as his next of kin, but I'd left strict instructions that only I was to be the one to inform her, if ever that became necessary." "Well, thank God for small mercies," John said, hearing the threat of slightly hysterical rambling in Helen's words. "Do you realise," Helen continued. "That if just once, either you or I had chosen to do what was morally right, rather than what was legally right, this might never have happened?" "You can't think like that," John insisted, trying to calm her down but knowing that she was right. "Don't you feel any guilt, Judge?" She demanded. "Don't you think that maybe this time, the law didn't know best? Because I can tell you that I sure as hell do." "Yes, I do feel guilty," John retorted hotly. "Because I know exactly what she's going through. But wishing we could turn the clock back isn't going to help Karen, and it isn't going to help either you or me. How much does she know?" "She knows that Ross had been coming to see me for four months, and that he'd been an in-patient for the last two. She doesn't know that you knew about it, but we both know that she'll have to some time. This hiding things from her that she needs to know, ends whenever she begins to want answers, and that's not negotiable." "Is someone with you?" John asked, wanting to make sure that Helen would be all right as well. "Nikki's here, waiting for me to explain everything to her. It's not just Karen who's been kept in the dark all this time." "Well, just, just take care of yourself," He said quietly, the fact that he'd been the one to insist she kept it to herself, ever uppermost in his mind. 

When George heard John's car arrive, she briefly left Karen to go downstairs and let him in. "How is she?" John asked, walking up to her. "Still not talking, still barely acknowledging her own existence." "I think I ought to fill you in, before we go back upstairs. I talked to Helen on my way here. Ross is dead. He's been one of Helen's drug rehab patients for a while now, but because of the law surrounding patient confidentiality, she couldn't tell Karen. He's been an in-patient at the clinic where Helen works for the last two months. George, he killed himself." "No," She said, the tears immediately rising to her eyes. "How could he do that to her?" "I don't know. But what we've got to do now is to first of all make her start talking again, and then just to be there for her, because this isn't going to get better." When they returned upstairs, Karen was exactly where George had left her, still gazing into space and still holding Ross's picture. John moved to sit down next to her, putting his right arm around her shoulders, and gently trying to remove the picture frame from her hands. Her grip tightened on the wooden frame, but John was determined to remove the immediate focus of her attention. "Let go," He told her quietly, and when she did, he put the picture down on the side table out of her line of vision. "I talked to Helen," He continued gently. "She told me about Ross. I'm so, so sorry," He finished, softly stroking one of her hands that lay empty in her lap. He saw the briefest of flickers in her eyes, and knew that he was getting somewhere. George was sitting in a chair off to the side, watching John desperately try to work his magic on Karen. "I'd like you to talk to me," John cajoled. "Just to prove to me that you're still here." George winced, but she knew that hitting her with a remark like that was the only way forward. Karen focussed on him, her eyes briefly losing their mask, to show the depth of the hurt beneath. "Do you have any idea how much I wish I wasn't?" She answered bleakly, making John inwardly breathe a sigh of relief that it had taken such a short time. "Tell me," He invited, not willing to let her slide back into her hiding place. But she shook her head. "You'd have me sectioned if I did," She said, without a single fragment of humour in her tone. Then, turning her gaze on George, she added, "Sorry if I frightened you." "Oh, darling," George said, unable to keep her tears at bay any longer. "You don't have to be sorry." She moved to sit on Karen's other side, her arms going round her to offer any comfort she could. "I don't know how to deal with this," Karen said eventually, feeling an immense amount of support coming from both of them. "Well, hiding, and keeping it all in here," Said John, briefly touching her cheek. "Certainly isn't the way." "It's not quite that easy, John," She said carefully. "If I am to go on functioning, inside is precisely where everything I feel needs to stay." "And what do you suppose that will achieve?" John asked despairingly. "Karen, I am not letting you end up like..." He stopped, knowing he'd gone too far. "...Like my son?" Karen finished for him. "I'm already there, John, so however I choose to pull myself out, is well and truly my decision." "Not even you can argue with that, John," George said fondly, trying to break the ice. "Did Helen say anything else I need to know?" Karen asked him, grateful for George's smoothing of ruffled feathers. "She needs you to go and identify him some time tomorrow, if you feel up to it." "It'll probably be the most peaceful I've seen him in a long time," Karen said darkly. "When did you last see him?" John asked, bypassing the almost macabre quality of Karen's remark. "Towards the end of March, but I spoke to him at the end of May. He always wanted money, and now I know what for. Maybe I should have been more insistent about knowing what it was for. Maybe if I had, he would have told me about going into rehab, and..." She stopped, entirely unable to finish the chain of self-blame. "Karen, doing the what-ifs, isn't going to get you anywhere," George insisted. "You told me the same at Lauren's trial," Karen reminded her. "Yes, I probably did. I meant it then, and I mean it now. It really won't do you any good. I did years of what-ifs, and all it achieved was to make me wish I'd never existed. I know it's easier said than done, but please try not to do it." John listened to George's words, and heard a level of sincerity and affection in them that he'd never heard her bestow on anyone else. He was proud of her that night, proud of how strong she could be for someone else, if not for herself. 

A good while later, when Karen decided to go to bed, she asked both John and George to stay. So, whilst George snuggled up next to Karen, trying to take some of her fears of the night away, John dug a spare duvet and pillow out of the airing cupboard, and lay on the sofa, watching News 24 with the sound turned down. How on earth was he going to tell her that he'd known all about Ross's drug addiction since round about the last time Karen had spoken to her son? The weight of the coming confession settled on his heart, making him wish he'd gone with his original conviction, and not taken his ex-father-in-law's advice. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was nearly one thirty, but he couldn't sleep. So, it seemed, neither could someone else. He looked up as Karen's bedroom door opened, and saw George emerge into the light cast by the TV screen. "Couldn't you sleep either," He said as she came over to him. "No, not really." "What about Karen?" "I gave her one of my knock-out pills." "Probably the best thing under the circumstances," He said, lifting a hand to cover a yawn. "Can I have a cuddle?" She asked, feeling a little guilty for asking. "You don't need to ask," He told her affectionately, lifting the duvet so that she could slide in next to him. "How do I help her through this, John?" She asked as their legs entwined, and their arms went around each other. "You're doing pretty well already," He said, gently kissing her. "But I think all any of us can do, is to take one day at a time. She's going to find this the most difficult hurdle of her life." "I just feel useless," George said with tears in her eyes. "No, you're not," He told her softly. He held her against his strong, hard chest, until her long, blonde eyelashes began to drift down onto her cheeks. Gently kissing her awake, he urged her to go back to bed, leaving him with his thoughts and most of all, his regrets. 


	161. Part One Hundred And Sixty One

Part One Hundred and Sixty One

Nikki had been beginning to feel that life at Larkhall was beginning to settle down to a pattern. She had entered G Wing metaphorically speaking, with a triumphant clap of thunder but she had to consolidate on that excellent start. It was similar to when she had first learned to drive a car. Even after passing her test, she still needed an abnormal amount of concentrated effort to work out what she would do in certain situations and this was similar. She felt that she was operating on blind instinct, her experience from the other side of the bars, knowledge that her mind had subconsciously gleaned from reminiscences with Helen and finally her training course. It had carried her so far but she knew she needed to progress from there. The prison service had very prescribed laid down rules of what could and could not be done, all the way from negotiating rights of the Prison Officers Association to the way office stationery was ordered. After a month, she had now developed those invisible feelers for what went on around her, which wasn't a million miles from the way she had run her share of the club. Somehow, she had worked her way through some abstruse situations where she had wondered more than anyone else how she had plucked the rabbit out of the hat. She knew, above all else, that unless she could be true to herself, she could not believe in herself. That had been all important throughout her life, from as early as she could remember. She knew that both Natalie Buxton and Di Barker hated her in equal measure but they were discreet and devious about it. At least Sylvia Hollamby was honest in her dislike of her, she had to give that obstinate reactionary woman that amount of credit. This was exacerbated by an incident when she had tried to bamboozle her about what 'the General Secretary would and not allow' but she had successfully called her bluff. As for everyone else, she had made her presence felt in that understated fashion that served her very well. As time went on, she sensed that her presence as wing governor was becoming as unremarkable and part of the natural order of events. Amongst other strange twists of fate, she was getting used to handling that bunch of keys to negotiate her way round the labyrinth that was G wing. Finally, on Friday she had plucked up the strength of will to attack the pile of files that she had let accumulate in her 'in tray' while her presence on the wing had been more high profile than she was wise to allow herself. She hadn't let slide that side her job out of a horror of paperwork as such but what the files contained. The dry details of wrecked lives never ceased to pain her but then again, Helen had confided to her in passing that her work as a psychologist brought her into contact with another segment of suffering humanity. "What do you mean, Helen?" Nikki had asked her one night a few weeks ago when Helen looked more world weary than normal.  
"I'm doing my level best to patch up people's wounds, whether self inflicted or not. It isn't all plain sailing." "I know," Nikki had replied with tender sympathy. "Still, your patients are lucky to have you around to care for them." Helen's smile in response was rather strained. Nikki had never intruded in Helen's professional business and a month of her new job sharpened her understanding of that kind of professional responsibility.

"Still here, Nikki?" Karen had smiled through the half open door, breaking into her concentration. "I'm off somewhere special." "That means George," Nikki had grinned back.  
She could so vividly remember in retrospect Karen's smirk of self-satisfaction for that second before the door closed and Karen was gone. Nikki had attacked the pile of files with the last of her energy before she could let herself go home.

"I'm off out, Gina," she had called out as she crossed the wing and let herself out into the front yard. It had been a blazing hot summer day and the force of the heat had made her feel glad to set off home. She dropped her keys into the slot and slid into the car seat of her little Ford Fiesta, which was, parked pride of place outside the prison walls. That little touch still reminded her of how times had changed. It would, given time, fade into normality without forgetting her past and not being true to it. When she thought about it, she gained quiet satisfaction that there was hardly anything in her life that she would disown but that was only what she expected of herself.  
She was ready to chill out with Helen with a quiet peaceful night in with her version of Karen's pleasures. She felt she had earned it twice over, as she parked her car, grabbed her overfull briefcase and clattered down the short flight of steps to the basement entrance. She heard Helen's voice talking in the living room, entered the room with a broad smile and slung her briefcase into a corner of the room. It was nothing new to her that Helen continued to talk on the phone as she occasionally took emergency calls when she was home. What did slightly surprise her was that Helen didn't turn round to face her. It struck her that she wasn't fully here. "Do you realise that if just once either you or I had chosen to do what was morally right, rather than what was legally right, this might never have happened?" Nikki's alarm bells were jangling straightaway as this conversation was utterly out of the ordinary. The brief pause for the unknown caller to reply only made Helen more overwrought than she was already "Don't you feel any guilt, judge? Don't you think that maybe this time, the law didn't know best? Because I can tell you that I sure as hell do." That meant John Deed, Nikki swiftly concluded and started to get worried. There could only be one judge. How in hell has he come to be professionally involved in Helen's life in such a way that sounded like trouble? That perplexed her all the more as she considered Helen and the judge to be the two of the most morally upright people Nikki had ever met with a positive passion for doing the right thing. "She knows that Ross has been coming to see me for four months, and that he'd been an inpatient for the last two. She doesn't know that you knew about it, but we both know that she'll have to some time. This hiding things from her that she needs to know, ends whenever she begins to want answers, and that's not negotiable." Nikki started to have a horrid suspicion of the truth but didn't want to believe the evidence that her very active mind was starting to put together. Surely, there were more Rosses in the busy bustling outpost of London than the one she knew? She had been in Karen's room and the framed picture of the smiling clean-cut adolescent was pride of place on her desk. She didn't talk much of him but she knew well enough that he lurked somewhere at the back of her mind. Family ties weren't exactly her scene but a long time ago Yvonne had educated her by her personal example as to the power of that tie. "Nikki's here," Helen finally said, turning round to face her at last, pain clearly etched all over her very expressive face, "…..waiting for me to explain everything to her. It's not just Karen who's been kept in the dark all this time." Helen looked for the first time directly at Nikki, the expression on her face beseeching her for forgiveness and the earpiece of her cordless phone was directly clamped against her ear as she took in the final words and put the phone down.

"Ross is dead. That's Ross as in Karen's son," Helen blurted out the verbal bombshell, utterly unable to dress up the words any differently.  
Nikki's jaw dropped in horror at the news. Whatever surprises she was getting used to at work was as nothing compared to what had dropped on her as she had stepped through her own front door. Her utter failure to make a response seemed to last an eternity. "How did you……." She said at last.  
"He's been a patient of mine, a heroin addict with HIV was recently admitted to inpatient care. He's been getting worse and worse…" "So what happened?" "He committed suicide by cutting his wrist an hour or so ago. I've just broken the news to Karen." Those terse staccato words didn't even begin to deal with either woman's feelings. Both of them were numb with shock, standing like statues and rooted to the spot in what should be their cosy flat. It was only instinct that prompted Nikki to ask herself exactly who Helen had been on the phone to and a questioning, hard expression settled on Nikki's face as she shook her head in confusion.

"I am a psychologist and I would not have been acting professionally if I had told you everything that goes on in my job even if it concerns someone…." Helen lunged in abruptly with flashing eyes and a rigidity in her manner that Nikki had not seen for a long time. It shocked her but not enough to stop her jumping straight in.  
"……..who's my present boss and someone who you were once in charge of." Her lightning thrust was delivered to counter Helen with a degree of calm and self-assurance, which surprised herself at a moment like this .She was curiously calm. She reasoned instinctively that Helen under pressure would revert to that persona who lectured her across the desk from that very same chair which she now occupied. If Helen had mentally jumped back in time to when they were both in Larkhall, Nikki knew that she would have to drag her back to the here and now. In truth, Nikki's calm assurance was borne of years of responsibility in one form or another.  
Helen's eyes flitted nervously round the room and the tip of her tongue flicked across her lower lip but she was silent, undecided.  
"Come on, you'd better tell the story from the start as it's out in the open now." Helen's stood rigidly as if she were frozen inside by the horror and guilt that she had felt from when she had first heard the news and of being persuaded to keep quiet against her better judgement. She moved stiffly to the sofa and let herself drop. She breathed in and out and her eyes remained closed. Nikki reclined at an angle on the other side of the settee and maintained a patient silence. Helen sensed that feeling flow out from Nikki and started to realise that she wasn't on her own.  
"It's as well that you've found out everything," she eventually exhaled the words very faintly.  
"Isn't it always?" came the gentle answer with a slight smile on her face.  
Helen nodded and her head turned slightly to glance in Nikki's direction. "It's been going on for months, Nikki. Ross Betts was referred to me from his GP as he had an out of control heroin habit and severe feelings of inadequacy and low self-esteem, which he concealed behind an aggressive surly manner. Of course, I knew straightaway he was Karen's son. You get to put two and two together in a situation like that, don't you Nikki? You can understand that I did my best to try to contain the situation, to try everything in the book to improve his self-esteem. His addiction bad as it was in itself was only the surface symptom of the trouble. I did my best to contain the situation and try and deal with the root cause of the problem. You can understand where I'm coming from, don't you. " Helen paused, having gently included Nikki as a fellow professional for the first time in their lives.  
"If I were in your shoes, I think I would have done the same," came Nikki's reflective answer.  
"I began to see that whatever I did, he was slowly but surely going downhill. Believe you me, false pride and burying your head in the sand have no place in my job or in my life." "Just backtrack a moment, Helen. I assume that Karen has never had any idea of his drug habit. Did you talk to him about telling her of his problem?" Helen's lips twisted in bitter memories of the irony of the situation.  
"He had never grown up, Nikki. His addiction had got to the point that he had lost all his pride and self respect and would tell any story if it would get him a prescription for heroin substitute. The one scrap of pride left in him was that his mother, I mean Karen, would never know. So I decided that I needed a second opinion." "So you went to the judge? Why not me? You know how good I can be in a situation like this," Nikki said in a hurt voice. She respected the judge right enough but Helen only knew him slightly. She could have come to her on this one occasion.  
"I only went to the judge for one reason and one reason only. I wanted to get the finest legal opinion as to whether or not I could tell Karen myself. Please understand Nikki, it's not like the old days of me treating you just as a well-meaning prisoner. On the matter of the law, he knows more than both I or you know." It was Nikki's turn to look away from Helen. Her feelings of hurt and rejection were, even now, still able to rise to the surface but a voice at the back of her head repeated a relentless logic of what had to be done. She had always thought and acted from the heart from when she was little but as she had got older, some instinct in her knew how to think with her head. Living with Helen had spurred this way of wrestling with a problem. She still felt uncomfortable but could see why Helen had acted as she had done. She turned back to look at Helen, gave a half smile and reached out a hand to touch Helen. It felt a little safer for both of them to do so. "So what did you come up with?" A faint feeling of release began to seep through Helen as some of the tension started to ease. She did not dare to think about Karen and what she must be going through but a little of the advice which she handed out at her clinic came back to her. A step at a time, she thought. That is her only hope at this minute. "I told him that she was both my friend and his but he insisted that he has a right to patient confidentiality, just as both of us did." "That's tough advice, Helen." "He meant it, Nikki. He knows Karen well and he would be sworn to silence as much as I was. He told me that keeping the matter from Karen was going to be one of the hardest things he would ever have to do and would give anything for her not to be hurt." Nikki reflected long and hard on this. If the judge had taken on the same burden as Helen had, then she could not help but respect him for it. "The judge is a good guy, Helen, but don't you think that he was too caught up in legal niceties and was mistaken, however good his motives. You know that the shit will hit the fan and who can criticise Karen for blaming anyone who's kept secrets from her. It sounds good in theory but that's half the problem." "Be careful, Nikki. You're only a month in to your job. You might find yourself in the very same position that I have of having to maintain a confidential secret or some kind of moral dilemma that you can't talk to me about. It could happen to you," Helen warned Nikki in low but emotion drenched tones.  
"So that's why you told me once that your job isn't plain sailing. I'd call that the understatement of the century." For the first time, Nikki smiled at that faint irony, even at such a traumatic moment like this.  
"You really hate the idea of me holding all this back from you," Helen asked softly and the other woman nodded.  
"It reminded me of the way we were at Larkhall when I felt at times that you had to be the one in charge, to be right all the time. I know that what I'm feeling sounds irrational but…………………." Helen leaned over and gently brushed Nikki's cheek with her fingertips. "Believe you me, there were so many times when I wanted so much to tell you, when I woke up in the middle of the night worrying about the situation. Look at it like this. When you seek advice from the finest legal mind whose moral standards in his profession let alone any other are as high as you can get, what do you do when you don't like what you are told? If you get advice that goes against the grain, then you should never have asked for it in the first place. I had committed myself to the legal way of operating and I had, have, faith in him and what he had to say. That's what I had to keep telling myself as there wasn't anything else that held me in there." There was a pause as Nikki mulled over what Helen had told her. The emotional hurt was healing and she began to realize that she had been reverting to the person she used to be as much as Helen had so briefly. Her heart was beginning to agree with her head as she reflected on the thought that ancient scars take a lot of healing. "Hey, come here." Nikki's musical voice curled round seductively inside all of Helen's senses and drew her in to bridge the gap that had run down the middle of the sofa in between them. She leaned over and let Nikki's arms enfold her. It felt like heaven to smell the faint fragrance of her skin and made her feel whole again. She could feel Nikki's delicate fingertips gently running through her hair and the comfort of lying against her breasts. There was absolutely nowhere else she wanted to be right now in this universe. A fierce glow of tenderness and possessiveness welled up in Nikki as she looked down on Helen and she felt that she was home at last. That was what she was looking forward to on the way home all along. She hadn't bargained on walking into the shock and turmoil that had briefly turned their lives upside down.

"Oh Christ, Helen. I only saw Karen an hour or so ago and she looked so radiant, full of the joys of life. What's happening to her right now?" "I think I can answer that one, Nikki," Helen paused and swallowed .She had to face up to that one at last. "I was talking to the judge just now and he was going over to see Karen. He said that George had told him that she had gone into emotional shock. He didn't know the reason why until I told him." "I hope he or George looks after her. She'll need it." "As much as she has the resources to come through the other side of this one," Helen said grimly, looking Nikki straight in the eye. "For all my work in psychology, I can't paint a picture as to what that will be like. All I know is that she'll get help over the weekend and we'd better hang back to see if we're needed." "It's down to me to help her when she's back at work. She has been the strong one in smoothing my coming back to Larkhall in the first place," Nikki reasoned resolutely.

Both of them stared into space, deep in thought. Totally out of the blue, the long buried emotional scars of their shared past at Larkhall had come to the surface. They had not expected that would happen after all this time. They felt more intensely for what Karen must be going through that very instant, more than they cared to think. Even if their own future was fine, both had a nasty sinking feeling about what Karen's future held for her. 


	162. Part One Hundred And Sixty Two

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Sixty Two

When Karen awoke on the Saturday morning, George was nestled up against her, softly breathing in a deep sleep. Just for a moment, hardly longer than a second, Karen felt normal, happy, the way she always did when she woke with George in her arms. But then she remembered, and the crashing weight of grief and depression fell down on her. Ross was dead, her one and only child was dead. Never again would she hear him laugh, or ask for money, or criticise the latest man she had in her life. Had this been his final act of rebellion, she wondered? Had it really been his intention to hurt her like this by taking his own life? Or had he simply done it because it was what he wanted, giving no thought to anyone he might be leaving behind. 

She could hear John moving about in the kitchen, probably making a cup of tea. Sure enough, when he put his head round her bedroom door a few minutes later, he was carrying a mug in each hand. "Is that for me?" Karen said quietly, not wanting to rouse George from her slumber. "Yes," He said, putting one of the mugs down on the bedside table and perching on the end of the bed, simply looking at them. This must be a first for him, Karen thought to herself, to see George in bed with someone else. Knowing that the tea would still be too hot to drink, Karen waited a while before disturbing George. "How did you sleep?" John asked, thinking that they really did look enchanting together, cuddled close in each other's arms. "Like a log, but only because of a sleeping pill. What time is it?" "A little after eight." Eventually, Karen gently disentangled herself from George's entwining limbs, and sat up to drink her tea. When George opened her eyes, she was a little confused to see John sitting on Karen's bed with them. "What are you doing here?" She asked groggily, and then remembered precisely why. Seeing the full force of realisation crossing George's face, Karen said kindly, "Yes, I did that too." George had absolutely no idea what to say. How did one comfort someone at a time like this, she just didn't know. Also being a little lost for words, John got up from the bed, returning in a moment with a mug of tea for George. "I've got to go and identify him," Karen said into the silence. "You don't have to do that today, surely," George protested. "Trust me," Karen said decisively. "The longer I leave it, the worse it will be." Leaving them to it, John went to take a shower, continuously reminded of the day when he and George had thought that Charlie was dead. "Do you want me to come with you?" George asked, not altogether sure she really could go through with this. "I think I need to do this on my own," Karen told her, though still appreciating her offer. "I've a feeling that Helen's got an awful lot to tell me, an awful lot that I probably don't want anyone else to hear." "I don't think you ought to do this on your own," George said tentatively. "I've done everything else to do with Ross on my own," Karen said philosophically. "So I may as well do this." George left this line of attack for now, but she wasn't willing to give up entirely. 

An hour or so later, they were all sitting in the lounge, drinking coffee and John eating some toast. George had more firmly introduced the topic of whether Karen should or shouldn't go alone to the clinic, and they were mildly arguing about it. John kept his opinion to himself, because he didn't want Karen to feel that they were ganging up on her, but he did have to agree with George. No mother should be left to see her son's dead body without some sort of support. "At least let me drive you there," George persisted, as Karen lit a cigarette with a slightly shaking hand. The combination of the after effects of the sleeping pill, and the caffeine from her cup of espresso, making her tremble. "You're not going to give up, until I say yes, are you," Karen said, a little exasperated, though quietly appreciating George's resilience. "No, I'm not. I really don't think it would be safe for you to drive." "Fine," Karen agreed, not having the energy to argue the point any further. Then, looking over at John, she said, "Please would you stay here, till we get back?" "Of course," He said, after taking a mouthful of coffee. "Is there anyone you would like me to inform?" After thinking for a moment, Karen said, "If you could tell Yvonne, she can put everyone else in the picture," Taking it for granted that he would also phone Jo. 

A little while later, when they were driving across London towards the clinic, Karen reflected that perhaps George had been right. She didn't have the concentration for driving, and would probably have ended up dead in a car crash. Shying away from the thought that perhaps this might not have been such a bad idea, she gave George the directions that Helen had given her over the phone, when Karen had called to let her know when she was coming. Helen had sounded sombre, but professional, exactly how she, Karen, would have sounded, if she'd still been a nurse, and having to give that sort of news to worried relatives. They were silent as they drove, neither of them knowing what to say, but Karen found her thoughts occasionally centring on the day when Yvonne had been in her position. She'd driven Yvonne to see Ritchie's body, just as George was doing now. "I'm getting a real feeling of deja vu," Karen said eventually. "It's almost two years since I was taking Yvonne to see Ritchie's body. He killed himself on a Friday too." George could remember that weekend. She'd still been with Neil then, and all he'd worried about after reading of the double suicide in the paper, was the bad publicity for his precious government. Instead of saying something that would no doubt sound totally inane and stupid, George reached out to briefly touch Karen's hand. 

When they drew up in the car park of the clinic, Karen sat still for a moment, contemplating what was about to happen. Part of her wasn't sure if she could do this, actually go in there and look at her son's body. If she did that, it would all be real. But the rest of her knew that she had to do it, and that she had to get it over with as soon as possible. "Will you wait here?" Karen asked, knowing that it was either now or never. "Yes," George said, reaching out to give her a quick hug. "But I'll be right here, if you change your mind." Getting out of the car, Karen walked through the automatic doors, wondering just how many of her questions were about to be answered. 

Helen had been watching for a sign of Karen's car, from an upstairs window that looked out onto the car park. She'd talked to Nikki long into the night, and had barely slept for the rest of it, trying to sort out in her mind exactly what she should and shouldn't tell Karen today. She'd asked one of the nurses to pack up Ross's belongings, as well as making sure that the Clinic's very basic mortuary was ready for Karen to see him. When she saw Karen's car arrive, she slowly made her way downstairs, trying to put the moment off as long as possible. She hated the fact that she'd been forced to keep her knowledge of Ross's condition from her, and she had no idea how Karen would react to discovering that John had also known. Helen knew that she had to tell her about this, because they'd all had far too many secrets kept one way and another for far too long. When she first saw Karen, walking through the doors and across the waiting room towards her, Helen wasn't entirely sure how to act. This was Karen, this was her friend, but she knew that for now, she had to remain professional. "You look a bit like I feel," Karen said when she reached her. Opening her mouth to reply, Helen hesitated a moment, and then abandoned the professional persona just as suddenly as she'd decided to wear it. "I'm so sorry," She said, flinging her arms round Karen, and feeling the tension in every muscle. Karen held onto her for a moment, sensing that Helen was almost as unsettled as she was. Eventually detaching herself and feeling a little foolish for her outburst, Helen said, "Did you bring George with you?" "She insisted on coming," Karen said ruefully. "That's probably a good idea," Helen replied, leading the way down a carpeted corridor. 

When they entered Helen's office, Karen wondered if this was where Ross had come every fortnight for his sessions with her. Ignoring the professional barrier of her desk, Helen sat in one of a couple of functional armchairs under the window. "I don't know where to start," Helen began, feeling completely out of her depth. "Try at the beginning," Karen helped her, knowing that this must be one of the most difficult conversations of Helen's career. "Ross, started coming to see me in the middle of April. It was one hell of a shock when I realised who he was. He looks a bit like you. He found it very difficult to talk to me at first, and I still don't know what led him to seek treatment in the first place, except that he didn't want you to be disappointed with him. I tried so often to get him to tell you, but he wouldn't. He was so angry, with himself, with how he'd ended up..." "And with me?" Karen suggested. "Sometimes," Helen told her regretfully. "That's no surprise," Karen said quietly. "He resented practically every decision I made, whether it was for his own good, or mine. Was he self-harming?" She asked, slipping into the jargon of both their professions. "I think so. He wouldn't admit to it at first, but he certainly had a couple of injuries that he refused to explain." "Helen, how could I not have known all this?" Karen asked, though knowing there wasn't any simple answer. "Because he didn't want you to know," Helen told her gently. "And because I wasn't allowed to tell you. I must have picked up the phone so many times, wanting to tell you, but being legally bound not to say a word. You remember that day I came to Larkhall? When I was in your office, I saw that picture you have of him on your desk, and I almost told you then. I couldn't believe the change in him. He was so bloody adamant that he wanted to do it without you, no matter how much I tried to persuade him that you wouldn't be cross with him, and that you'd do everything you could to help him." "Where do you think he gets, got, his stubborn streak from," Karen said bleakly, the adjustment to the past tense making her flinch. "I did try and find a way to tell you," Helen insisted. "I even got some legal advice, just to make sure I knew what I was doing." "Who from?" Karen asked, getting a horrible sinking feeling inside her, that someone else had known about this, someone close to her. When Helen didn't immediately answer, Karen persisted. "Who, Helen? Who else knew about this and didn't tell me?" "The Judge did," Helen said eventually, wondering if the atom bomb was about to explode in her face. Karen reeled back slightly, almost as if Helen had struck her, staring back at her with a mixture of anger, betrayal, and the tiniest fragment of understanding spreading through her. "John, knew about this?" She clarified, wondering just how long he'd known that her son was in serious difficulties. "Believe me, I know he would have preferred it otherwise," Helen said quietly. "I went to see him, at the time when I persuaded Ross to become an in-patient, at the end of May. Ross wasn't coping on the outside, so I managed to talk him into doing the full rehab course. I went to see the Judge, because I wanted to make absolutely sure that I couldn't tell you what was going on." "How did he get on when he became an in-patient?" Karen asked, bypassing John's knowledge of the situation until she was better equipped to deal with it. "He tried his best, but he just didn't have the willpower to keep up with it. He found coming off the drugs very hard, and staying off them even harder. There is something else you need to know, that might explain why he often felt as though there wasn't any point continuing with it. He was HIV positive." Karen sat stunned, not knowing how much more she could take. How long had he been susceptible to any passing infection? Had he been like this, when he'd stayed with her at Christmas? "Before we go on," Karen said carefully. "Are there any more enormous shocks you need to give me?" "No," Helen told her honestly, seeing that Karen was coming to the limit of what she could stand. "You know everything, and I don't know much more about how he was really feeling." "And what you do know, I wouldn't want to, am I right?" Karen asked knowingly. "You might, one day, but not today," Helen said fairly. "Because I refuse to sit here, and give you any excuse to blame yourself for this." "Oh? And just who else is there to blame?" Karen demanded, her self-control finally beginning to crack. "I've been so wrapped up in my new job, dealing with everyone else's problems on a daily basis, that I couldn't even see what was going on under my very nose. One thing I can be sure of, is that he told you how much of a career mum I always was, and do you know something, I'm really beginning to think he was right." "No, Karen, you will not do this," Helen insisted. "He could have asked you for help, but he chose not to. That is his fault, not yours." "Helen, please," Karen almost begged her, the tears now coursing down her cheeks, in spite of her willing them not to fall. "You mustn't blame Ross for this. I should have seen something, I should have known. That's what being a parent is all about. Somehow, being a parent means keeping your child alive, keeping them safe, and doing your damnedest to make sure they don't end up in a mess like this. For some reason, that at the moment I don't want to contemplate, I didn't do that. Something went wrong, somewhere along the line, so that I didn't hear whatever he was trying to say to me." Reaching for the box of tissues on Helen's desk, Karen scrubbed at her face, not wanting Helen to see any more of her grief. They stayed quiet for some time, Helen giving Karen a few moments to gather her scattered wits. "Before I see him," Karen said eventually. "Will you show me where he spent the last two months?" "Of course," Helen replied, getting to her feet, and leading the way out of the office, along the corridor and up some stairs. It was odd, Karen thought as she followed Helen, but every type of medical setting, whether that be a large teaching hospital, or a fairly small clinic such as this, always had the same smell. She could have been led into a place like this blindfold, and could still have told exactly what type of building she was in. The combination of antiseptic and lack of fresh air, seeming to grip the unhealthiness and hold it within its walls. 

When they emerged through the double doors, two floors up, Karen was pleasantly surprised. The atmosphere didn't feel like a treatment clinic, or somewhere in which someone could be confined by law, but it bore the slight resemblance to a students' hall of residence, except that it was far more spacious. Following Helen down the corridor, passed a lounge where some of the patients were watching TV, she was slightly comforted by the thought that Ross hadn't spent his last two months in somewhere uncaring. When Helen led her into one of the bedrooms, Karen stood perfectly still, all her senses reacting to her surroundings. It was the smell that had shocked her, the extremely familiar scent of Ross's aftershave, presumably from the bottle she'd bought him for Christmas, combined with the distinctive male aroma that was simply her son. "It's funny," Karen said into the silence. "But until now, it's all felt unreal, like some horrific dream that I might wake up from, but not any more. I wanted so much, not to have to believe you, but being here, I can't do that. It's this room, I can smell the aftershave he always wore. That proves to me that he was here, and that all this really is happening." Karen walked across the neat but functional room, to look out of the window. At night, Ross would have been able to see all the lights of central London, shining with life, just as he would never again do for her. Turning about, Karen walked out of the room, Helen knowing that the time had finally come for Karen to see her son's body. But as they walked towards the stairs, they were approached by a woman who looked no older than nineteen, and who reminded Karen fleetingly of Denny. "Are you Ross's mum?" She said, standing in their path, and having obviously seen them emerge from his room. "Yes," Karen said, wondering what this woman's name was. "He was a really nice guy," The girl told her with a sad smile. "It might not mean much, but he was a real charmer. I'm sorry he's dead." "Thank you," Karen said quietly, wondering just how many times she would be saying such ironically grateful words over the coming days. 

When they returned to the ground floor, Helen led the way towards the back of the building, to the clinic's tiny mortuary. Both their shoes seemed to sound incredibly loud as they moved from carpet to concrete, the slightly chilled air leaving no one in any doubt as to where they must be. When Helen drew the sheet back from the face of the only corpse currently in residence, she moved back out of the way, to give Karen as much privacy as she might need. Karen stood, looking down at him, seeing the cold, lifeless face of her barely twenty-two-year-old son. She'd never entirely believed it when relatives said that their loved ones looked peaceful, but he did, almost as though he were merely asleep. She put out a hand, to gently touch his cheek, half of her brain telling her to wake him up, and the rest of her feeling the coldness in his skin. She ran a thumb along the line of his cheekbone, feeling the slight stubble that must have been there by the time he killed himself last night. Twitching the sheet back a little further, she reached for his left hand and turned it over, palm upwards. "No!" Helen said, but she couldn't stop Karen from staring horror-struck, at the long, brutal gash on the inside of his wrist. The wound stretched from radius to ulna, completely severing the radial artery, showing her in no uncertain terms that he'd really meant to do it. She still held his hand in hers, and she couldn't take her eyes away from the place in his arm where there should have been perfectly smooth, healthy skin. She could feel the rushing of blood from her brain, hear the insidious echo in her ears, the persistent replaying of the last argument she'd had with him. All she could see in front of her eyes was blood, his blood, the immense loss of blood that had killed him. 

When Karen crumpled to the ground, Helen put her head out of the door to summon some help, before dropping to her knees by Karen's side. "Come on, sweetheart," She said persuasively. "It's all right." Helen could have cursed, it wasn't all right, nothing was all right, and nothing would be all right for some time to come. Blearily, Karen opened her eyes. "What happened?" She asked a little groggily. "You fainted," Helen told her. When one of the nurses appeared, they helped Karen up between them, whilst someone else discretely covered Ross up again so that she couldn't see him. When they reached Helen's office, Helen quietly told the nurse who was with them to go and fetch George. When Karen was again sitting in one of the armchairs, she said, "I'm sorry about that." "Don't be," Helen told her with understanding. "You've had a hell of a lot to deal with today." Lighting her a cigarette, Helen asked, "Would you like a cup of tea?" Saying that she would, Karen took a long and grateful drag. When the nurse who had been sent to fetch George reappeared with her, Helen left Karen on her own for a moment, shutting the door behind her. As George took a breath to speak, Helen held up a hand, and led the way down the corridor towards the little kitchen that the staff used for their own purposes. "Is she all right?" George asked when they were out of earshot, immediately thinking this a particularly stupid question. "No, not very," Helen said somberly. "When I took her to see him, I couldn't stop her from looking at his wrist." "Oh, Christ," George said with feeling. "What happened?" "She fainted." As George watched Helen pouring the tea, she said, "How do I help her through this?" "You might ask the same about any of us," Helen told her. "And the answer is, I just don't know. She's had three fairly hefty shocks in the last twenty-four hours, and I don't think she knows where to start." "How long has, had, he been coming to see you?" "Since the beginning of April," Helen told her regretfully. "And, because he was over the age of eighteen, I couldn't say a bloody word." "That isn't your fault," George said sincerely. "That's just the way the system works." 

When they returned to Helen's office, George sat down next to Karen and took her hand. Karen looked at her, only half seeing her, still unable to get away from the sight of her son's body. Karen drank the hot, strong tea, though the warmth did nothing to take the chill from her bones. She could see that George wanted to help her, but that she simply didn't know how. Well, that makes two of us, she thought, wondering just how she'd managed to stay so level headed for Yvonne when Ritchie had died. When Karen replaced the empty mug on Helen's desk, George broke in on her contemplation. "What do you want to do?" She asked. "I'd like to go home," Karen said quietly, knowing that there was nothing left for her to do here, and that she most of all needed some time alone, time to assimilate all the facts that were whizzing around in her head. When she got to her feet, Helen moved forward to give her a hug. "You give me a call if you want anything," She said, giving Karen a squeeze. "Any time, and if you don't want to be anywhere near me, I won't blame you." "Helen, the fact that I didn't know about this isn't your fault," Karen told her a little shakily. "The other person who knew, may well have some explaining to do when I've got the energy, but not you. I know that Ross will have had all the help you could have given him, and that really does mean a lot." As they walked down the corridor, George pulled Karen's arm gently through hers, offering her affection in place of words, still at an all time loss as to what else she could do. It may have been something of a novelty for Georgia Channing to be incapable of forming a coherent sentence, but no words seem to be good enough, no single phrase sufficiently meaningful to convey how deeply she felt for Karen, and how much she wanted to help her. 


	163. Part One Hundred And Sixty Three

Part One Hundred and Sixty Three John always appeared fresh and bright first thing in the morning, not to annoy George or Jo, as they might think as they took their time to face the day. It was simply part of his nature as a morning person. Today was no exception as he had first thought but it was only a quarter of an hour after George and Karen left that he started to feel tired round his eyes. A little while later, a feeling of weakness started to drain the energy out of him and he had to flop down into an armchair. Despite the warm summer day, the air felt chill inside Karen's flat while John felt numb and emotionally unable to collect his thoughts. This was not like him, he thought. It was a part of his life that the spark of thought was instantly translated into words and actions or alternatively, he could plumb the depths of the most abstruse legal labyrinth with that analytical gift that was his gift. Today was different. It was as if his mind had become mysteriously fogged and the thought processes refused to function. It was then that he remembered how desperately tired he felt, having drifted from restless wakefulness into patches of formless, guilt ridden dreams. He had had no rest that night but had assumed that he could work his way through it. He didn't want to admit it but his mind had started to measure out the timespan during which he had known of the growing crisis in Ross's life while Karen had remained blissfully ignorant of it. He told himself that he had acted as he had done out of the most disinterested motives, as if his own interests were utterly detached from the events of which he had been an unwilling witness. The logic did not work as his feelings were uneasily pulling him in the opposite direction. Most exceptionally, he helped himself to a second cup of coffee, which he sipped carefully while he rested. This was a temporary respite until he felt better placed to take on the uncomfortable responsibility. It was worthwhile doing, if only as a form of atonement.

Jo had driven up to Norwich to attend the Human Rights conference, a subject dear to her heart. She had spent Friday evening, walking round the delightful medieval part of the East Anglian clad northern town and sitting awhile in the pleasant park at the base of the square shaped castle. The scent of flowers wafted by as did all sense of time now that she was temporarily removed from her daily cares. Everywhere was all very civilised including the old-fashioned conference centre, which, like the rest of the town, politely sidestepped the modern trend to the flash and ostentatious. She bumped into Claire Walker in reception and delightedly exchanged conversation. Going to a conference was a very hit and miss affair as it was never clear just who you might be stuck with for the weekend or, preferably, to renew old acquaintance. Claire was the ideal companion, calm and restful and someone whose mere presence rubbed off on her. She naturally asked after Helen and Nikki and the other members of the orchestra. In the bar that night, the conversation in the group that gathered was a thoroughly congenial mixture of discussion amongst the more liberal minded members of the legal profession interspersed with discussion of classical music sparked by the reputation that had spread round the legal profession of that memorable performance of "The Creation." Jo hadn't received a phone call from John or George that night but supposed that it was their tactful way of giving her space to enjoy the conference to the fullest. She had arrived on the Wednesday, but now it was Saturday, and the conference was finally drawing to a close. The morning session had been led off brilliantly with an international speaker who lectured from the much-maligned European Commission. In his slightly accented German accent, he analysed present trends most precisely and made Jo feel that she had, along with many of her compatriots, been insular in her preoccupations. The session had broken up for the slow moving coffee queue and Jo had just perched her cup and saucer precariously when the mobile rang. There was something insistent in its tone and, smiling tolerantly, she noticed to no particular surprise that it was John's number, which had come up.  
"This is an unexpected pleasure, John. To be gone so short a time, it makes a woman feel wanted." Jo's silky tones made Claire smile back at her.  
John's heart sank into his expensive black shoes. He had been scarred by the fiercely passionate way in which Helen by her accusation of being a stickler for the law at the expense of not caring. He knew that Jo, for all her years of legal training, was likely to react in a similar fashion. "I regret that I'm not making a purely social call, Jo. I wish it were otherwise. I have some bad news to pass on." The noise in the refreshment area had built up so that Jo was compelled to put her half-drunk cup down on the nearby table, put one hand over one ear and jam the earpiece into the other. The vague trace of the shared vocal enthusiasms was on one side. On the other, inside her, a feeling of dread started to spread through Jo to hear his tone of voice.  
"There simply isn't an easy way to break the news, Jo. Brace yourself for this one. I have to tell you that Karen's son has committed suicide." Even while Jo felt herself go cold with total shock and horror, a strange instinct prompted Jo to notice the audible wince in John's voice as that most ugly of words passed his lips.  
"Oh God, John. When did this all happen? How?" "Yesterday afternoon. I've been round with George at Karen's to help look after her," John added hastily. "Karen has been totally broken up in her own way, you know what she is like. This has been the first time I've had a chance to do anything as George has accompanied Karen to the clinic……." "What clinic?" Jo cried out in horror. "Regrettably, Karen's son has been suffering from a heroin addiction and was diagnosed HIV. Helen had no choice but to admit him for inpatient treatment- to no effect." Jo could not get her head round this as it had all come like a bolt out of the blue. She felt immediately misplaced amongst all the enthusiastic hope for abstract justice. Her silence was torture for John who was hanging on the phone for some sort of reaction, any kind of reaction.  
"Please say something, Jo," John's almost pleading voice cut through that gap in Jo's senses between her hearing, her understanding and her voice. Outside, a little way opposite, Claire could tell immediately that there was something wrong but she hadn't a clue what it was. It concerned her that someone as composed as Jo could turn white with shock.  
"What about Karen? She needs all her friends to be round her at a moment like this," Jo called out emotionally. Her sense of duty to be with someone who was bound to be hurting overrode everything at this moment.  
"Luckily she has George with her at present. Otherwise I don't know what she would do as she has no family as far as I am aware. We ought to take one step at a time, Jo." Jo paused for a few seconds when a final question popped into her mind, which rushed straight out into words.  
"How long have you known about this?" What could he say at this moment but the truth? He winced as he spoke.  
"About two months…..I was given this information in confidence. I had to obey the law against what I felt. Please understand." Those words rocked Jo to her foundations. She nearly collapsed in shock but some instinct made her thought veer way off track towards the immediately practical. "Are you telling me to stay on at this conference, John?" Jo demanded of John abruptly.  
"I don't feel capable of advising anyone to do anything right now. It makes my own wisdom seem and feel totally inadequate," John said in a low, rueful voice that did not say much for his own self-esteem. He dare not venture an explanation as to how he came to hear of the news. At a moment of tragedy like this, it hardly mattered and Jo wasn't asking. "I'll phone you later," Jo said abruptly. Instantly she sought out the one unoccupied plastic hardback chair in the hall. Claire raised her eyebrows in concern but held back while Jo tried to recover from the shock leaning her head against the back of the wall. Of course, she had to stumble her way back into the hall and concentrate as best she could. It was just her style. On the other end of the phone, John closed his eyes and inhaled and exhaled long deep breaths of air. He needed more than a little time to rest before the next phone call.

Today was a typical warm summer day for Yvonne, the sort of day that she loved. As she had done in a succession of blissful, dreamy days, one after the other, she had risen early, bright eyed, and popped her swimming costume on. After a morning cup of tea on the terrace, she grabbed her towel and headed off down the steps to the swimming pool. The clear blue surface was only slightly broken up into wavelets and reflected back at her, making her feel fresh and whole as she approached it. The line of trees behind the pool conveyed that sense of privacy of a world, which was hers to do as she wished. Every day she was here, she blessed her fortune to be here instead of being stuck inside her house, much though she loved its many creature comforts. A howling winter's wind, outside, grey skies, a muddy garden and the pissing it down all day was really depressing and made her feel walled in. She was unquestionably a creature of the sun with a fiery but warm-hearted temperament, which went with her emotional make up. Her villa in Spain was her source of pleasure in itself as opposed to the status symbol that it represented for Charlie, which he could brag about to his friends.

She slipped into the pool with an expert plunge off the side of the pool and with powerful strokes, she propelled herself through the water, which splashed in her face and soaked her hair. This was the life, she thought, getting her body nicely toned up in a pleasurable way. Not for her, those sad people who plugged themselves into some running machine with some crap dance music pumping in their ears getting them to move like robots on some automatic running track, all lined up on some bleeding production line. She loved the feel of the water against her skin and the freedom that it represented while the blue sky arched overhead.

Once she had pleasantly worn herself out, she emerged from the pool to lie back on the recliner next to the pool. It didn't take too long for the sun to dry her skin and start to heat it up and slipped on her sunglasses and basked in the heat. By this time in summer her skin was always golden bronze and she felt good about herself. At the back of her mind, it wouldn't take long for Lauren to join her. Presently, the sun made her feel sleepy and lazy as she stared up into the perfect blue sky. This was her idea of heaven. It was a habit of hers to carry her cordless phone around. The time when her Lauren was first held in remand at Larkhall made it a necessity. Her life had been one where she had learned to take bad news on the chin rather than hiding from it, from the shocking moment to when Lauren had announced that she had killed Fenner to her break up with Karen. She had received a lot of funny phone calls from Lauren to begin with until she had settled down. Now, any phone calls she received were at the very least, harmless. In this blessed out frame of mind, she lazily reached over her hand to the insistently beeping cordless and tried to focus her eyes on the name and number of the caller. With some pleasure, she realised that it was Karen. When John had informed her as to who it really was, she said, "Well, well, judge, this is a pleasant surprise. Didn't think you could keep yourself away from me forever." "Yvonne, I must apologise for not phoning you sooner," a rather agitated voice burst in abruptly with not a trace of those smooth talking ways she associated him with. "I've been very remiss of late." This didn't make any bleeding sense, Yvonne wondered to herself.  
"Yeah, yeah, judge, I get the message," She replied flippantly "Yvonne, I really have to come to the point," John warned in blunter tones than he felt comfortable with. "Of course I like talking to you but I fear that I have some bad news that you should prepare yourself for." John paused for that second while Yvonne jerked herself properly awake and sat up straight with a real feeling of growing anxiety. "What are you getting at?" "It's about Karen. I have to tell you that her son was found dead. I'm afraid that he had committed suicide." "You've got to be joking. People don't just suddenly go and top themselves. It doesn't happen that way." The words shot out of Yvonne's mouth as she instinctively tried to fend off what her heart of hearts told her was inevitable. She hadn't meant to use such an ugly dismissive word that she had used often enough but that was part of her way of covering up. On the other end of the phone, John became even more nervous. He hadn't expected Yvonne to get to the point as quickly as this.  
"I'm afraid that, unknown to Karen, her son had become seriously addicted to heroin and in the end, became an inpatient. On top of this, he had contracted HIV and he felt that he had no way out in life. I think he felt at the end that he had let his mother down." John cursed himself for the clinical stiff way he was talking to Yvonne. Unpleasant feelings started to well up in him of how a small boy had felt let down when his mother had abandoned him and no one was telling him, or explaining anything to him except in these sort of very English inadequate words. It felt like the unpteenth time that he was telling this story and it was getting hard for him to get the words right.  
"Don't forget, judge. I've been through this myself. Remember my son Ritchie?" "I'm really sorry, Yvonne…." He started to tell her with a break in his voice to hear a hard edge in her voice. A bit of him was ashamed, uncomfortable at sounding so undignified and conflicted with his contrary desire to do the right thing, however badly he put it. Mercifully, Yvonne picked up on his feelings in his voice and, momentarily, she pulled herself together.  
"Look here, this phone call don't make sense. Where's Karen?" "I came over with George to look after her last night after she heard the news. She's gone with her to the clinic while I'm making myself feel as useful as I can feel by phoning those closest to Karen. I've just phoned Jo who has suitably cross examined me." "Look here, judge, what do you want me to do?" He heaved a sigh of relief that Yvonne was giving him a way out in dealing with a practical matter that he could handle better. He half suspected that she did that for that very reason having picked up his typical understated. You don't shoot the messenger if he brings bad news. Her voice sounded firmer, more reassuring and he felt that he could do with all the support that he could get right now.  
"I don't want to put too much on you, but can you phone round Karen's friends. I spoke to Nikki earlier on and she knows already. I'll be here for when George and Karen get back." "Tell Karen from me that I'll come round this afternoon but if she wants to talk to me, just ring. Good luck." John felt incredibly touched at the way Yvonne's voice softened at the end. He knew that she could paint a picture so very well in her mind as to how events would unfold. He sank back in his armchair exhausted.  
At the other end of the phone, Yvonne nearly dropped the cordless on the ground and finally dropped her coping act. She couldn't bleeding well cry down the phone at a man who was right in the middle of it and obviously struggling. Tears rolled down her face and she sobbed with grief, for Karen, for their shared loss and for herself. She looked up at the sun and despairingly asked why it was shining. 


	164. Part One Hundred And Sixty Four

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part One Hundred And Sixty Four

When they arrived back in front of Karen's flat, she got out of the car, and stared at the small holdall of Ross's belongings that was on the back seat before picking it up. It seemed ludicrous to her that all he had left in the world was contained in this incredibly compact repository. Appearing upstairs in the lounge, they found John reading the paper, and drinking his third mug of coffee of the day. He opened his mouth to ask Karen how she was, but shut it again, thinking that to be one of the most inane, pointless questions he could possibly ask. Sparing him only the flicker of a glance, Karen walked straight through the lounge, and put the bag down in her bedroom, leaving it there until she was ready to begin examining its contents. 

When she reappeared, John said quietly, "I phoned Yvonne, and Jo. Yvonne said she would come and see you this afternoon, but that if you wanted to talk to her, just ring." "Thank you," Karen said bleakly, wondering if he could tell that she knew what he'd done. Sitting down on the other end of the sofa to John, whilst George took an armchair, Karen lit a cigarette, thoughtfully contemplating George's face through the smoke. "How much did Helen tell you?" She eventually asked, breaking the extremely tense silence. "Not a lot," George replied, wondering what was coming. "So, she didn't in fact tell you, that the Judge here, knew precisely where my son was, and what was happening to him, for the last two months?" Lifting a hand to her mouth in shock, George just stared in horror at John's profile. "No, she didn't," George said slowly. "I think she thought," Karen said, taking a long drag. "That there had been quite enough secrets kept one way and another. Do you think she's right, John?" Finally raising his pained eyes to meet hers, it frightened John immensely that instead of the hurt and anger he was expecting to see, all he found was emptiness. Her eyes looked haunted, dead, as if they had no life behind them at all. "You know why I couldn't tell you," He said quietly, though fervently, desperately wishing in this moment that he had. "Yes, I do, which makes this ten times worse," Karen replied bitterly. "I understand perfectly why you kept this from me. If I wasn't in that position, if all I felt was the hurt, the anger and the immense betrayal I should feel, I could let it run its course. I could refuse to speak to you for a few weeks, eventually get around to shouting at you for as long as it took to get it out of my system, and then forgive you, because that's what close friends are supposed to do. But because I completely understand, that Helen couldn't tell me because of the rules surrounding patient confidentiality, and that she sought legal advice from you, prompting you to keep the silence by virtue of the same principle, I can't do any of that." They could both see the struggle in her, the desperate effort it was taking for her to stay in control. She needed to be angry with something or someone, but in a way, her unequivocal understanding of why John had kept quiet, had cheated her out of that particular outlet. "I'm sorry," John said quietly, trying not to flinch at what might have been the glassy eyes of a corpse, if she hadn't still been breathing, moving and speaking. "Yes, I know you are," Karen told him. "But at the moment, I don't really want to hear it. Coddling your conscience isn't something I currently possess the mental energy to do." John could feel the barriers being irrevocably raised between them, putting a distance between him and Karen, completely restraining him from helping her. 

Finally turning her gaze on George, Karen took note of the extreme difficulty George was feeling, knowing that there was nothing she could say or do that would make it all go away. "Thank you for coming with me," She said, unable to remember if she'd said so before. "What do you want to do now?" George asked, not entirely sure how one accepted appreciation for something like this. "I think I need to be on my own for a while," Karen said quietly, knowing that this was about to be met with a barrage of objections. "And I think that would be the worst thing you could do," George replied instantly. "Will the pair of you do something for me?" Karen asked, approaching this from a different angle. "Will the two of you go and see Charlie?" George and John exchanged a glance, both immediately realising what she was up to. "I really don't think you should be left alone," John said quietly but firmly. "Please, John," Karen pleaded with him just as quietly. "Please, go with George, spend the day with your daughter, for me. I need both of you to do this." Taking in a deep, slow breath, John realised that she had them both well and truly cornered. She was using every piece of transparent, emotional blackmail in the book, because she needed to be alone to begin the long and tortuous process of grieving, and because she wanted both he and George to spend some time appreciating the fact that they still had a child. "Okay, if that's what you want," John eventually said, causing George to raise her eyebrows in protest. Seeing George's slightly aghast expression, Karen strove to reassure her. "Don't worry," She said quite seriously. "I'm perfectly safe." "Well, forgive me if I'm not remotely certain of that little fact," George told her disbelievingly. "George, I'm not going to do to either of you, what Ross has done to me, I promise." Still unsure as to whether to believe her or not, George capitulated. "All right, but I will be checking up on you, and we're both only a phone call away." 

Later that afternoon, Yvonne found herself drawing up in front of Karen's flat at the same time as Jo. John had called them both whilst Karen and George were at the clinic, Jo being about to return from the conference she'd been attending for the last three days. Both women felt the pain, the sympathy, and the need to ensure that Karen was just about surviving. They were both mothers, and Yvonne at least knew precisely what Karen was going through. Jo, having not lost a child to suicide, didn't know, but that didn't prevent her from wanting to check up on Karen. Jo had just arrived, and had rung the doorbell, when Yvonne drew up behind her. "You had the same thought as me," Yvonne said matter-of-factly as she got out of the Ferrari. "Yes," Jo said, looking up at the windows above her. "But I'm getting no answer. She may not be here." Retrieving a door key from her pocket, Yvonne said, "I wondered if this might come in handy. The only significant object me and Karen ever exchanged was door keys, and we never quite got around to giving them back. If she really isn't here, then she'll never know we were." Fitting the key in the front door, Yvonne led the way up the stairs, sensing Karen's presence, and knowing that they were right to enter uninvited. Whether this was from her years and years of having to be aware of everyone else's shadow besides her own, Yvonne wasn't sure. But when they reached the lounge, they both became painfully aware of the utterly heartrending sobs that only a mother can cry. It caused an almost physical hurt in both of them to hear such torment. Exchanging incredibly worried glances, they moved towards the bedroom. 

When they entered, they found Karen sitting on the bed, the holdall of Ross's belongings open beside her. Karen was cradling one of his sweaters, holding it to her face, the pale blue fabric soaking up her tears. Silently pushing the bag of clothes to one side, Yvonne sat down next to her, Jo moving to Karen's other side. Only when Yvonne tried to remove the blue sweater from her hands, did Karen become aware that she had company. Desperately trying to regain control of herself, Karen looked from one to the other of them. "How... How did you get in?" She asked hesitantly between gasps. Yvonne held up the door key. "We just wanted to make sure you were all right," Yvonne clarified, hating and detesting the sheer inanity of the words. Karen gave her a lopsided smile. "Oh, sure," She said bitterly. "I'm fine. I keep thinking about some of the things I said to you, after Ritchie died, and it's only now dawning on me what complete bollocks it all was." "You're wrong about that," Yvonne said with utter certainty. "Because most of what you said to me that night was absolutely spot on. There wasn't nothing I could have done to stop Ritchie, just as there's nothing you could have done to prevent Ross from doing this." "Jesus," Karen said in disgust. "Why is everyone so determined to persuade me to believe that? You two, Helen, George, you name it." "Because trying to apportion blame to anyone, will do you far more harm than good, and achieve nothing whatsoever," Jo said firmly. "Don't you get it?" Karen asked her imploringly. "I need to blame someone, even if that someone is myself. It's the only way I can begin to make sense of any of this. How much did John tell the two of you?" "He said that Ross had been Helen's patient for the last few months, and that he'd been doing drugs rehab for the last two. He didn't say much more, other than that he'd killed himself." "Ross, cut his wrist," Karen told them, though Jo already knew this, John having been far more frank with her than he'd been with Yvonne. "Of all the ways to die, that has to be one of the worst. But then, in a place like that, I suppose that was all the choice he had." She said this in such a flat, toneless voice, that both Jo and Yvonne instantly grew concerned for her. Putting out a hand, Jo took Karen's between her own, feeling the ice-cold skin that almost felt lifeless in her grasp. "You're freezing," She observed, trying to rub some warmth back into Karen's hands. "I think it's called delayed shock," Karen replied, only just realising that she was shivering. "Come on, I'll make you a cup of tea," Yvonne said, she and Jo helping Karen up from the bed and going back into the lounge. Emerging from the airing cupboard with a blanket, Yvonne handed it to Jo, and moved into the kitchen to make them all some tea. Even though it was the penultimate day of July, and the sun was warm outside, Karen was bitterly cold where she sat on the sofa. After wrapping the blanket round her, Jo sat down next to her, putting her arms round her to try and give Karen some of her body heat. "Where are John and George?" Jo asked, feeling the extreme residual tension in Karen's muscles. "I made them both go and see Charlie," Karen said bleakly. "I needed some time on my own. I'm grateful you and Yvonne are here though. I don't trust myself not to get absolutely plastered." 

When Yvonne handed her the mug of hot, sweet tea, Karen took an appreciative sip. "What else did John tell you?" Karen asked, looking straight into Jo's eyes, somehow knowing that he would have said more to Jo than to Yvonne. "He did tell me," Jo said slowly, seeing that Karen definitely already knew about this. "That he'd known about Ross, since the end of May." "You what?" Yvonne asked, horror struck that anyone could have kept something like this from a mother. "Helen sought legal advice from him," Karen explained to her. "Because she wanted to find out if there was any way that she could tell me without Ross's permission. But, as she couldn't, neither could John." Taking a breath to indignantly respond, Yvonne caught the warning look from Jo, telling her that this definitely wasn't the time. "I'm sorry, that I'm not really keeping it together at the moment," Karen said, feeling a little foolish that she couldn't even deal with a case of emotional and physical shock, refusing to take into account that it was her own. "Karen, you don't have to be," Jo told her gently. "It would seem extremely unnatural if you were. Grief takes different people in different ways." "Yeah, I went for hours without talking, remember?" Yvonne said, her thoughts having taken her back to that awful night more than once already today. "I just... I don't know where to start," Karen admitted regretfully. "I have absolutely no idea what I'm supposed to do, or even what I'm supposed to feel." "As for what anyone is supposed to do in a situation like this," Jo said quietly. "That isn't something you need to think about today, or tomorrow if needs be." "And there ain't no one who can tell you what you're supposed to feel," Yvonne said matter-of-factly. "That's something only you can decide in your own time. There aren't any rules, because feelings don't live by them. All you need to know is that we're all of us here for you, and we will be, for as long as you need us." 


	165. Part One Hundred And Sixty Five

Part One Hundred and Sixty Five

"Are we doing the right thing in leaving Karen on her own?"

John sighed to himself. He took a pride in doing the right thing in the judge's throne and in his battles with the LCD. Never before was he forced to work out the right thing to do in his private life when the directions were not clear, what appeared to be right was afterwards shown to be not the highest wisdom. Only it wasn't the Court of Appeal pointing out the precise details of the errors of his ways, it was his own conscience that muddled fact and emotions.  
"You heard her, George. Quite frankly, the whole idea is against my better judgment but I'm not as inclined as I once was to believe implicitly in it, and certainly not out of court from my most recent track record." "John," George urged softly. Laying her hand delicately on his knee as he drove them down the street in his grey convertible. The top was down to day and the wind gently blew past them and ruffled George's hair. The sun and the wind outside tried to bolster their spirits but neither of their senses felt responsive. John had latched onto the immediate job in hand of navigating through the busy London streets. George was less fortunate, not having this convenient prop.

Charlie shared a house with two fellow students located just far enough away to deter any working mothers and fathers from just "dropping in." All students eagerly reached out in those few years for an alter ego who is single and free of family connections. This was part of growing up. The presence of nervously fussing mothers with tins of home made scones and bringing presents of totally unhip dresses that they thought was "just the thing for Summer was enough for any student to cringe in embarrassment. For this reason, Charlie's distancing of herself from her mother was safely concealed from her fellow students and the darker, long established strains in their relationships was Charlie's secret.  
George lay back, her thoughts darkened by the prospect of meeting her daughter. She had accepted the traditional view that a death as a powerful reminder for the living to be more caring of each other and to be a reminder of mortality. When it cuts short a life before it had really begun, the shock is more brutal. But what could George say to her?  
"Every time I see Charlie these days, it feels as if we are strangers who just happen to share the ….I mean to be related," George suddenly found her voice and stumbled at the end. Of course, Charlie took John's name, not hers and it was her doing to divorce herself from John and revert to the name of Channing. "I mean I ought to love her but………" "Charlie has all her life laid out in front of her. Time is a great healer if……" "Exactly." "George, we go in as a united front. We are her parents," John firmly pronounced." He means well, George thought sadly. Too many memories were too easily recalled of when they were anything but united. She was all too aware that Charlie had grown up with this discord and how deeply it had marked her.

"All very well, John, if we were ever the conventional husband and wife with two point four children," George sadly intervened, the weight of reality burdening on her shoulders. "Right now, I don't feel exactly like a conventional anything and Charlie has long since given up on me." John smiled reassuringly at George though deep down, he had to admit that George was being realistic and not neurotically beating herself up. He felt duty bound to make the best case that there was as a one time married couple who were still friends.  
"Don't worry, we'll manage if we stick together." George flashed a fleeting smile back at John. He meant well but he had no idea of what it felt like to be the villain of the piece in this domestic situation. No matter how outrageous John had been in his philanderings, past and present, Charlie treated him with that tolerant attitude which suggested that she was older than he was. George had left the family and she felt that she had never given the love to her daughter that was conventionally expected as a mother. Despite her wayward and willful personality, she had been imprisoned as securely in what was conventionally expected of her as anyone of her class and background in this respect. Growing older doesn't necessarily give anyone the freedom to break loose the chains as easily as might be thought. She knew very well that if her presence was acknowledged by Charlie that would be an achievement.

Now that they were temporarily removed from Karen's situation, they were traveling in limbo together, in a strange manner disconnected from their everyday lives. Driving around in the same car gave them a strange sensation of a once familiar feeling, long since removed from their daily experience by time but more sharply recalled to life than at any other time. They were up close to Karen to be part of that emotionally dislocating process called grief, which churns up so many memories of the past, which is layered down deep in forgotten memories due to the immersion in day-to-day activities. These memories are not as the inscriptions in an old diary or scrap book but vivid, felt, relived. While pain and anger had been woven into the fabric of their relationship, so had the good times and their shared happiness, just like the times long ago that they had….driven round in a car together. 

At the same time, grief dislocated their automatic grasp on managing the mundane matters of the present so that accidents sneak up on them. It was for this reason that it occurred to neither of them to phone Charlie up in advance to tell her that they were coming. They simply assumed that Charlie would somehow be there when they called.

"You two guys go out and enjoy yourselves," Charlie called out barely five minutes before John's car pulled up outside her house. "I just want to have a day on my own. Say hi from me to the rest of the gang." She had one of those days when she simply wanted to slob round the house, curled up in bed with a book and wasn't in a 'going out' mood.

Accordingly, she was puzzled when she heard the sound of a car pulling up, right outside the house. It must surely be for her neighbours, she thought as she lay in bed in her upstairs room, which overlooked the front. She hadn't bothered with a shower or putting on makeup and was dressed in her nightie. Her room was casually informal and required anyone entering her room not to tread on the assorted belongings that she had left strewn around. It must be a Jehovah's Witness, or a door-to-door salesman or someone who had called at the wrong house, she thought, as she heard the front doorbell ring. No one had phoned her up on her mobile, that essential tool of her social life, so it must be a mistake. Sighing in exasperation, she slung on a pair of worn out jeans that she picked up off the floor and a T-shirt, and walked in her bare feet to answer the fourth ring and her eyes squinted through the gap left by the half open door. She felt totally disheveled and peevish with the attitude that any caller had better take her as she was. To her total shock and horror, her version of 'the flying saucer has landed' assaulted her disbelieving eyes. "Dad. What on earth are you doing here?" John paused for thought before he spoke. His feelings were mixed between a confused recognition that he had slipped up in not phoning up as he always did and annoyance at her tone of voice. He felt strongly, if irrationally, that he had been through an emotional wringer in this last twenty-four hours give or take a few and that Charlie ought to be more appreciative. George stood back, feeling that she was once again the Invisible Woman. At least Charlie was taking notice of John even when she was clearly trying to pick a quarrel with him. "You're right, Charlie. We should have phoned. We've just come from the house of a mutual friend of ours who has had a big upset in her life. Might we come in?" John's measured, controlled tones got through to her. Even in her frame of mind, she could not turn down a simple apology, not from her dad. She flicked her gaze at George, her mother, and that glance accepted her across her threshold.  
"If you had only told me you were coming, I would have made myself more presentable. I'm afraid the house looks a bit of a dump." "Of course, we have to take your present surroundings as they are. There is no question of blame or guilt," John's stout rejoinder tried to reassure her.  
Wrong move, John, George thought to herself. You are immediately summoning up the specters of adolescent guilt feelings that you are trying to dispel.  
"If you want to freshen yourself up, by all means do so, Charlie. Your father and I will be happy to wait in the living room until you are ready." "Wait there. I want to tidy it up before you set one foot in it. I've only just got up, as I am sure you have noticed. There's no telling what sort of state it's in." Charlie belied in one sweep that adolescent 'devil may care' persona she liked to assume when she was with her friends and strictly no grownups in sight. It upset John to see the brief glare Charlie directed at her mother and the sarcastic thrust with which it was accompanied. "It's your house, Charlie. We are guests in it. You do as you see fit." Charlie stomped off, irritated at her father's persistent use of the word 'we' and highly conscious in that way she normally denied to herself, how perfectly glamorous her mother always appeared. Isn't there ever a time when she has a lock of hair out of place or her makeup isn't perfect? But then, that is the attribute of the ice maiden. There is never a flaw in her appearance. She whipped round the room briefly, stuffed a few things behind the settee, took the ashtrays, overflowing with dog ends and shoved them into the bin into the kitchen and fluffed up the cushions.  
"You can come in now." Gingerly, John and George entered the room. To their eyes unused to the room, it looked quite tidy and nothing for Charlie to get worked up about. They politely took a seat and smiled at Charlie.  
"Well, I did say you have to take the place as it is," Charlie said defensively, conscious of the lingering odour of the chip pan from yesterday's late night cooking.  
"I remember my flat at university," John said heartily. "It was none too tidy as I recall." "Well, you're a man," Came the blunt rejoinder. Charlie thought carefully, trying to work out the real reason for the extraordinary reason why both her parents had called together. This had not happened before. Out of the mists of memories of the last time she saw dad, the real reason emerged. "I know why you have both called," She said sharply. "Last time I saw you, dad you were on at me to come to that classical performance of yours. I suppose you are going to have a go at me about that." John's reaction totally confused Charlie. She had expected her father to snap into full parent denunciation mode, not of course that he would seek to forcibly circumscribe her movements in any way, shape or form but he expected her on this one occasion to put herself out, if not for her mother's sake but for his. She expected him to be so confoundedly reasonable about his point of view, something that Jo had ranted at him from time to time. She was expecting a formulation something along these lines and stated to get angry in advance of him speaking. The reaction she got was utterly different.  
"Oh, that," John said vaguely, a distant look in his eye. He was struggling to recall that event. He could observe it as a hugely satisfying period in his life, which brought that dimension of himself out, the amateur musician, for a cause, which was noble. It felt that it belonged to some other dimension where it enjoyed a towering importance in his life but was not where he was right now. "I suppose you were a little remiss in not coming to see it but it can't be helped right now." "Your father performed brilliantly," Added George in spontaneous generosity.

Charlie shook her head in bewilderment. Their reactions could not be pigeon holed in the adolescent folklore, which knew how to deal with homelife. The more she thought about it, the way they were didn't add up.  
"I don't understand you. You are both acting completely weird. I thought you had conspired together in some parent type of game playing to make me feel guilty….." "I never do that, Charlie," protested John, words, which made George, smile to herself for the first time. Her excellently established exchange and mart of perceptions of John she had established with Jo had taught her better. Charlie was right of course.  
"Do you want tea or coffee? I'm afraid it will have to be in a mug." Both John and George winced inwardly at student primitivism but graciously accepted two teas. It was a small price to pay if it meant that their daughter was becoming more human. They sat around patiently while Charlie busied herself round behind closed doors in the kitchen. For the first time, they were achieving at least a surface feeling of normality.  
Charlie emerged with two steaming hot mugs and sat opposite them.  
"Why did you come?" Charlie pursued again but without her aggression but more in a real spirit of enquiry.  
"I suppose I ought to have explained more clearly. Karen, a friend of ours who also played in the classical performance you mentioned had had a sudden bereavement. Her son who is of a similar age to you committed suicide in unpleasant and upsetting circumstances. He had dropped out of university and was alienated from his mother. We were over her flat trying to comfort her as best as we could which isn't much in these circumstances." John's mouth twisted in pain as he uttered these words and with the consciousness as he took in the surroundings that those events must seem a million miles away from her. "Karen wanted some time on her own which threw your mother and me together. We could not help but think that we had not seen you recently and just wanted to pop in and have a chat about nothing in particular." "Gosh, I'm so sorry, dad." Charlie's manner was totally transformed. She understood better than her parents knew as she knew of other students who had cracked up. They weren't to know of this, not her father who still thought in terms of the sixties, which sounded so cool with free love, smoking pot, sit ins and no student loans. Life at university affected some people in different and peculiar ways, in being removed from that emotional support, close supervision or straightjacket, depending on your point of view. They were away from that ambiguous comfort zone of home life and some went off the rails, drank too much or suffered a mental breakdown. It was all down to the temptations of adolescence, which the older generation should not theoretically know about.  
"I can understand why you're here. Sorry I was cross earlier on. I had planned to have a day on my own but, hey, you can do better than what you expected out of life." Charlie's smile lit her face and her eyes were on him alone. It gratified a gaping need for approval, which he kept, scrupulously hidden from the functionaries of the LCD and with his droll affectations in his conversations. For long periods he was a single parent but George still belonged to Charlie and, increasingly, to him in their own fashion.  
"As long as we are all friends. That's what matters," John hinted.  
Charlie flashed her mother a token glacial smile without any real feeling and started to chatter away to her father, which upset George. When her daughter's attention was distracted, her smile at John was, by contrast, one of real gratitude to John in sticking up for her as best as he could. He could be infuriating in his indirectness of manner but her sympathies went wholeheartedly out to him that he was doing a tricky balancing act in not provoking an argument with Charlie. She made a mental note to tell him later of this. In her present state of emotional nakedness, it seemed only the natural thing to do.

"Are you planning to visit us over the holidays, Charlie?" John ventured at last.  
"It depends," Came the non-committal reply. That depends on if I'm around, a very depressed George reflected however rock like and dependable John tried to be. That casual question finally triggered the question she did not want to really ask. The physical proximity and body language of her parents continually nagged away at her and broke down the barrier.  
"Are you too sleeping together?" "So what if we are. After all, we are your parents" Charlie promptly shut up with a sulky expression on her face. George was silent but was hugely proud of John's loyalty and courage in openly sticking up for her and facing her out. John pretended to ignore her obvious silence and took his courage into his hands in pursuing the point.  
"You know, you ought to be closer to your mother, Charlie," John urged ever so gently.  
"Easier said than done, dad. Don't forget, you brought me up from the age of six, not my mother apart from the token visit," Charlie said coolly and dismissively.  
"Life is too short to maintain hostilities, Charlie, whatever the respective rights and wrongs. Someday you'll know that." "Whatever, dad." He gave up in despair. She didn't really see what he, Karen, George, Yvonne and so many others knew, whether parents or otherwise. All it takes is a little maturity and experience and above all time. Both John and George had every reason in the world to know that, regrettably, there is no control over what time is allotted to you or those you hold dear and should not be taken for granted. 


	166. Part One Hundred And Sixty Six

Part One Hundred and Sixty Six

That weekend, there were many worried souls like Helen and Nikki even if they were on the edges of the emotional vortex in the centre of which Karen was being dragged down.  
Helen felt as guilty as hell at the disastrous consequences of the role that she had been forced to play for months, as she had known both Karen and Ross. After a month at Larkhall, Nikki was fast becoming closer to Karen in her own right and she was consumed with worry as to whether or not to phone Karen over the weekend or to give her space. On the Sunday, she seemed lost in a world of her own.  
"You're wondering whether or not to phone Karen, aren't you?" Nikki nodded in answer, glad that someone close to her had broken in on her thoughts.  
"Well, Nikki, you're wing governor and of all those you work with, only you know that Karen will be off work for who knows how long. You're at the least the equal of all the other wing governors if I remember them rightly, no matter how junior they may think of you in the pecking order…….." Nikki smiled for the first time for days and latched onto Helen's brisk matter of fact approach. It offered more prospects than getting wrapped up in her emotions. The dark fog that clouded her thoughts started to lift.  
"….Let's look at the situation logically. If you don't phone Karen and at the very least ask her what she wants you to do, work wise, then some well meaning person will blunder his or her way into a situation where you have all the advantages of knowing what's what. So you ensure that Karen's back is covered so that she can grieve in peace." The intonation in Helen's last words softened and showed how sensitively she was feeling for Karen behind her business like façade.

To Nikki's great surprise and relief, it was Yvonne who answered the phone and, as Nikki talked, she periodically called out to Karen who stayed in the background.  
"Karen says to you to phone Grayling as soon as you get to work and explain what's happened. She can't say how long she's likely to be off but I'd be surprised if she goes to work next week at all. Then you pass word to the other wing governors and take it from there." Nikki nodded her head doubtfully, wondering what to do with an absent Governing Governor.  
"Anything that comes up, just use your bloody common sense, Nikki. This one's from me." Yvonne's domineering tones squashed Nikki's self doubts into the ground and put her in her place. Fine, fine, she shrugged her shoulders in acceptance, one ex prisoner is telling another how to keep one of Her Majesty's Prisons ticking over. I might as well go with the flow.  
"And Karen says to give you and Helen all her love," Yvonne added on a more tender note.  
"Tell her to stay safe and Helen and I will be thinking of her every step of the way." Nikki put the phone down with a thoughtful expression on her face and held it in her hand.  
"It seems that I have been told what to do," She said, turning to Helen with a wry smile on her face. "That was Yvonne I was speaking to in case you hadn't guessed. Karen was in the background and she sends us her love." "After all that I did……….." Helen said with feeling, feeling completely bowled over at Karen's understanding and paused awhile in thought. "Well, when she wants to talk, I guess she'll call us." "I'd better get my suit ready for the morning."

The next day, Nikki was at work half an hour earlier than normal and, on an adrenaline high, virtually flew into her office. She grabbed the phone and dialled the main Area switchboard in a blinding hurry and drummed her fingers on the table as she was shunted around from pillar to post. One lazy buffoon after another assured her that Grayling did not work at that extension, and made vague and erroneous guesses as to what his extension was. Eventually, to her relief, his pleasant tones answered the call.  
"Grayling. What can I do for you?" "It's Nikki, Nikki Wade of Larkhall Prison….I've got some bad news about Karen….I got a call that her son committed suicide over the weekend and she's totally distraught about it…I'd be very surprised if she's going to come in this week, only guesswork you know but I have a prison on my hands with no governing governor…." "Hold it, hold it, take it easy, Nikki." Grayling's smooth reassuring tones cut in on Nikki's stream of words in an attempt to reassure her and slow her down. "Take it from the top but a little slower." Nikki flushed slightly with embarrassment but her thoughts shot past that as she tried to calm down, breathing in and out.  
"Now then, first things first. Most important, has Karen got either friends or family or both to help her through the immediate crisis." "The judge, John Deed and George as well. I don't know about her family." "That's a huge relief." On the other end of the phone, Grayling concealed very cleverly an immediate feeling of alarm and fear for Karen's well being. He asked Nikki what ideas she had to deal with the situation at work and privately gave her full marks for initiative.  
"I trust it won't happen but I thought it best to advise you that if you or anyone in authority receive any communications from any press hacks, you are to give my name and phone number as official spokesman and under no circumstances make any comment whatever. It's down to me to field any calls as Karen's superior. You do understand?" Grayling said gently.  
"Jesus, I never thought of that," Nikki confessed to this curiously fatherly reassuring male figure, something utterly unique in her experience.  
"I'll phone Karen myself and see how she is going on. Regarding work, if need be, I'll pop over and take a look at anything that's urgent. She will, of course, be entitled to special leave for the next few days and for the funeral and should not dream of coming back till she is good and ready. I know what she's like." "Whew, thank you so much for talking me through this one." " I would not expect a new wing governor, even of your calibre to suddenly become acting governing governor. Remember that and that I'm only a phone call away," Grayling replied almost tenderly to Nikki's huge and audible relief. "You take it from here and keep me posted." Nikki had subconsciously thought from her club days that a group of individuals would knock up a game plan on how to run the prison in Karen's absence and get cracking. Her input of helpful suggestions were phrased in a deliberately low-key fashion and avoiding being pushy. Without Karen's control, what rose to the surface in one or two of the older more reactionary wing governors was there hitherto secret resentment of this young upstart of dubious origins who in their eyes was Karen's 'blue eyed girl' but in reality was more able than they were. This manifested itself in procrastination and a needless repetition of what Nikki had said five minutes earlier as apparently their original idea. It was all egos, Nikki concluded, when she felt the clock ticking of events outside the committee room. Eventually, she forced the issue.  
"Look, no offence but I feel we ought to move on from here. It isn't impossible that, as we speak, the press could be queuing up outside while we're off the wing and pestering one or two of our inexperienced staff." "I think that we can't let that scum come sniffing round our turf. Come on, let's give the troops their marching orders so that I can have a cup of tea in peace." Nikki smiled sweetly at the older man and walked along with a couple of more amenable, friendlier colleagues and made her way rapidly back to the PO's room.

"Can I have your attention?" Nikki called out in sharper tones than was usual for her as she was conscious that some of the prison officers were fidgeting, as she was late.  
"I have only one item for the meeting as anything else can be held over to the next time. I have to let you know the very sad news that Karen's son tragically committed suicide over the weekend…." A gasp of wonder turning into shock could be heard round the room while Di composed her face suitably for the occasion. "…..I'm sorry I'm late but I've been getting together with the other wing governors to break the news first to them and, as it's a safe bet that Karen will be off work for a week if not longer, how to deal with things in the meantime….." Nikki paused for a second as the emphasis that she had to place on a human tragedy being portrayed as an administrative problem flooded her full of emotions at what she had known from Helen. She could not begin to describe what had happened even assuming that it was right to do so.  
"I gave her a call over the weekend and I had to check it out that she has friends around who are helping her get through a very difficult time. Just how bad, I couldn't even begin to imagine how it feels. I don't want to say any more about it except that I'll be the first to tell you of any developments and keep you posted. I know that she'll be in my thoughts and I am sure that this is the same for all of you……" Nikki paused as she lost track of her thoughts and couldn't work out what to say next.  
"Poor Karen, I feel so sorry for her," Gina chimed in.  
"We ought to have some sort of whip round for her for some flowers or something," Colin added kind-heartedly, in his cockney accent. Don't expect me to go choosing flowers thought Di sat at the very back of the room and glared with hatred while attention was off her while Bodybag was thoughtful. "I'll take care of the flowers. I like that sort of thing if someone else could collect the money." "That's a lovely idea, everyone. I'm sure that Karen will appreciate the gesture." "If Karen is likely to be off for a bit, won't that put more work onto you?" Gina asked. She could tell that Nikki was under pressure despite the way that she tried to conceal it. Nikki was incredibly moved by the spontaneous kindness and generosity of feeling for Karen .She was proud of them…well nearly all of them if she could trust her instinct from what a sidelong glance at Di told her. A few moments passed as it hit her suddenly how protective they all were of her which she hadn't known before. "Neil Grayling has considered pitching in and sorting out anything that's beyond me and the other wing governors but thanks for thinking of me, Gina……….one last thing," she added while a last vestige of a working memory pulled the thought from out of oblivion. "Have any of you seen or heard of any press outside." Everyone shook their head.  
"Neil Grayling has strongly advised us that on no account should any of us engage in conversation to the press, not me not anyone. He absolutely insists that he deals with all press enquiries personally." "That's a relief," Bodybag said with a relieved smile on her face and everyone nodded in agreement.  
"Excuse me, Nikki, what do we tell the prisoners and when?" "I'm glad you reminded me of that. I feel we ought to go out of our way to tell the prisoners rather than let any rumours start up. I am sure Karen would want us to give them the facts just as I've told it to you." Nikki felt incredibly foolish that she had forgotten the prisoners of all people. That was really wrong of her. Gina glanced sympathetically at Nikki, who looked really tired and the strain was telling on her. She suspected that she had made light of the extent of her involvement over the weekend. "Anything anyone wants to bring up….no…OK, same duties as before.  
The prison officers started to file out of the room and Gina caught up with Nikki.  
"If you want anything taken off your back this week, just say the word. You're as bad as Karen, always working too bloody hard. You're not the best in having the sense to let some other bugger take the weight." Gina scolded Nikki affectionately. "You just go back to your room and have a nice long hot cup of tea and let the rest of us sort everything out. Go on, beat it." Only Gina could talk to Nikki that way. Her smile was one of pure affection. Gina was right. She really needed a rest.  
"I might take you up on that one. I'm behind on my paperwork," Nikki retorted with a cheeky grin. The expression on Gina's face and the way she stuck out her tongue was reply enough.  
Some distance behind Nikki, Di exchanged words with Bodybag, being the last two in the room.  
"Now Madam knows what it's like to lose someone she loves. She wasn't all hearts and flowers when poor Jim Fenner was murdered by that evil Atkins woman." Bodybag blinked. It shook her that Di had no sense of feeling of what it was like for a mother to lose her son. What if she had a phone call that her little Bobby Darin was found dead in the flat that he shared with his pal? She always thought he was safe but you never know these days about anything? It horrified her that Di seemed to be talking out of her own mouth.  
"Madam is not exactly in my good books but losing a child like that. You don't ever get over a heartache like that and you can't say the words you just said." "But Sylv….." "I'm sorry, Di, but I can't agree with you. I don't want to argue with you but I'll put in money for the flowers and sign the card with the rest." Sylvia turned and made her way out of the room, walking stiffly and uncomfortably. She made a mental note to phone her children, starting with Connie, this very night. Di glowered alone but before she left, a thought struck her about what Nikki had said.

"That's really terrible what's happened to Miss Betts. She must be feeling out of her mind. Worse than losing your fella." The two Julies and Denny found a spare corner to gossip in after they had been taken on one side by Gina. Julie Johnson's naturally warm- hearted nature came immediately to the surface, her soft voice laden with sympathy.  
"I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to my David but you never know these days. You just never know what people are thinking, specially those what put a happy smile on their faces." They looked uneasily to their children who seemed suddenly more vulnerable and penned forever on the outside on the other side of the prison bars. They seemed ages away, now they came to think about it.  
"Miss Rossi told us that Nikki heard about it over the weekend and she looked dead shaken up." "Isn't that just like her to care," Julie S fondly replied, her mind going far back in time. "We ought to do something for her, like a card. It's only right." "I'll do the picture if you tell me how you want it done. Just don't ask me to do the words as I ain't never done a card before." "We'll write the words Denny but mind you don't make it look sort of too gloomy and weird. Miss Betts will want something to cheer her up, to look back on the happy times she had with him." Denny looked doubtfully at the artistic direction laid upon her. She was used to letting her mind run free and paint what came out of it. She would be no bloody good writing some sort of naff Valentine card.  
"No promises, man but I'll try. Miss Betts deserves the best." The two women looked fondly at her. They would have to somehow scrounge some stiff cardboard and some paints from the art room and get thinking. 


	167. Part One Hundred And Sixty Seven

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Sixty Seven

On the Monday afternoon, Karen drove over to the vicarage to see Barbara. She'd spent the last two days barely speaking, barely communicating with anyone, but now she knew the time had come to start deciding what she wanted to do. Yvonne and Jo had stayed with her long into Saturday evening, but Karen had eventually persuaded them to go home. She had needed to be alone, and the long hours of Saturday night had given her the opportunity to do far too much thinking. George had called her on Sunday, as had John, and they had thankfully both taken the hint that she still needed some space. She'd received a call from Nikki, and Roisin had popped over to see her. It was so nice to have friends, she mused to herself, so good to know that if she needed them, they would be there for her. But Karen knew absolutely nothing about how one began arranging a funeral. So, here she was, asking the only person who wasn't at work, and who might be able to help her understand what would be the best thing to do for her son. 

The vicarage where Barbara and Henry lived, wasn't far from the church where they'd performed 'The Creation.' As Karen pulled up in the gravel drive, she wondered how Henry was doing. She didn't want to disturb them, but she did need to talk to certainly Barbara, and possibly Henry as well. Birds were singing in the trees in the front garden, providing a tranquility that Karen simply couldn't feel inside. When Barbara answered the door, she looked surprised to see Karen on her doorstep. "Karen," She said, trying to offer her a warm smile. "Come in." "Is this a good time?" Karen asked, moving into the hall. "I don't want to disturb you." "Don't be silly," Barbara told her, leading the way into the airy living room. "Henry's out in the garden, supposedly writing his sermon for a christening on Saturday, but the last time I looked, he was sound asleep." "How is he?" Karen asked, taking a seat on the sofa. "He's, well, seriously ill but comfortable, I think is how they put it. But that's not what we're here to talk about, is it." "No," Karen said bleakly. "Karen, I am so, so sorry," Barbara said, wishing she could offer some kind of comfort for the torment Karen was clearly going through. "Barbara, I really don't know what I'm supposed to do, and I thought you might be the best person to ask." "Would you like a cup of tea?" Barbara asked, knowing that this was going to take a while. Smiling slightly at the old British answer to a crisis, Karen said that she would, and listened as Barbara moved about in the stone flagged kitchen at the back of the house. 

When Barbara returned, and put the tea down on the coffee table, Karen resisted her usual urge to reach for a cigarette, knowing that Barbara would prefer it if she didn't smoke. "I have never arranged a funeral in my life," Karen began. "And I haven't any idea where to start." "That all depends on what you want," Barbara told her. "And what you might consider the right thing to do, also depends on what you believe in." "I don't believe in God, Barbara, I don't think I ever have done." "Why, just out of interest?" "Too many bad things have happened in my life, to convince me that nothing remotely resembling a god, can really exist. I know it sounds pretty simplistic, but that's how it is. I've never had any proof that a god exists. So, I suppose that means that I don't want a church service, and that I don't want him buried in a churchyard." "If, you had him cremated," Barbara said slowly. "That doesn't exclude you from having a perfectly suitable service." "Doesn't it?" Karen asked, clearly a little mystified. "No, of course not," Barbara reassured her. "I'm sure Henry would be perfectly happy to do it for you, if you wanted him to, and as you don't want religion to be a significant part of it, the simpler the service the better." "Are you sure he'd be up to it?" Karen asked, not wanting to put Henry under any extra strain. "Yes, I should think so." "I always thought that, if someone died, from suicide, that there was no way a vicar would even consider giving them a funeral." "That may be true of the Catholic Church, but the Church of England is a little less stern about such things. Karen, this form of saying goodbye, is really for those who are left behind. You need to begin the process of closure, and a funeral is the only way you can do that. This time is for you, and if all you want is a simple reading, and some time to reflect, then that's all there needs to be." 

"Do you remember when Roisin sang at Ritchie's funeral?" Karen said after a short silence. "I might ask her to do the same for Ross." "That would provide you with some time for reflection," Barbara agreed. Just before Karen could continue trying to work out what she should do, Henry appeared in the doorway, looking thoroughly rested. "Karen," He said, entering the room and sitting down in his usual chair. "How are you?" Opening her mouth to respond, Karen realised that she simply didn't have an answer for that particular question. "Not an easy reply to give, I see," Henry observed, as Barbara moved to pour him a cup of tea. "No, not really," Karen said quietly. "I was talking to Barbara about what I should do for Ross's funeral," She added, wanting to get back to the matter in hand. "And I have something of a problem, because religion has never really been my thing." "That doesn't have to be as great a problem as you might think," Henry told her, taking the cup from Barbara with a smile of thanks. "So Barbara was telling me." "You know something," Henry said fondly though with an added touch of pride. "The first time I met Barbara, I knew that she would have made a fabulous vicar herself. She more often than not writes my sermons for me these days." "Oh, I can believe it," Karen replied conspiratorially. "Karen, if you would like me to give Ross a funeral, that does not focus on religious belief, I am perfectly willing to do that." "Yes, I would, if that would be possible," Karen told him gratefully. "Would you be willing to do it at the crematorium?" "Of course." Then, after a moment's silence, Henry fixed her with his gentle gaze and said, "God will forgive him, Karen." "But I'm not sure that I can," Karen replied quietly, finally voicing the thing that had been haunting her for the last two days. Ross had succeeded in hurting her, in the worst way possible. He had ended his life, taken himself away from her, just because he was too proud to ask for help from the one person who would have given it. "You will do, in time," Henry said gently. "Because it is something you must do, in order to recover from this. This will undoubtedly be the hardest journey you have ever traveled, but with the help and guidance of your numerous friends, you will eventually get through it." "I wish I could have faith in that," Karen said dejectedly. "Hope is all any of us have," Henry said matter-of-factly. "Even at a time like this. You cannot continue to hope for Ross's survival, but you can and must continue to have hope of your own." 


	168. Part One Hundred And Sixty Eight

A/N: Betaed by Jen. Credits: The poem is called Peace and is by George Herbert. The song that Roisin sings is called Room With A View, and is by Carolyn Dawn Johnson.  
Crystal sings John Lennon's "Imagine" as performed by Eva Cassidy. 

Part One Hundred And Sixty Eight

On the Friday morning, the day of the funeral, Karen stood in front of her wardrobe, utterly uncertain as to what to wear. This wasn't right, she kept thinking to herself, mothers weren't supposed to outlive their children, it just shouldn't happen! She felt as though she'd been living in an alternate reality ever since Ross had died, moving through the familiar rituals of her daily life, yet barely acknowledging those around her. On the surface she was just about managing to maintain her equilibrium, but she knew that she wasn't really communicating with anyone. George, Yvonne, Nikki and Roisin, they'd all made attempts to get through to her, to try and convince her to talk, but she couldn't. Polite detachment appeared to be all she could manage. Eventually settling on a simple black two-piece, she hung it on the outside of the wardrobe door until she was ready for it. She wondered just how she was going to get through today. It wasn't even a whole week since she'd been told of Ross's death, yet here she was, about to condemn her son's body to ashes. 

She spent the morning tidying her flat, making sure it was presentable enough for the people who might come back after the funeral. She had plenty of alcohol in, but she hadn't really given any thought to any sort of refreshment. That would have spoken too much of her usual level of organisation, something she didn't think she was entirely capable of at the moment. She hadn't been near work all week, but she knew that after today, after saying goodbye to the son who had continuously resented her very existence, she would have to start putting her life back together. When she took a long, hot shower, and slipped into the clothes she'd picked out, she stood in front of the mirror doing her make up. She looked thinner, she thought, the clothes definitely looking looser than they really ought to on her. Jesus, she thought sardonically, I'll be getting as bad as George if I'm not careful. When the woman in question arrived to collect her, Karen reflected that she had definitely made the right choice, in deciding to have the simplest send off possible. She hadn't wanted any funeral cars, because being alone in the first one would have made her feel even more isolated than she already did. "Are you ready for this?" George asked, giving her a gentle hug. "I have to be, don't I," Karen replied quietly. "I know it might not mean a lot," George said as they moved towards her car. "But we will all be there for you." "It does mean a lot, really," Karen assured her, giving her hand a quick squeeze. 

The crematorium was quiet, unimposing, and situated in a very pretty looking garden. This was obviously intended as a place for some quiet and much needed reflection. When they arrived, Karen was slightly astounded to see so many of her friends there waiting for her. John, Jo, Helen, Nikki, Cassie and Roisin, Crystal and Josh, Barbara and Henry of course, as Henry would be doing the fairly short service, and as she moved towards them, Karen also saw three others whom she certainly hadn't expected to see there. Neil Grayling, Gina, and Dominic were standing there, waiting to support her in any way they could. "I didn't expect to see you two here," She said as she approached Gina and Dominic, the twenty-five-year-old man reminding her far too painfully of Ross. "Believe it or not," Gina said quietly, "Sylvia offered to come in on her day off to cover for us." "I'll have to give her a pay rise," Karen said in astonishment. As she moved down the line, greeting everyone who was there, she took note of the guitar that Roisin had under her arm. She had asked Roisin to sing, and it appeared that Roisin had obviously managed to come up with something in the last few days. "You do know why Yvonne isn't here?" Roisin asked when Karen reached her. "Yes," Karen replied, "I spoke to her yesterday." Yvonne had phoned Karen, and tried to explain that she just couldn't attend a funeral, especially not one that was for the exact same reason as Ritchie's had been. She'd been a little apprehensive of Karen's reaction, but Karen had totally understood. No mother wanted to be reminded of the torment they had gone through, and she thought she may well behave very similarly after Ross's funeral. Yvonne had therefore elected to take care of everyone's children, needing to surround herself with the needs of four other people to stop her from thinking too much. 

When they went inside the crematorium, Karen moved to sit on her own in the very front row, these seats always being reserved for blood relatives. She could sense everyone else taking seats around and behind her, but she was barely aware of their existence. She couldn't take her eyes off the long, polished coffin, the innocuous looking box that held her son's lifeless body. She barely took any notice as Henry moved through the bible reading and couple of simple prayers he had chosen, because the words meant very little to her. Even when he assured his small congregation that God would forgive all his children, on their entrance into the afterlife, Karen couldn't bring herself to acknowledge the sincerely felt meaning of his words. She hadn't forgiven Ross, and she didn't know if she ever would. She'd been in a state of limbo since he'd died, unable to dwell too closely on the feelings she had, for fear they would burst from her, to eventually drag her down into that interminable world of despair. She hadn't cried, not since last Saturday, when Jo and Yvonne had come to see her. That was the last time she'd allowed herself to give into the grief, the anger and the pain. 

George, John and Jo, were sitting a couple of rows behind Karen, all three wishing they could be closer to her, to offer her some sort of comfort in this hour of grief. John was sitting between the two of them, feeling guilt in a way he'd never felt it before. Would Karen have still been going through this if he'd told her sooner? Would she still be facing the prospect of watching her son's body disappear through those ominous looking curtains? He couldn't be sure, and it was this uncertainty that wasn't allowing him to go easy on himself. As if sensing his thoughts, George's gentle hand slid into his, giving it a tentative squeeze, telling him far more succinctly in actions rather than words, that this wasn't the time for dwelling on questions that simply couldn't be answered. When Henry had come to the end of his part in this particularly painful show, he invited anyone who wanted to say a few words, to come up and do so now. Karen wasn't expecting anyone to come forward, because none of her friends had known Ross, apart from Helen. But when Nikki rose to her feet and moved to the front, Karen forced herself to begin paying attention to what was going on around her. 

"I wanted to find something appropriate to read," Nikki began a little hesitantly. "But I couldn't at first find anything that remotely expressed the pain that I know Karen must be feeling, or the sincere wish that us, as her friends, have to comfort and be there for her. However, I did find a poem that I think expresses what Ross was looking for when he died, and what we all now want for his mother who is left behind." Taking a moment to allow a softer expression to cross her face, Nikki began to speak, having obviously learnt the poem by heart, so as not to require such a mundane item as a piece of paper. 

"Sweet Peace, where dost thou dwell? I humbly crave,  
Let me once know.  
I sought thee in a secret cave,  
And ask'd, if Peace were there,  
A hollow wind did seem to answer, No:  
Go seek elsewhere.  
I did; and going did a rainbow note:  
Surely, thought I,  
This is the lace of Peace's coat:  
I will search out the matter.  
But while I looked the clouds immediately Did break and scatter.  
Then went I to a garden and did spy A gallant flower,  
The crown-imperial: Sure, said I,  
Peace at the root must dwell.  
But when I digged, I saw a worm devour What showed so well.  
At length I met a rev'rend good old man;  
Whom when for Peace I did demand, he thus began:  
There was a Prince of old At Salem dwelt, who lived with good increase Of flock and fold.  
He sweetly lived; yet sweetness did not save His life from foes.  
But after death out of his grave There sprang twelve stalks of wheat;  
Which many wond'ring at, got some of those To plant and set.  
It prospered strangely, and did soon disperse Through all the earth:  
For they that taste it do rehearse That virtue lies therein;  
A secret virtue, bringing peace and mirth By flight of sin.  
Take of this grain, which in my garden grows,  
And grows for you;  
Make bread of it: and that repose And peace, which ev'rywhere With so much earnestness you do pursue,  
Is only there." 

As Nikki moved to sit down, Karen smiled gratefully at her, thinking that the beautifully descriptive words had only too well established what she wanted to feel. But did she have any right to ask for it? Did she, a mother who hadn't even known of the torment her son was going through, deserve the luxury of peace? She wasn't sure. Karen badly craved that tranquility, but had little faith that she would ever experience it again. 

The next person to get up from her place was Roisin, moving forward with her guitar, and sitting down in a chair that Josh placed for her. "I hope that the song I've chosen," Roisin began hesitantly. "Seems as appropriate today, as it did when I chose it earlier in the week. Karen asked me to sing something, to provide a little time for some quiet reflection." John watched her with interest, having wanted to see the exhibition of Roisin's other form of musical talent, though having never suspected that it would be in such a setting as this. When her gentle, delicate fingers began moving over the strings of her guitar, all eyes except Karen's fixed on her. 

"They gave you a corner room on the fifth floor. The city lights were like candy to a kid in a store. Like a king you'd lay in your bed so statefully. So thankful they gave you a room with scenery." 

As soon as Roisin began to sing, George's eyes widened. She knew that song, from the very first CD she'd ever borrowed from Karen. The majority of the people there had heard Roisin sing before, but some of them hadn't. Her voice was beautiful, pure, with a clarity of tone that was undemanding to listen to, and which bore the sweetness and lack of pretentiousness that only the truly talented have the pleasure to exhibit. 

"You always were so healthy, so full of life, So seeing you so helpless just didn't seem right. And how you kept your head so high I'll never know. I guess you knew you had a better place to go." 

This last line of the first verse brought tears to the eyes of many of those there to listen. There were four mothers there besides Karen, and two fathers, each and every one of them feeling the poignancy of the words. 

"You've got a room with a view, A window to the world, You always had your sights set high. And now that you're gone, Your memory lives on, And I see you smiling in my mind, With angels as visitors dropping by, Your room with a view." 

The shrill expression of pure feeling in these words, made every spine amongst them tingle. Jo could feel her own eyes filling with tears, and she could see that they were already running down George's face. As if he'd known precisely what to expect from his two women, John dug a handkerchief out of each of his trouser pockets, and handed one to each of them. He envied them the freedom to express their feelings in this way, as it was so much healthier than his incessant brooding. 

"I'll always miss you, I'll always feel the loss. I have to remind myself that you're better off. I gotta believe even through these tears of mine, Wherever you are there's a sun that always shines." 

Jesus, Karen thought bleakly, how on earth did she even begin to start thinking that. Yes, Ross might have been aware that he had a far better place to go, but had his life really been so bad? Had she really been such a terrible mother that he didn't want to be around her any more? She knew that these would, for a long time, remain some of her unanswered questions, but that didn't prevent her from continuously asking them. 

"You've got a room with a view, A window to the world, You always had your sights set high. And now that you're gone, Your memory lives on, And I see you smiling in my mind, With angels as visitors dropping by,  
Your room with a view.

With angels as visitors dropping by,  
Your room with a view." 

When the music finally came to an end, Roisin silently got up and made her way back to her seat. It was now or never, Karen thought to herself, as she too rose from her seat, and made her way to stand next to her son's coffin. "I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say at this point," She began hesitantly, her usual self-assured assertiveness notable by its absence. "But now that I'm here, the only thing I can say, is thank you, to each and every one of you for being here. You've all tried to get through to me this week in your different ways, and I know that I haven't been very receptive to your efforts. It doesn't mean that I don't appreciate it, because I do, more than you will ever know. I want to thank Henry, for giving me the simple, undemanding service that has proved most suitable in the circumstances, and I want to thank Nikki and Roisin for giving us all some important things to think about. But most of all, I want to thank my son, for giving me twenty-two years of fulfillment, that I wouldn't have otherwise achieved." Laying a hand gently on the lid of his coffin, she continued. "Ross came into my life, when I was really too young to have him, but babies rarely give us the option of choice about when they arrive. When everything became so hard, that I didn't always know which bit of me was doing what, he was the one thing that kept me going. Yes, my life may have been a great deal easier without him, but I wouldn't be the woman I like to think I am today. I'm only sorry, that at the one time when he really needed me, he couldn't tell me what was going on. I will never forgive myself for that, and I suspect that neither will he. All I can hope is that some day, somewhere, Ross can forgive me for not being the mother he wanted me to be." 

Not long after as they all moved outside, Karen felt bone weary. She didn't think she'd ever encountered exhaustion such as this, not even with all the sleepless nights she'd gone through when Ross was a baby. God, no, don't start thinking about that, she told herself sternly, it really won't help. They stood outside the crematorium for a while, as Karen moved round her group of friends. "Don't you come back to work until you're ready," Gina told her firmly, giving her a hug. "We'll see," Karen said noncommittally. "The Julies send their best," Dominic put in. "And the last time I saw Denny, she was pruning her best plant ready to put on your desk when you come back." "As long as it's legal," Karen said with a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Just take it easy," Gina said, really not knowing what else she could say. "Are you coming back for a drink?" Karen invited them. "No, we can't really," Gina replied. "But you go and have several, you look like you need it." That's Gina for you, Karen reflected fondly, always blunt and to the point. Everyone else who was there did agree to come back for a drink, even Grayling. While she was stood talking to him and Nikki, she felt a familiar hand slip its way into hers. "I was proud of you today," George said gently, when everyone began moving towards their cars. "I'm not sure I was," Karen said a little dismissively. "I haven't got a clue as to what I'm supposed to be doing, but then Yvonne did tell me that there weren't any rules." "And she's absolutely right," George said firmly. "You're getting through this in the only way you know how, and that's the only thing you should be doing." 

They stood together on the pavement outside the crematorium and witnessed Gina and Dominic walk a long way down the road, which was lined with cars and set off in a car. Karen felt her mind go blank. She ought to explain to everyone who was left to come back to her flat. Normally, automatic mode of thinking would have prompted her to act as quickly as thinking. Today, something blocked the thought process. She was not to know that she did not want to let go of the moment and of Ross's existence. As a result, those left at the end were standing around in groups being bit parts in Waiting for Godot.

Grayling, for one, stood at a little distance away from George and Karen feeling awkward. He heard Gina and then George say the words that came closest to his own feelings and regretted his silence. This was not the silence of his former self which let the worst spirits abroad in life around before enthusiastically embraced them as he found his place in the world. This was different as traces of that inexpressiveness held him back from speaking his feelings.  
"It's difficult at moments like these, Neil," John's cultured voice broke in on his brooding thoughts. "I know what I feel but somehow anything I want to say in my mind to Karen comes over as something like a ham actor might say." "I know," Neil intoned the reply, which sounded trite.  
"I attended the funeral of a young boy called Jason Powell, even younger than Ross is, was. He was utterly committed to his beliefs that even though he was slowly dying of a chronic heart condition, he should not undergo a heart transplant operation that would have saved his life because it had only become possible due to experiments on animals. Foolishly, I engaged in a debate on the respective ethics. He won." While John narrated the story, he fought off the welling emotions that rose up in him and threatened to choke the casual tones in which he attempted to dispassionately hold forth on relative ethics. Eventually, he ground to a halt and he put his hand over his lower face for a little while. In that pause, Grayling's heart taught him to make that first jump to feel for the man who was just like him "I meant to say that I offered to read a poem at his funeral as no one accepted the vicar's invitation to say a few words. I ended up on my feet and reciting a poem whose title I forget, something like 'Do not stand at my grave and weep.' I won't recite it now, I can't remember the exact words. The point is that I might have said or done something for the good that day but I couldn't feel it." "You sound just like me." "Don't worry, Neil," Nikki's soft voice appeared in the still air behind him. "You were here for Karen. She knows. Nothing else matters." "So this is your turn to be the supportive one, Nikki," Grayling turned round with a smile. Damn himself, he meant to thank her and that blessed moment when she had said words which touched his own soul which was hurting for Karen. Nikki's own eyes were moist with her own raw emotions, which the poem she had said talked back to her.  
"That's what I'm here for," came her simple reply which gently pulled together the tangled webs of his philosophizing. "Are you coming back with the rest of us? You both ought to, you know." "Why…" he hesitated. utterly uncertain where he should be.  
"I'm sure Alison Warner and your work will wait till Monday," Nikki urged gently, pulling away at both of their temptations to run away and bury themselves in their work.  
"Since you've put it this way…" replied Grayling, his voice strengthening in tone and becoming more confident. "I'll follow you assuming you know the way which I don't." Nikki's own mind felt fogged in the same way as the others were in different degrees. Each of them looked to the one who seemed to know what she or he was doing.  
"I'll check with Karen, just to make sure." "Roash and I will be heading that way, Neil," Broke in Cassie's brash, self-confident tones, as bold as brass to Roisin's slight shock. She pretended to be preoccupied with manhandling her large guitar case.  
Grayling smiled broadly and manoeuvred his car in the crocodile of cars, which formed up and snaked its ramshackle way back to her flat.

Finally, she led the way to her front door as her feet did a good job putting one foot after another even if the key seemed to get jammed in her lock. Finally, the outside world was shut away as Karen, George, John, Jo, Nikki, Helen, Grayling, Cassie, Roisin, Josh and Crystal made themselves comfortable. Since Karen had not really planned for such numbers, a number of them were squashed into her settee or perched on dining room chairs and Nikki and Helen sat on the carpet with their backs to the wall.

A profound silence descended on the room as brief spurts of everyday words petered out, leaving them with their thoughts. Roisin managed to prop her guitar case in a corner of the room.  
"Well, here we are, all friends together," John said with false heartiness and instantly regretted his words.  
"I'm sorry that I haven't got anything more hospitable than my drinks cabinet," Karen offered nervously, vague traces of ancient family rituals dropping into her thoughts and not exactly welcome.  
"Don't worry, we'll manage," Jo reassured her politely though to her ears that didn't sound much better than John but at least they were trying. Sometimes it is all that there is in life.

"We need some more space, Karen. Is it all right if some of us sit out on the balcony"  
"Yeah, make yourself feel at home," Karen offered lightly. Might as well not try to be in charge for once, she reflected, but let it be They were all close to her in their different ways. George followed them and Nikki and Helen got up off the floor as they sought somewhere more comfortable. ."……..come to think of that, I'll join you," she added, neatly reversing her earlier intention to stay where she was. 

This is no good, Karen thought as she stood up and prompted a sudden decisive shift in her thinking took over, a last gasp of inspiration took over.  
"I don't want to be pushy but what about one of you musicians singing us a song? Something spiritual to make us feel better as no one is really in a talking mood. I'd hate to pressurise anyone to make polite conversation, especially for me." Roisin unclipped her case and brought out her gleaming new guitar and held it out. "It's your turn, Crystal. I'd love to hear you sing." "Well, this time it ain't going to be Kumbaya," She smiled. John, Jo and George smiled politely as the others laughed. Instantly there jumped into Crystal's mind that phrase which the thought of her children prompted, with their childlike, uncluttered fashion and the eternal questions, especially late at night when she was most tired out ……imagine …..imagine….imagine….. The word seemed like a one word prayer at a time when grief froze up everyone inside whatever superficial face they each wore. It had to be. Carefully, she gently and delicately plucked at the steel strings. Instantly her strong soul inflected voice grabbed at the lyrics, which were familiar to all of them, but twisting the melody lines into something new. 

"……..No hell below us,  
Above us only sky……"

If only that can be true, Karen thought to herself, that I can see the blue sky again.

Imagine all the people living for today...

Helen meditated on the mantra that ran round her mind that if all her patients could be like that then their souls would be saved. Meanwhile Crystal sat on the settee in the lounge, her guitar braced against her body singing away in more gentle tones than others remembered her for. She knew that those who were sitting out on the balcony were listening to her. She was happy as the song rescued her as much as those she was singing for.  
" I remember when Crystal sang Amazing Grace out the window of her cell," Nikki's voice floated freely. "We were all locked up after Rachel Hicks had been found dead…….." Instantly, she chopped short the reminiscence. Karen would hardly appreciate the description that she had only heard second hand that she had been found hanging by the noose that she created being driven to suicide. Even if Dockley was at the back of it, Karen would hardly appreciate it. "…….Anyway, I have never heard Crystal sound so pure that night, when all of us needed that most. It was a change from Bodybag, moaning about Kumbaya." George quietly turned away from Karen and smiled in a puzzled fashion as this freeform muse gently poured out of Nikki. This was not the wing governor talking.  
"You really haven't forgotten what it was like when you were there as a prisoner?" "Not in a million years. If I did, I'd be selling myself out. Whatever I do in my nine to five job, I have to be accountable to her, ultimately." George realised that Nikki was referring to the prisoner she used to be. In the meantime, Karen lay back, lost in the music. "You have to give me some explanatory notes about Kumbaya and Bodybag," pursued George. "It sounds like a secret language "Oh," smiled Nikki. "Crystal used to sing it over and over again to piss off Bodybag, I mean Sylvia Hollamby. I'm sometimes in danger of calling her the name I used to call her. Can't do that these days." "…….Imagine all the people living life in peace.………."

Yes, Nikki thought, that's what she ever wanted in this world.

"That's something I really miss from the past as there don't appear to be any real singers in Larkhall at the moment," Karen said in a slightly slurred voice as she roused herself from her extreme tiredness. "You've heard Roisin and you can hear Crystal right now. Shaz Wiley could sing really beautifully and sensitively, when she wasn't behaving like some naughty schoolkid who pulled stunts like locking Sylvia in her own cell so that she and Denny could cause havoc. Even Shell could sing, though it was usually for some ulterior purpose." John and George fell silent and listened as Nikki and Karen exchanged these nostalgic reminiscences. It seemed highly ironical that it was the legal profession which had the reputation of having its own restricted code of expressions that is impervious to those not on the inside.  
"………..Imagine all the people Sharing all the world.…………"

The song gently wound its way to its conclusion and like an infinitely tender nurse, soothed away all their hurts and even made some impact on Karen's sense of emptiness. The evening settled down into tranquil form as Josh and Crystal left first as their children were younger of any of them and that umbilical chord was wound its tightest. The others politely made their exit while Karen was half dreaming as the night drew in.

Eventually, the only person who is eventually left with Karen was George who suddenly swam into view. So there she was, Karen reflected, a good friend who she felt had always been somewhere around. George gently moved to her and kissed her on her cheek.  
"You look tired, darling." "I feel it but I don't think I'll ever sleep tonight. I've gone past tiredness." "That's how I felt when Daddy tucked me up in bed that night when I was little……after my mother was killed. I can still remember that particular place in that church where I sat, right at the front and the sight of…….right in the middle of the church. I didn't want to look at it….The strange thing, there's a gap right after that as if the memory were taken right out of me . What I can remember, won't ever leave me. I can still think of it even after these years." Karen held onto the smaller woman who needed comforting as those ancient memory tracks were being replayed. It was strange that Karen felt a little better when she was nursing someone else who, just for that minute, needed her help and not the other way round. 


	169. Part One Hundred And Sixty Nine

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part One Hundred And Sixty Nine

On the Saturday morning, Karen kissed George goodbye, and got in her car. Today was a day she was dreading far more than the funeral itself. She was going to collect Ross's ashes from the crematorium, and drive to the place where she'd often taken him on holiday when he was a child. She wanted to scatter them in a place that held only fond memories for her, somewhere she and Ross had been happy. George had tentatively asked if Karen wanted her company to do this, but Karen had gently refused, saying that this was something she definitely needed to be alone to do. This was becoming something of a typical answer for her these days, something that didn't go unnoticed by George. 

As she drove out of London and towards the M3, she tried not to think about the burden she was carrying in the boot of her car. It cut deep into her soul to think that she was bearing away the remains of her son's body, to be cast over the cliff edge into the rocky depths of the sea. But this was what she had to do, take her son back to the place where they'd been happy. She could remember all the times she'd driven this way with Ross as a child, the boot of the car full of the necessary provisions for an inexpensive summer holiday, plenty of beach clothes for the two of them, plus the inevitable football and bucket and spade. He'd been only four when she'd first taken him to the little seaside village near Bournemouth, and they'd gone back every year until he was thirteen, when he'd announced that he was now too old to do something as childish as spend all day on the beach. She smiled as she tried to remember the deals she'd had to do with him, so that she didn't have to spend the entire journey listening to his definition of music. He knew how to argue, just as well as she did. But he had been a happy child, well, until he'd reached adolescence, and then he'd grown into the sullen, often belligerent teenager who had put the final nail in the coffin of her relationship with Steve. The car felt empty somehow, as if she'd left someone behind, as if she really shouldn't be traveling this old, familiar route alone. 

As she turned onto the M27 at Southampton, she began to wonder what Ross would think of her bringing his ashes to this particular place. Yes, she knew he'd been angry with her, and that she certainly hadn't lived up to the expectations he'd obviously had of her as a mother, but she hoped he could also remember the good times they'd had. She hadn't been all bad, had she? After all, she'd only been doing what she thought was best for both of them. It had at times been extremely hard to balance the demands of professional and parental responsibilities, but it was the same for parents the world over. She'd had to work, in order to find the money to support Ross and herself, and sometimes that had meant him being looked after by someone else. She couldn't always afford to be at home to read him a bedtime story herself, but she could afford for someone else to do it. What sort of twisted logic was that, she thought cynically, for a mother to have to work to pay someone else to look after her child. But when she had been at home, she'd always thought that she was doing as much as she could for him. She'd read him stories, taught him to swim, played football with him, helped him with his homework, but it had obviously never quite been enough. 

It took her near enough three hours to travel from London to Bournemouth, and when she left the A338, and began wending her way through the numerous villages along the coast, she just hoped that with it being a Saturday, there wouldn't be too many tourists in the place she was heading for. As she drew up in the car park at the bottom of the steady incline of cliffs, she realised that it was probably too late in the day, and therefore too hot for any but the most determined of walkers to be heading up here. They would all be lounging on the nearby beaches, soaking up the hot August sun. But Karen didn't really feel the heat, in fact she didn't seem to have been properly warm since Ross had died. Tentatively picking up her slightly ominous parcel from the back of the car, Karen began walking, following the long, familiar path, the one she'd often persuaded Ross to walk with her on slightly cooler days. They'd regularly come up here when it had been too windy to enjoy the sandy beaches, Ross running ahead of her, more often than not attaching himself to other groups of children of a similar age. It wasn't a steep climb towards the top of the cliffs, but as the ground gradually rose, Karen could feel the breeze on her cheeks, and smell the tang of the salt in her nostrils. She must have been walking for at least an hour, before she reached the plateau, the place where the cliff began to level out, the short, wiry grass covering the outcropping of rocks. She passed the place where there was a small bench under an overhang of rock, because this was where many walkers often stopped to rest. She walked on, until she left the few straggling tourists behind, until she reached the part of the cliff top where the rocks eventually tapered out into thin air. She sat down on the low wall, that had been put there as a warning, as a barrier, to prevent unknowing sols from needlessly wandering off the edge. The steep, endless drop was only three feet in front of her, and she felt a curious detachment in being quite so close to such a catastrophic descent. She could look right out to sea from here, the hot haze of the sun currently masking the vague impression of the Isle of Wight in the distance. She sat perfectly still for a while, trying to summon up the courage to do what she'd come here to do. But when she eventually lifted up the package of ashes between her two hands, and stood on the very edge of the cliff, she had an insane, momentary desire, to follow her son's remains into the water. But as the very essence of her son drifted away from her on the breeze, she knew she had to stay. She couldn't follow him, no matter how much she might want to, because she knew that she couldn't put George, John, or any of her friends through the same torment. The few particles that were left of her son, floated gently down to where the jagged rocks speared up through the foamy waves, and Karen knew that this had been the right thing to do, to send what remained of him back to the sea he'd loved so much as a child. She could remember those endless, sunny days, when she hadn't been able to keep him out of the water for longer than five minutes, no matter how cold it might have seemed to her adult flesh. So, here he was, going back to that once adored childhood playground, to hopefully one day forgive her for not being able to keep him alive. 

She sat there for a long time after casting his ashes into the sea, just allowing her memories to envelop her. She didn't cry, somehow feeling passed crying, almost passed feeling, but she didn't entirely feel alone. It was as if there was someone nearby, somehow keeping watch of her, making sure she didn't do anything stupid. But that was ridiculous, she thought to herself, because there wasn't anyone on this cliff top but her. Eventually getting to her feet, Karen began making her way back to the car, wondering if she would ever come back here again. 

On the drive home, she felt empty, as if all the feelings she'd ever had, had somehow been extinguished, leaving her nothing more than a hollow shell of bitter regret. She didn't want to go home like this, knowing that the silence and emptiness of her flat would probably drive her mad. She needed company, someone to take the focus away from herself. She barely noticed how long it took her to retrace her steps of the morning, hardly paying any real attention to the steadily flowing traffic around her. It was only when she left the M3, and began moving through the early evening of central London, that she wondered where on earth she could go. She didn't want to see George, and she didn't want to see John, or Yvonne, or anyone else who would demand too many explanations from her. By process of elimination, she settled on Jo, because Jo's company would be gentle, unintrusive, and because Jo would simply accept how she was feeling, without any insistent probing. 

Jo was a little surprised to see Karen on her doorstep that evening, knowing just where Karen had been today. "I'm sorry," Karen said by way of explanation as Jo let her in. "But I really didn't feel like going home." "That's all right," Jo said, leading the way into the lounge. "You look exhausted," She observed, as Karen sank gratefully down onto the sofa. "Well, I guess driving to Bournemouth and back will do that to a person." "Is that where you went?" "Yes, and walked right to the top of a particular stretch of cliff." "Would you like a drink?" Jo asked, getting the feeling that this might be quite a difficult conversation. "I'd love a cup of tea," Karen said ruefully. "I'm trying to avoid alcohol at all costs." Thinking that this was just one of several unanswered questions, Jo went to make them both some tea, wondering if Karen might at last be ready to start talking. 

When she returned and put two mugs down on the coffee table, moving a pile of legal journals out of the way, she placed an ashtray between them. "Why the intense desire not to drink?" She began, this being the question uppermost in her mind. "Because it would be far too easy not to stop," Karen told her honestly. "And I can do without having to go down that road, on top of everything else." "Ah," Jo said understandingly, realising that Karen possibly had a similar relationship with alcohol as she did. "I sometimes have to be careful," She admitted, lighting herself a cigarette. "Something I inherited from my father." "Me too," Karen replied, also lighting a cigarette. "Though he would never have admitted it." "The last time I allowed myself to get stupidly drunk, I was up before the Professional Conduct Committee." "For drinking?" Karen asked, a little astounded. "No," Jo said with a smile. "For being caught leaving the Judge's digs, clearly wearing the previous day's clothes, and looking pretty rough." "I do hope he attempted to defend your honour," Karen said dryly. "Oh, yes," Jo agreed neutrally. "But he had to make my being drunk common knowledge, in order to do so." Karen was quiet for a few moments, wondering what had led Jo to do something so possibly career crippling. Jo watched her, seeing a maelstrom of thoughts whizzing round behind her eyes. 

"Will you satisfy my curiosity on something?" Jo asked, eventually breaking in on Karen's contemplation. When Karen raised her eyes to Jo's, she added, "Why did you come here, instead of going to see George?" Karen almost laughed. "You don't ask anything simple, do you, and what I'm about to say, is going to sound unduly heartless. The thing is, I don't think I could bear to be anywhere near George at the moment, and if I were entirely in my right mind, I certainly wouldn't be thinking what I am." "You resent the fact that she's still got Charlie, even though she doesn't love her, don't you," Jo tentatively took a stab in the dark. "I said it would sound terrible," Karen said, the tears rising to her eyes, because she shouldn't be resenting anyone for still having their child, she just shouldn't be feeling like this. "I can't say for certain," Jo told her gently. "But I suspect that if I were in your position, I might feel the same, if only briefly. For years, before I got to know George, I bitterly resented the fact that she had been the one to have John's child, and not me. I think that used to form the foundations on which mine and George's continual bickering were based. I couldn't accept that she had borne his child, whilst not really wanting it, and she couldn't accept that I was the one he openly loved. So no, it isn't heartless to feel the way you do, it's perfectly understandable." "I just..." Karen started to say, clearly struggling with the effort it was taking her to maintain a grip on her emotions. "I feel... My womb feels so empty. I know it sounds stupid, but it does." "No, it doesn't sound stupid," Jo said hoarsely, feeling the tears of sympathy rising to her own eyes. "Karen, you've lost your child, so it's perfectly natural for you to feel like this." Jo's thoughts strayed back to the time when she'd had her termination. She knew only too well to feel as though her womb was unnaturally empty. Yes, that may have been her choice, but it hadn't been any less soul destroying to feel it. But this was one experience that she certainly couldn't share with Karen, not now, because to Karen, in her currently emotionally unbalanced state, it would be someone else's rejection of a child, not something she would know how to deal with right now. They talked for hours, Karen taking those first jagged and treacherous steps along the path of emotional cleansing. Karen hadn't expected she would cry, but she did, finally feeling that it was providing her with the release it was supposed to cause. They exchanged fond memories of the solo raising of young children, both of them being far too familiar with the endless struggle it had so often been. Much later, when Karen sank gratefully between the sheets of Jo's spare bed, she reflected that though she may no longer have a child to call her own, she did have friends, and without such friends she would have no chance whatsoever of surviving the coming weeks and months. 


	170. Part One Hundred And Seventy

Part One Hundred and Seventy

John was always a creature of moods and impulses, almost because of rather than in spite of the professional demands as reflected in the severe mathematical constraints on his thinking. From time to time, an impulse out of nowhere would direct him where he was going, often in a direction ted was her lead and realised her luck was in.  
"Walkies, Mimi," John said in a low voice. This time, she would not dream of pretending to a foolish human being that she couldn't hear or understand. In no time at all, he was driving along the open road where some instinct beyond his awareness took him to the very same park, which was the prelude to the crossing of the paths.

John smiled to himself when that familiar prospect opened in front of him but that was no concern of his. Lightning never strikes twice, so he reasoned, as h human being that she couldn't hear or understand. In no time at all, he was driving along the open road where some instinct beyond his awareness took him to the very same park, which was the prelude to the crossing of the paths.

John smiled to himself when that familiar prospect opened in front of him but that was no concern of his. Lightning never strikes twice, so he reasoned, as he sat in the car deliberating for a little while and the park was very pleasant, conveying just that sense of space, of a flat green field in front of him gradually ascending to a hill at the top. Mimi kept very quiet, of course as she had that lingering suspicion that her owner was going to drive on elsewhere. Her owner was very attentive to her needs and was very good to her but he did have that annoying puppy-like tendency not to make up his mind, as if he perpetually chased his tail. To her point of view, there was plenty of space to roam free, whether her owner liked it or not, and a particular bouquet of smells which instantly decided the matter for her. Naturally she knew that, as a human being, he had a pitifully deficient sense of smell but she knew that she would have to accept that lacking in one area of his sensibilities. She would have to make allowances and understand him as best as she could.  
She jumped out and frisked around when her door was opened and, after the second or third word of command, suffered the clip of her lead to be fastened to the back of her collar and she weaved her slightly erratic path out of the car park, pulling John by her lead and came onto the fresh green grass. Her luck was in today.

John felt a faint breath of wind on his collar and he trod his way along the grass and began to feel more human. The field seemed to stretch forever and both the pull on the lead and the sight of the wide-open spaces felt good to his senses. The day of the funeral was a harrowing experience. He felt deep sympathy, no there were words better and expressive than that, to express the depths of his feelings for Karen. It had confronted, judged him and found him wanting in how he had kept the secret from Karen for so long. He had to get out and blow a few cobwebs out of his mind.

Presently, Mimi got her wish and was let off the leash. Joyfully she bounded away and her erratic zigzag path took them further and further across the field. Fortunately, the amateur football season had finished and he did not need to stop Mimi from seeking out more human company to play with nor who did not exactly appreciate the finer aspects of dog behaviour. Nor did he have to tread over patches of bare earth, as he had to do in the past thanks to her. Both of them were happy and content to wander as they saw fit.

All good things had to come to an end and Mimi was eventually restored to her role of pack leader after she had worn off some of her energy. They had taken a diagonal path far into the park by then and had gradually come up the hill to where the general landscape changed. Well to the right and in the mid distance, the park keeper's green hut adjoined the football changing rooms. Immediately before them, they converged at right angles towards a path that ran across from left to right before them. Immediately behind that was a high privet hedge. Mimi promptly decided for John that a hedge was worth exploring and John tolerantly let her have her way.

As she padded along her path, Mimi immediately sensed the presence of another dog. She had met him before and her tail wagged in excitement as she quickened her pace.

John figured that Mimi wanted another short run. She seemed to have boundless energy, not surprising for a dog that was very quiet when he was busy working on his papers in the digs. He was curious to see that she was bounding round and round in circles round him and seemed to be edging him along the path to where the hedge seemed to come to an end. Very well, he might as well let her have her way. After all, it was a lazy Sunday morning.

Not so far away, Yvonne had taken Trigger for a walk and he plodded fairly slowly along the path. He was getting old in dog terms but still liked his walks. It was a mercy on her as well as, left to herself, she would stop in doors and think too bleeding much. It surprised her that, suddenly Trigger quickened his pace and started walking quicker than normal. She increased her walking speed and approached the end of the hedge. Yvonne suddenly swore that she could hear another dog barking the other side of the hedge. In John's quiet reverie he had the feeling that he could hear another dog barking the other side of the hedge. Suddenly, Mimi bounded away as he could see that she had rounded up Her master but every so often turned her head to check that the human was following. As Yvonne came to the end of the hedge, she could tell that Trigger had turned the corner sharp right and followed her.

To her great surprise, the Judge jumped into her sight only ten feet away. John suddenly blinked and was utterly surprised to see not just another person in that empty park, but Yvonne. John was taken aback but into Yvonne's mind jumped the memory of Jo telling her that he'd known about Ross, since the end of May. She could recall that feeling of total shock of that bombshell. She remembered Karen trying to explain it away but it went right over her head, that it was all very fine but didn't relate in any way to Atkins values, as they now were and always had been in that part of her life which hadn't changed.  
"I have got a bone to pick with you, judge." "Ah," Came his impassive reply. The source of guilt had preyed so much on his mind that it didn't take a great logical leap to make the deduction, however relaxed he left on a lazy Sunday.  
"Perhaps I don't exactly get the legal niceties, but explain to me, Mr. Judge John Deed if you can, that you were told that Karen's son Ross was slowly dying, you kept schtum about, not so much a whisper to warn her of what you knew was going to hit her hard." "Excuse me, Yvonne, but I was merely taking my dog for a walk. I reserve to Monday to Fridays in wrestling with the moral dilemmas of the world." Inside, he was a maelstrom of cross cutting emotions. He was hot with anger at Yvonne's denunciation, his sense of guilt flamed up anew and that weary feeling pervaded that he didn't need all this. What came over was John brushing Yvonne off in a slightly superior, sardonic and dismissive manner.  
"You don't get away with it that lightly, judge." At that moment, hurt anger and shame battled their way to the surface.  
"I haven't got away with anything at all. You ought to know that I've had the most unpleasant……no I'll say more, utterly upsetting…..duty in all my life to break the news of the tragedy to you and Jo Mills, to talk to Helen. What did she say but and I quote. 'Don't you feel any guilt, Judge? Don't you think that maybe this time, the law didn't know best? Because I can tell you that I sure as hell do…….'" "You have a good memory, judge," Yvonne sneered.  
"Don't you understand better than that, Yvonne? There are moments in your life that are burnt into your mind that you don't forget in a hurry. You talk as if I am utterly unfeeling, as if I sat on a secret for week after week, month after month, hoping against hope that somehow a situation which I had no control over whatsoever would right itself. I'll never forget the moment when I was first told of a matter which I was told in confidence, when I heard the tragedy and having to do my inadequate best to give what comfort that I could in a situation where I know from personal experience that there is none to give……" Jesus, Yvonne thought to herself. The man is totally cut up, not knowing or caring that he was shouting at her in a middle of an empty park and not caring. She had never heard him talk like this. She noted what Helen had hurled at him and realized that all of them had thrown at him what she was going on to say.  
"I'm sorry, John. I shouldn't have opened my big mouth. I do it too often for my own good." John had to pause to calm down from that explosion of emotion. He had got really worked up and he wondered if he had made an ounce of sense. That stream of words came out in one splurge, totally different from blowing a fuse in court.  
"It takes one to recognise another, Yvonne," John said with a wry smile. A surge of affection rose up in him for this woman who spoke her mind because she cared so much. It was a rare and precious quality these days. Besides, since when had he always been so careful with his choice of words?  
"I owe you a proper explanation, Yvonne. You of all people."

John suddenly looked round as he calmed down and saw that Mimi and Trigger were pursuing their own dog conversation and had let the humans do their own thing as long as neither of their owners were threatened. All species had their forms of arguments.  
After they put Mimi and Trigger back on the leash, he slipped his arm in Yvonne's in a companionable fashion.  
"Let's walk back across the park, Yvonne. I'll try and explain matters to you as I saw them. I'll leave nothing out, whether or not it goes against me. I'm taking the chance that you'll still blame me and still think that I did wrong." "I'll give you a fair hearing, John," Yvonne said softly. He deserved that of her at the least as he was putting himself on the line. At the back of her mind was the memory of what he'd done for her Lauren. In turn John was incredibly moved by Yvonne's generosity and her patent sincerity as she added, "That's what everyone in life deserves, a bit of justice when they need it." 


	171. Part One Hundred and Seventy One

Part One Hundred and Seventy One

Karen stared sightlessly at her favourite black suit, which was hung up ready for her to slip on. At some time last night, she must have got it out ready for the morning but she couldn't remember doing it. It seemed ages ago that she had worn it even though it was only a week, no more than the average holiday break that she took throughout the year. The only thing was that what she had gone through was no holiday and she wondered if she had come down to earth again.  
Instantly, a panic reaction overtook her, as she was starting to wonder if she could face the outside world. The next second, a contrary impulse drove her to reflect that she had to be back at work as soon as possible, immediately. She would be more at home there than anywhere else. It gave her life some sense of shape that moping around at home wasn't going to give her. To hell with it, she finally snapped and she was pleased that adrenaline reaction finally kicked in and drove her to get moving. She had a prison to run and god knows what had happened to the place, her office, her files, the duties to be performed, the deadlines that only she knew about. Everyone else's job was somehow covered at Larkhall but hers.  
She hurried with her makeup, grabbed hold of all her personal effects that she had taken home and bundled everything in the car boot. She shoved her foot on the accelerator and headed off down the road. Once back in the hurly burly of rush hour London traffic, she started to feel better about herself as she sat back in the car. She suddenly swung out of a side road onto a major road with a cursory glance to the right and right out of nowhere a car horn blared and the car right behind her swerved past to overtake. That adrenaline rush turned into alarm as she could swear that her eyes hadn't deceived her. After that, she drove more slowly for the rest of the journey with almost exaggerated care to get control of herself. The tension in her eased as she pulled off into the familiar side street and the prison gates and walls were reassuringly normal as she pulled up in her usual place. With a huge breath of relief, she pulled out all her personal belongings and somehow locked up her car.  
"Feeling better, Miss Betts? We were all sorry to hear about your son. We weren't expecting you quite so soon," Ken's words and his honest face greeted her.  
"Looks like I've done myself out of the red carpet greeting," Quipped Karen, and added on a softer note. "Thanks, Ken." "Do you want someone to give you a hand with all your stuff? I'd do it myself if I didn't have a gatehouse to look after." "Don't worry, I'll manage." Ken looked a little dubiously but let her carry on, as it wasn't a good idea to persist in disagreeing with such a forceful, determined and pleasant boss. He picked up the phone and dialled Nikki as he was instructed to.  
"Hey, it's Miss Betts back," Julie Johnson called out. "It's great to see you, miss." As Karen strode rapidly forward, she came up to the crowd to which Denny and Lauren were soon added.  
"I loved your card," Karen was able to get in as a hubbub started. A foolish smile spread over her face as she was bathed as if in a scented bath in all the glow of human generosity and well-being. It could not have happened at a better time when she had felt so hollow and drained inside. While she was away, she had not thought of the pleasurable side of human contact, only the deadlines that were building up. She could not remember what they were in detail, only the panic feelings. "We understand how mums feel and you're one of us that way." "You know that Yvonne would say the same if she were here, probably said it already, Silly me." "Didn't think you could do a card like that," grinned Denny after the two Julies had spoken in rapid succession. "You've got my present to you in your office." "Hey Julies, I know you all mean the best, but give Miss Betts a bit of space," Nikki interrupted. She could see the expression in Karen's eyes start to glaze over as she was bombarded with sheer good will. She could tell that it was all overpowering her. Unknown to Nikki, Julie Saunders' casual use of the word 'mum' was like an arrow in her heart that if Ross were dead, what did that make her?  
"We're all really glad to see you back from the newest prisoner to…whoever they are," Nikki finished vaguely as the mode of comparison escaped her. "Want me to come with you to your office?" Karen nodded her initial agreement, as she wanted company. Then she realised that She wanted to get back in her little version of home that was at work and to arrange all the little bits and pieces, which appealed to her nesting instinct. After a quick mental flurry, she made up her mind.  
"Give me half an hour to tidy up the room and then come unless I phone if I want more time." Nikki knew that Grayling's visit plus some collective head scratching from her and the other wing governors made her room perfectly tidy but she kept quiet. There was restlessness about Karen that was obvious to her.  
"Your appointment book is with your secretary, Karen. Looks clear for today but it's bound to fill up." Karen smiled briefly at Nikki's thoughtfulness and nipped off to her office.

"Do you reckon Karen will want any visitors to make her welcome, Nikki?" Gina asked in passing.  
"Let her settle in and I'll check that out." Both of them obliquely referred to what was blindingly obvious that Karen wasn't her normal self, that is, the Karen Betts they both knew before the recent tragedy.

Karen's first glance fell on the beautiful potted plant at the corner of her table. That was what must have been the present from Denny that she mentioned. Her feelings were a mixture of pleasant surprise that her in tray wasn't overflowing with files and worry that whatever had passed through her office was done right. She stopped herself from looking round and, instead, spread all her personal effects all round the office to make it feel lived in. The one thing that appeared to be missing however, was her picture of Ross. Where was it, and who had moved it? Her desk seemed almost desolate without it, as if the last twenty two years of her life hadn't existed. When she was done, she felt happier and had settled down to a morning relaxing cup of tea, the Englishwoman's traditional and unique solace and comfort.

She then went on to switch on the computer and dread the volumes of E-mails to come pouring out of cyberspace. Surely, that couldn't have been taken care of as well? Again to her surprise, a mere trickle of messages begged for her attention. This was becoming a total mystery. How could her job managed to run itself for a week, apparently smoothly? While she was brooding over this she smoked her first cigarette of her working day. She had just finished it when there was a polite knock and Nikki entered the room.

"Bet you're surprised to see everywhere so spick and span," Nikki grinned.  
"I know that Neil and I backed you to the hilt when you went for the wing governor job but I've got more than I bargained for. I swear that 'working miracles' wasn't part of your job description," Karen laughed. The sound of it felt strange to her ears.

"I didn't do this all by myself. The other wing governors mucked in. Neil very kindly spent a day last Thursday blasting through your E-mails, which had piled up. If you look at the sub folder marked 'Adam', that's what he's done. He's lobbed in anything he's marked for deletion as junk mail and anything else that he's replied to. He enjoyed it over here for the day. He told me it was like riding a bike, you don't forget the knack." "So exactly what did Neil think in his judgement was junk mail?" came Karen's mock severe reply to Nikki's nonchalant tones and her grin.  
"In his very words, anything from Alison Warner." Karen shook her head in wonder at Grayling's brazen cheek. She wondered if John's inclination to be brazenly disrespectful to pompous authority was starting to rub off on him.  
"He did a very nice line in being calm and reassuring when one of us came across something we didn't understand. He would be brilliant on any phone advice line you care to name if he chose a different way of making a living," Added Nikki enthusiastically. "I don't know what we would have done without him and I must say that Gina took some of my work off me. All the wing governors mucked in as well so it wasn't me being a one woman band." "I must make a point of congratulating every one of you for all the help they've given me ……………….and to G Wing prison officers for the lovely flowers and the prisoners for the card and this pot of flowers. When you are down, or at least not at your best, it's little things that mean so much." It was curious how Karen's speaking tone softened up momentarily and so markedly as she switched in her gratitude from the official to the personal. "So you needn't have worried quite so much about us while you were away." "That's not the point," Lied Karen a little. "I mean what I said about you, Nikki, most of all. I can see straight away who has taken on the main responsibility. I like to think I know you pretty well by now." Nikki smiled in a self-effacing way at Karen's fulsome praise. She found it a little hard to give way to praise, thinking it no more than her duty. Living with Helen and her own background explained that mindset.  
"Nikki," Karen asked eventually. "Where's my picture of ross?" Nikki looked a little uncomfortable at this, as it had been her decision to remove the picture from plain sight in the first place. "We weren't sure if you'd want to see it, as soon as you walked through the door," She said quietly. "It's perfectly safe, in the second drawer down." Opening said drawer, Karen removed the photograph in its small, wooden frame, and placed it back on the desk, taking a moment to gaze at the happy, youthful face, and to try to forget the cold, dead one she'd seen last. "I must phone Neil as well. He's performed wonders and you don't know how it feels to know that someone in authority is watching guard over you." I know very well, thought Nikki, I've got Karen.  
"Suppose you bring me up to speed on everything, Nikki. I want to get into the driving seat as soon as possible." "Karen, are you ready to take it this quickly?" blurted out Nikki with real concern.  
"If I weren't ready to deal with this, I wouldn't be here. It's very kind of you but I'm the best judge of what I can take on. I've been doing it a long time," Came the answer, ringing with false confidence.  
Nikki sighed and gave in to the inevitable. She had no choice but to let Karen have her way. In that way, she has the same as before even if Nikki questioned her wisdom, which she would not have done before. She lit a cigarette and ran through everything that had happened in the last week and had to give it to Karen that her mind was sharp and alert in picking up on anything that was not clear with total precision. "I'm really grateful for the way everything has been handled, Nikki. I've had my share of emergencies, you name it, I've dealt with it but this is a new one. I won't forget what you've done, both personally and officially. You can now lay your burden down." Karen's soft sincere words made Nikki feel good about herself inside and it crossed her mind that Karen might not be so lucky. In contrast, Nikki felt that she had always had a very clear, brightly defined guiding light inside her and had taken the rough with the smooth. Karen appeared tough on the surface but knew only too well that appearances can be deceptive.  
"I would like to talk longer but I fear that it would be wrong of me if you have your own wing to run. I think I can take care of everything now." "Are you up for visitors or do you want a bit of time to get settled in first?" "Nikki, I've only been away a week. I'll be fine. Let 'em all come if they want," Karen's confident tones answered Nikki's solicitous concern for her health. Jesus, last week felt like the longest week of her life, running her off her feet. She smiled in a shame-faced fashion and slipped out.

"Right everyone. Karen's got stuck in at work and has told me that it's business as usual. She said," emphasised Nikki in deliberate tones, "that if any of you want to visit her, you'll be welcome……" "And what do you think, Nikki?" "If you want my personal opinion……" "Which we do, as always." "You see her as she'd like the company." Nikki grinned at the cross talk banter with Gina which got straight to the heart of the situation, "you'll go easy on her in terms of time and numbers. She's keen to get back to work but if you have any real concerns, I want to hear about them. In the meantime, we back her up as best we can. Got that?" The prison officers started to file out of the room. Throughout the meeting, Bodybag was uncharacteristically quiet and deep in thought. Just as Nikki was about to leave, she made a sudden decision. "Err, ma'am, Miss Wade, Nikki,"Bodybag stumbled into the conversation. "I want to ask you for a little advice." Nikki was utterly taken aback by the words from the other woman and how they were phrased. This must be a real first in her life but that thought from her past was pushed out of sight by her sense of responsibility. She smiled in welcome just before Bodybag would have turned away from her in anger at Nikki and herself.  
"It's about Miss Betts. I wondered from what everyone was saying if I can help …….oh, it doesn't matter." "From the sound of it, it certainly does matter and so do you." "I know that Miss Betts and I haven't exactly seen eye to eye over the years but I was only wondering…." "Go on, Sylvia." "I ought to call in on her and offer sympathy that only a mother can. I have three children of my own, you know…….." Bodybag's words were strangely bashful and proud and this was not lost on Nikki. "You do it, Sylvia. I can't put it into words to say why but I know that it will do her a lot of good coming from you." Bodybag was flustered and embarrassed and fished in her bag for a tissue and blew her nose to cover her embarrassment. She didn't say another word but headed off down the wing. Nikki watched her go with a strange feeling inside her that this was a side of her that she had never seen before.

For the rest of the day, Karen worked in sporadic bursts as Gina and Dominic popped in to have a pleasant chat. Out of politeness, her impulse to find work and overdo it was discreetly restrained as both of them chatted pleasantly and inconsequentially about nothing in particular. They did not go in for any heavy-handed sympathy but handled the situation with delicacy and tact. She was glad of the company and at the same time, glad that she had made her presence felt, both to herself and others. It was as good a first day back as you could get.

Most surprising was a third knock at the door and Sylvia, of all people, put her head round the door. She had never been known to go out of her way to seek out her company in her office. That was the place where she had been known to be torn off a strip at regular intervals.  
"Sylvia. What do I owe this call?" Karen said in friendly tones.  
Bodybag shuffled over, fidgeting with her hands and, very unusually for her, smiling at her.  
"I just wanted to call in to wish you my condolences and anything I can say to make you feel better," The other woman stammered.  
Karen was really touched, the more so as it was such an unexpected move.  
"You know, that's really kind of you." "In anyone's hour of troubles, you need those around you like your family. All of us spend most of our waking hours at this….I mean at this prison and you share so many of your waking hours here. It wouldn't be right for any working mother here not to get support." Bodybag was known in her secondary occupation to utter clichéd sentiments like a cheap card bought in any supermarket checkout but Karen could tell that this time, these words came straight from her heart, that softer side that only peeked out at rare intervals behind the solid armour plate of her callous judgement exterior.  
Surprisingly, Karen found herself reaching for a tissue and dabbing her eyes briefly. She couldn't speak but she smiled in gratitude. For once, Sylvia held back until Karen had collected her wits. Her old fashioned ways of not showing displays of emotions were not a million miles away from Karen's values.  
Karen set foot out of the prison gates with Nikki and Gina a little way behind her. She swung open the heavy wooden door which opened out into a ……nightmare.  
Suddenly, she came right up close to a crowd of people who started flashing white light into her eyes at close range.  
"Miss Betts, why did your son kill himself?" "Miss Betts, is there any truth in the rumours that your son was a heroin addict?  
"Miss Betts, how do you feel about the death of your son?"

Karen stood frozen to the spot in sheer panic. Nothing in her life had prepared her for the prospect of being doorstepped by the paparazzi and questions being fired at her in such an insensitive way. Why would any newspaper be interested in her life, her tragedy? She had worked all her life anonymously in the public services.  
"Cut it out," Shouted Nikki's carrying voice from behind. "She has no comment to make. All she wants is to be left in peace. What's wrong with you animals? Have you no feelings." "You push it further and you'll get banged up." "Oooh, promises, promises," Sneered what appeared to be an adolescent brat who ought to be sent home and be grounded by his mum for a week. Was he some reporter for a national rag, Gina wondered. "In a men's nick of course. Now move it, muppet." "Miss Betts, what are you going to do with your future?  
Nikki and Gina backed up by Dominic who heard what went on , flanked Karen and pushed and shoved their way through the crowd and escorted her to her car. Flash bulbs were being fired off in all direction but they were oblivious to it. All they wanted to do was to get Karen away from them. "Miss Betts, what do you feel about being a single mum, bringing up a child. What would you say to the readers?" "Same as any single mum. We deal with them every day or haven't you noticed?" sneered Nikki with utter contempt and loathing.  
Karen slid into her car and only saw mouths opening and closing as she started the engine. The view was nightmarish. Only her prison officers, true friends were deserving of her time. She saw Nikki reach for her mobile and guessed that she was phoning the police. . She gunned the engine and edged her way through the crowd until the way was clear and shot off down the road. Why did they do this to her, why did they do this to her, why did they do this to her, the mantra ran round in her panic stricken mind. She had to run for her life. 


	172. Part One Hundred And Seventy Two

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part One Hundred And Seventy Two

On the Thursday afternoon after finishing in court, George thought that it was about time she took matters into her own hands. Karen had gone back to work on Monday, and it had clearly been too soon. George had tried to offer her support, but apart from wanting the occasional cuddle, which she seemed to feel guilty for needing, Karen was making every attempt to keep her and everyone else at a distance. George had stayed with her on Tuesday night, but after spending most of the dormant hours tossing and turning, and quite obviously keeping George from her own sleep, Karen had said that it would probably be better for her to be alone for the time being. George knew that Karen didn't really want to push her away, but that it appeared to be the only way she could keep on going. George had tentatively tried to persuade Karen that perhaps it might be too early for her to go back to work, but Karen had flatly disagreed with her. So, alternative measures were now called for. 

As she drew her car to a stop outside Cleland House, the headquarters of the prison service, an evil grin of malevolence crossed her face. What if she should run into Alison Warner? Oh, dear, now that would give her something to worry about. Locking her car and walking in through the automatic doors, George noted with satisfaction that there didn't appear to be anyone behind the reception desk, which as far as she was concerned, was all to the good. She didn't especially want to have to go through the fuss of someone contacting Neil Grayling in advance, because she didn't want to give him any excuse to refuse to see her, not that she really thought he would. Following a sign for the area management for women's prisons, George walked up the carpeted stairs, and along the elegantly decorated corridor, the richly coloured carpet dulling the sound of her shoes. All the polished oak doors very helpfully bore brass nameplates, making it child's play to find Neil's office. 

When Neil heard the polite yet authoritative knock on his office door, he bade the person to enter with a certain level of curiosity. He wasn't expecting anyone, and he didn't recognise the knock. "Hello," He said, when George pushed the door open and moved into the room. "This is a nice surprise." "I've just lost an appeal in The Strand, so I thought I'd come and pay you a visit," She said, letting the door close behind her. "I need to ask you a favour," She said, taking a chair opposite his desk. "Ah, well, before you do," He said, rummaging in the top drawer of his desk. "I've got something for you. Did I ever tell you that my partner, Marcus, is a recording engineer?" "No," George replied, hoping against hope that this wasn't going where she thought it was. "I persuaded him to discretely record the performance of 'The Creation', and you remember that group photograph we had taken afterwards, well, we played about with it a bit and created a cover. You look pretty good on the front of a CD case," He added with a broad smile, thoroughly enjoying her discomfort. "I do hope you're joking," She said ominously, though knowing he wasn't. "I'm serious," He told her. "And the sound is wonderful." Retrieving a CD from the drawer, he held it out to her. Wondering just what she was letting herself in for, she took it. On the front of the case, along with a proclamation of what was contained on the CD, there was a photograph of George, standing between Neil and Monty, and with John as leader and Joe as conductor standing on either side of the three soloists. "My god," She said in wonder. "I really do look happy." "Is that such a surprise?" "Like you wouldn't believe," She said dryly. "My father would probably like a copy of this." "It's available for anyone who wants it," Neil said, wondering if she would eventually have the guts to listen to it. 

"What I really came here for," George said, after putting the CD in her handbag, and vowing to keep it out of anyone's reach. "Is to ask you, if there is any way you can force Karen to take some time off." "That's not something I would want to do, unless absolutely necessary," Neil said seriously. "She's exhausted," George said worriedly. "Is spending every possible minute at work, and using every excuse in the book not to talk to anyone. I know it's perfectly natural, after everything that's happened, but I'm worried about her. I think she's going to work herself into the ground, as a way of hiding from everything." It touched Neil to see such sincere concern in George's eyes, and he got up from his chair and began pacing in front of the window, wondering what would be his best course of action. "I wonder what Fenner would have thought of all this," He astonished George by saying. "Precisely what, has Fenner got to do with any of this?" "He was a father, George, and if there was one, sincere feeling Fenner had, it was his love for his children. That was the only time I ever saw the really human side to Jim Fenner. I remember one time, I offered to cook him dinner, and he said no, because he refused to break a promise he'd made to watch the football with his son." "What was it about Fenner, that managed to thoroughly ensnare so many people?" George asked into the ensuing silence. "I've got absolutely no idea," Neil said ruefully. "There's no doubt whatsoever that he was an abuser of vulnerable women, but he was a father, and when he thought like a father, he was briefly human." The quiet hung between them, both of them wondering in their different ways how they could possibly help Karen through this. "I will talk to her," Neil said eventually, bringing them both back onto safer ground. "But it took a long time for Karen to trust me, and I'm not about to ruin that by suspending her, if I don't have to." "Thank you," George said sincerely. "Because listening to anything I have to say on the subject, appears to be the last thing she wants to do. But then, I do have to wonder if Karen has ever taken any real notice of anything a lover might be urging her to do, especially when she doesn't agree with it." Then, clapping a hand to her mouth in disgust, she added, "No, don't answer that," Clearly thinking of the man they'd just been discussing. "I think that's probably always been Karen's response to a crisis, to push people away," Neil said gently. "You should have seen the way she dealt with Mark." "I feel as though I've forgotten how to get through to her," George said despondently, amazed that she was saying all this to him. "She'll sort herself out eventually," Neil said with far more certainty than he actually felt. "And if she doesn't, I will consider putting her on gardening leave." Before George could respond, there came a perfunctory tap on Neil's door, followed by the entrance of Alison Warner, who stared at George in gob smacked astonishment. "I didn't realise that we required your presence or assistance, Ms Channing," She said rather coolly. "You don't, as far as I'm aware," George said coldly, though with a glint of wicked amusement that forced Neil to hide a smile. Slightly floundering, Alison handed Neil a bundle of forms that were at least two inches thick. "These need filling in by next week," She said curtly, dropping the stack unceremoniously on his desk. "Oh, joy," Neil said sardonically, once his boss had left. "If she ever gives you any trouble," George told him conspiratorially as she rose to her feet. "Feel free to remind her of the little bombshell I still have at the bottom of one of my filing cabinets, after which I'm sure she will leave you alone. Mrs. Warner would do anything, to ensure the co-operation of an enemy within her closely guarded camp." 

When he left the office at around six that evening, Neil took another copy of the CD with him, using it as an excuse to drop in on Karen. He thought she would still be at work, and sure enough, her car was still there when he arrived. As he walked towards the gate lodge, he saw that Nikki was on the point of leaving for the day. "How's G wing these days?" He said as he approached her. "Ticking over quite nicely, thank you," She said with a smile. "Good," He said stopping in front of her. "And how's Karen getting on, in your professional opinion?" "I'm not sure I've been in the job long enough to have one," Nikki said guardedly. "She's working like there's no tomorrow, but what's new." "Can I borrow your keys?" Neil asked, eyeing the jangling bunch she was about to hand over to Ken. "Karen would sack me on the spot if I did that," Nikki said seriously. "Even if you did used to be governor here." "In that case," Neil said with an approving smile. "Would you mind escorting me up to her office?" "So that she can't say no to seeing you, without a very good excuse," Nikki deduced. "Sure." When they arrived at the last gate before Karen's office, Nikki turned on her heel and gave him a wave. 

When bidden to enter, Neil pushed the door open, it always seeming odd to him that here was someone else, existing in his old workspace. "Neil," Karen said, looking up in surprise. "How did you get in?" Nice to see you too, Neil thought wryly. "Don't worry," He told her. "Nikki escorted me up here. How are you?" "Why is it," Karen said disgustedly. "That being away for only one week, makes one's desk look like Mount Everest? I'm only just beginning to see the top of it again." "Paperwork, wasn't what I came to talk about," Neil said quietly, taking a chair across from her, trying to ignore the fairly full ashtray in his previously smoke free office. "I'm okay," Karen said unconvincingly. "At least I will be, if I keep on working. I've never previously thought of budgets and home office statistics as being even vaguely therapeutic, but I'm beginning to change my mind." "And just how healthy do you suppose that is?" "Oh, not in the slightest," Karen said airily. "But it's working for me." "Are you sure about that?" Neil asked gently, seeing that she was clutching at straws. "Neil, why are you here?" Karen asked, avoiding answering his question. "Because I'm not all that convinced, that being at work, is really the best thing for you right now," He said slowly, anticipating the barrage of justifications that was to come. "I don't agree," She said simply. "Neil, if I wasn't here, doing the one thing I've usually managed to get right, I would go mad, believe me. Yes, I am struggling to keep it together, but being able to work, having some sort of a purpose, is the only thing that's keeping me afloat." "All right," He reluctantly backed down. "But if you should change your mind, and feel that taking some time out would do you good, just say so. On a slightly happier note, I've got something for you," He added, handing over the CD of 'The Creation.' As Karen gazed at George on the cover, and Neil filled her in as to its production, a faint smile just touched the corners of her mouth. "Karen, just promise me one thing," Neil said as he got up to leave. "Don't try too hard to push everyone away." "You sound as though you've been talking to George," Karen said a little cynically. "I just remember how you were with Mark," Neil replied gently, not wanting to reveal the conversation he'd had with George that afternoon. "That was different," Karen said quietly. "Yes, I know it was," Neil agreed with her. "But you're doing exactly the same thing as you did then, you're hiding. But you won't be able to do that for ever." 


	173. Part One Hundred And Seventy Three

Part One Hundred and Seventy Three

Karen sighed in despair when she pored over the latest set of paperwork that her secretary had discreetly left in her in tray. She knew that she had been exaggerating when she had complained to Grayling that "being away for only one week, makes one's desk look like Mount Everest." The reality was that , deep down, the clear desk had unsettled her when she had got back and made her feel vaguely guilty and cheated. She had really wanted to be buried in work when she returned to give herself no time to brood. That never helped her, never would.

It was that sort of throwaway comment that she was tending to come out with these days. It disturbed her partly as she prided herself in being not only fair minded but precise as well, as befitting her training from once being nurse right up to the rarefied heights of Governing Governor. Another reason for that deep down unease with herself was that whoever was closest to her tended to be on the receiving end of such comments, if there was such a person who could be described that way . It all suggested that she felt that she hadn't got the grip on herself and her surroundings. She instinctively reached out for the obvious solution to work just that bit harder and longer each night. It was, after all, not unknown to her to work barbarously anti social hours as a nurse and somehow squeeze in her home life, such as it was. It was what she knew best and what she was most comfortable with.  
Her respite had not lasted more than the first day and a bit as all points, north, south, east and west intuitively grasped that Karen was back and could be communicated by E mail or post. She certainly got what she wanted out of life anyway in very short order and she could feed that work oriented almost masochistic streak in her, which she needed to indulge in. For example, messages in their profusion emanated from Alison Warner and Karen had not got that breezy self confidence to, in effect, tell her to get stuffed as Grayling's actions had done. Much though she admired his nerve, she could not emulate it. In fact it gave her the perfect unconscious excuse to bury herself all the more securely in work. The other wing governors, even Nikki, saw less of her than they were used to. Right from early in the morning till late at night she slaved away. She was doing a brilliant job, so she reasoned to herself, in coping so well. She would somehow get her way through her present grief in the way she was most comfortable with.

As she neared what passed for her lunch break, Lauren Atkins's file came to the top of the pile and, for once, the latest report gave her a pleasurable duty to perform instead of a series of purely mechanical chores. It had escaped her attention but her sentence time had been calculated and it gave a date of discharge as Tuesday August 23rd 2005. That sounds pretty soon to her, Karen thought vaguely as she ran her hand through her hair and blinked her eyes. There was a wall calendar on the side of the wall to her left and she studied the numbers. Jesus, that's ten days away. It surprised her but should not have done, as the number of days was simple to calculate. Lauren's record had been spotless, astonishing to the likes of Sylvia, apart from the borderline case of the cannabis cookies. As a result, she got the standard remission and the figures followed logically on from there. She studies the slim file with satisfaction. Her mind went back to the trial and the dramatic finale when John's infinitely understanding mercy decreed the second stage of Lauren being leased back into the community. With a five year suspended sentence hanging over her, her freedom was not without strings. She reached for the phone to start in motion Lauren's future psychiatric care. It would have been nice to entrust her to Helen but she knew that this was not to be the case. She had to see Lauren in person to explain matters to her and ensure that her future would be charted and guide mapped even if her own wasn't. She knew that she could handle the interview just fine as she was talking about someone else, not herself…….

"Lauren, you're wanted in Miss Betts office." "What's it about?" asked a distracted Lauren who was chatting to Kris. Denny was busy committing her soul to paper and paint at the arts class. This was something that she did not want to miss for love nor money as it enabled her to bask in the feeling of being worth something. "You never know. Perhaps you've won the lottery," Kris retorted with something more to humour and less of her periodic moodiness.  
"I wish," Grinned Gina. "Come on. Can't keep the boss waiting."

Lauren entered the office confidently enough and was reassured by Miss Betts' pleasant smile though she noticed the way that her blue eyes were not quite so prominent as normal. Her eyelids kept periodically drooping down.

"Lauren, I've been looking through your file and can you guess what significance August 23rd 2005 will have in your life?" Mum's birthday, Lauren immediately decided before dismissing it out of hand. What on earth would she be doing reminding her of something that was etched in neon lights in her mental diary? There had to be another reason and she searched her memory for what on earth Miss Betts could be driving at and gave up. She was never into quizzes and had a low patience threshold.  
"I give up. It's mum's birthday of course but that's nothing new." "I have some good news for you personally. It's also your date of discharge so that you can be at home on Yvonne's birthday." Lauren's heart did several back flips and a huge beaming smile spread right across her face. For one second, she was tempted to give the other woman a huge hug but remembered her position and her place. She sank back into the chair, drained of all energy.  
"It can't be that soon?" "It is. I've double checked the dates and they fit exactly." "I'd better get on to mum and give her the good news. It will just make her day. There's Trigger as well who I've really missed." Lauren started to chatter away as excitement welled up in front of her. This good news was phenomenal.  
"I've had a better idea. Why don't we keep this back as a surprise present for her. I don't suppose her last birthday was up to much with you awaiting trial and ….." "I know what you're thinking," Lauren said quietly.  
"Still , I remember the previous year when Cassie lured us all on to play 'spin the bottle.' How could any of us forget?" In answer to Karen's fond, nostalgic smile, it hit Lauren that the other woman was really called Karen. That was how she had first got to know her, after all. How times have changed. In her mind's eye, she could still see the image of that spinning bottle, that wheel of destiny, the sweetness of that champagne and the exquisite sight and feel of women kissing, her with Cassie and her mum with Karen as she was then. It was definitely a girl's night in and Karen was one of them. She could still hear the sound of Annie Lennox playing for them and regretted that she had not been emotionally ready for what was softly beguiling. If she had, life might have been different. Lauren opened her eyes from that bittersweet memory and she was still there in front of her, more careworn, more tired, dressed formally in her uniform and both of them were in her office and she was the prisoner. She looked at Karen or Miss Betts or whoever she should call her and the light of life that was there then in her eyes had been now blown out and she seemed more fragile now than she was then. It was only her will that enabled her to conduct the interview so capably.  
"Still, we can't dwell on the past, however pleasurable it might have been," Added Miss Betts in her official tones. She cast a sideways glance wearily at the rest of her in tray, a look that Lauren spotted.  
""All right, I'll keep it as a surprise," Lauren eventually decided after mulling the idea over before the words popped out of her mouth. "Are you all right? You look as if you could do with a rest. You should remember what I was like after Ritchie died except that I know you'll manage better than I did." Lauren was suffused with intense feelings of sympathy and she hoped that her words had reached out to the other woman who was clearly suffering, however good a job she was doing in disguising it.  
"What doesn't break us only makes us stronger, Lauren," came the stoical, slightly stiff reply with a brief smile to soften it and to thank her. Karen instantly rejected that disturbing comparison though in the nicest possible way as Lauren had meant well. "Don't worry, I'll cope." 

Lauren was escorted back to the wing with a spring in her step as if she were walking on water as, the full impact of the news was only then just starting to hit home. Before then, she had not dared think of when she was due out but had subconsciously thought that she would wait till whoever came to her cell and told her to pack her belongings and mum would be waiting at the gate for her. That distant dream had sustained her throughout all the dark moments.  
"You've had good news, Lauren. Tell sis all about it." Denny had just come out of her arts class and just by the way Lauren walked, she could tell that she had good news.  
Even in her ecstatic frame of mind, Lauren had enough presence of mind to realize that Denny might not exactly be overjoyed. It was always known that Lauren would be out before Denny was but she had to broach the matter delicately.  
"I've been called to see Miss Betts. It's good news for me but I'm not sure how you'll take it." "Go on." A sinking feeling came over Denny. This was the sort of way that they told you news that wasn't just bad but really shit. It was that look of embarrassment, which was the dead giveaway.  
"Shall we go back to our cell?" Denny nodded and trudged off unenthusiastically.  
"I've just been told that I'm getting out on August 23rd. It's stupid but I never realized it was so soon." "That's brilliant news for you, Lauren," Denny interrupted, her lips smiling. That leaves me on my own….again. "I feel kind of bad in telling you this one." "Could have been worse. Could have been Bodybag rubbing my face in it. Course I'm dead pleased for you. You ought to have been given a bleeding medal for offing Fenner instead of being banged up." "Not that way," Shuddered Lauren. She still couldn't get her head around exactly what was going on in her mind when she did that. "Mum and I will carry on visiting you in Larkhall, Denny. That will give Bodybag two visitors to make her sick of and really piss her off." Denny laughed briefly at that idea.  
"I'll help you get packed, Lauren. Promise." 


	174. Part One Hundred And Seventy Four

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part One Hundred And Seventy Four

On the Sunday afternoon, Karen drove over to Cassie and Roisin's. She'd rung them on Friday, to say that she had some very good news to give them, and Roisin had asked her over for Sunday tea. Karen wanted to see the children, knowing that she had to get over that particular barrier as soon as possible. Being with two growing children would no doubt bring a lot of memories back for her, but she hoped that they would mostly be pleasant ones. Michael was twelve now and Niamh nine, and Michael was about to begin traversing those abominably difficult teenage years, that would probably drive even the mild mannered Roisin to distraction. Karen smiled as she tried to imagine Cassie dealing with a typical adolescent strop. But when she pulled up in their driveway, Cassie was pruning the hedge at the side of the front garden, singing along to the music that was coming out of the living-room window. Karen stood and watched her for a moment or two, thinking that she'd only ever seen such a rapt expression on this woman's face, whenever she'd been plotting one of her numerous pieces of mischief. 

When Cassie eventually looked up and saw the wry smile on Karen's face, she dropped the hedge clippers on the lawn and stretched. "Bet you never thought you'd see me gardening, did you," She said with a smirk. "It suits you," Karen found herself saying, knowing that the responsibilities of family life had significantly calmed Cassie down over the last two years. "As much as being filthy and sweaty ever suited anyone," Cassie replied, pushing her fringe out of her face. Karen held open the rubbish bag for her, whilst she began gathering up the clippings that seemed to be strewn all over the garden. "You look knackered," Cassie said, after a while of talking of nothing too close to home. "Now I know why I never take time off if I can help it," Karen said ruefully. "Because it's all there waiting for me when I get back." "And you're probably trying to do everything at once," Cassie told her seriously, finally straightening up to look at her. "You're starting to sound like George," Karen said almost fondly. "Yeah, well, maybe she's got a point," Cassie replied, tying up the rubbish bag and dropping it beside the garage. Leading the way into the house, they found Niamh and Roisin in the kitchen, making a fruit salad for pudding. Saying she needed a shower, Cassie left them to it and went upstairs. "We've both been trying to work out what you've got to tell us, since you rang on Friday," Roisin said, trying to stop Niamh eating all the grapes before they could end up in the bowl. "It's worth the wait, I promise," Karen assured her, taking a seat at the kitchen table. As she watched Niamh carefully hulling the strawberries, she filled Roisin in as to the recording of the performance of 'The Creation', and talked to Niamh about what she was doing with her summer holiday. "They're both going to stay with Aiden tomorrow," Roisin said a little dejectedly, though knowing that their father did have a right to see them once in a while. "Michael doesn't want to go," Niamh said as she washed the strawberries. "Well, unfortunately, he doesn't really have any choice, unless he wants his father to start up the custody battle again," Roisin told her. "Your father doesn't see the two of you very often as it is." "He doesn't want to go, because he doesn't like Grandma's cooking," Niamh stated knowingly. "Well, I can't blame him for that," Roisin said with a smile. "I never liked her cooking either, but don't you tell her I said that," She added conspiratorially to Niamh. "Or I'll be accused of having a bad influence on the pair of you, not that I'm not already." 

A little while later when Michael came through the back door, with his hair all over the place and the evidence of sunburn on his cheeks, both Karen and Roisin took in the sullen, slightly screwed up face. "Were you playing football?" Roisin asked, knowing that he'd been at the local park with his friends all afternoon. "Mum," He replied in disgust, barely acknowledging Karen's presence. "You don't play football in the summer, you play cricket." "Yes, I'm sorry, I forgot," Roisin tried to placate him. "Did you win?" "No," Michael said belligerently, slumping down at the table opposite Karen. "Some stupid tosser bowled me for six." "Michael Connor, I won't have words like that from you. Is that clear?" Roisin told him sternly. "Cassie says it," He replied sulkily. "And Cassie isn't twelve-years-old," Roisin argued back. "Who's taking my name in vain?" Cassie asked, strolling into the kitchen, her hair still wet from the shower. "Michael here is learning too much of your delightful vocabulary," Roisin slightly admonished her. "Michael, you shouldn't say something unless you know what it means," Cassie said reasonably. "And please don't say anything like that in front of your father," Roisin told him. "Mum, how many times," Michael said furiously. "I am not going to Grandma's." "Oh, and what am I supposed to say to him if you won't go?" Roisin demanded. "I don't care," Michael responded dismissively. "All him and Grandma do is whinge about everything we say and do anyway. It's not like they actually want to see us." "Michael, your father may have his faults," Roisin tried to convince him. "But he does love you." "Well, I don't love him," Michael insisted vehemently. "Michael, go and cool down," Cassie said firmly, clearly demanding no argument. When Michael had slunk angrily out of the kitchen, Karen couldn't help but smile. "I know," Cassie said ruefully, "We've got it all to come, haven't we." "I'd like to be able to tell you it gets easier," Karen said in fond memory. "But I'd be fooling you if I did." "How on earth are we going to get him to go with Aiden tomorrow?" Roisin said worriedly, as she placed the bowl of fruit salad in the fridge to chill. "Oh, don't worry," Cassie said confidently. "I've got a plan. It's really irritating him that he has to borrow someone else's cricket bat. So, if he agrees to quit swearing and go to Aiden's, we could think about getting him one of his own." "You're a genius," Roisin said approvingly. 

When the three adults were sitting in the sunny back garden, with tall glasses of ice-cold Pimms, that Cassie had whipped up with the leftovers of the fruit, Karen told them her news. "Seeing as Lauren was fast approaching her time of release, it's going to happen on Yvonne's birthday, as a surprise for her fiftieth." "But that's..." Cassie said, working it out. "...A week on Tuesday!" She finished with a delighted squeal. Karen suddenly found herself enveloped by one of Cassie's impulsive hugs. "Are you serious?" Roisin asked in wonder, not quite able to believe it would be so soon. "Very," Karen said with a broad smile. "She's kept to pretty much exemplary behaviour, apart from the cannabis cookies, so getting out early for good behaviour means it would have been some time soon anyway." "I can't believe this," Cassie said, brief tears of sincere joy rising to her eyes. "I know it sounds stupid," Roisin said. "And I know she was only given two years, and that she'd already served one of them, but I think we both thought this day would never come." "So Yvonne doesn't know any of this?" Cassie asked, having recovered herself. "Nothing, but Lauren does," Karen told them. "I can never think of what to get Yvonne for her birthday, and as this is a bit of a special one, I thought this might be a suitable surprise." "Are you kidding?" Cassie said with glee. "It'll be fantastic." "That isn't just why you're doing this, is it," Roisin said quietly, fixing Karen with an understanding gaze. "You want her to have her child back." "Yes, I do," Karen said simply, knowing that as she had put Lauren behind bars in the first place, by giving Jo her name, it had always been her responsibility to get Lauren out of there and back with her mother as soon as possible. In less than ten days, Yvonne's daughter would be back home, back where she belonged. 


	175. Part One Hundred And Seventy Five

Part One Hundred and Seventy Five

"I'm ever so sorry, Denny," Gina apologised profusely. "Your VO was definitely sent out to Yvonne at the same time as Lauren's was. I know as I've double-checked the record and it was definitely sent out. Some muppet at the post office must have messed up so that Yvonne's received only one VO and not both. Until I get that back, I'm stuck. I'm really sorry Denny but there it is." "You'll get time more with mum. It don't matter, man. There's always a next time," Denny offered generously.  
Lauren was pleased that Denny took it that way and kissed the other woman on the cheek.  
"You're sure you're all right?" "Course I am. Now push off or you'll be late."

Lauren walked away down the corridor with Gina to the visitor's room in a cheered up frame of mind. She was all the more relaxed and confident as Tuesday August 23rd 2005 was fixed for her release date, a mere seven days away. Ancient superstition had not dare let her think too much of her release date up till then in case anything would go wrong at the last minute. Besides, by that time she had spent inside, she had been mentally trussed her up in to a secure routine so that the outside was unimaginable. She did not see the expression on Denny's face as she was left behind. In Denny's downcast eyes, Lauren was living in a world where the jail bars were made of bleeding rubber that were softening up and she was already starting to move away from her. She slunk back to her cell in a disconsolate manner to lie on her bunk.

Lauren, on the other hand, was feeling on top of the world and she chatted away to Gina who handed her over to wait with the others till the door opened. This was the moment when Lauren was at her happiest. Talking on the phone was all very well but her mother's voice was never enough for her, not when she had to occasionally cup her hand over her right ear to block out the sound of the TV in the background. Her mother's wide smile greeted her as she always did as she approached Lauren. That image was fixed in her mind after so many months and she had had to get used to one intense dose of mothering, usually shared with Denny when this was the one chance of human contact. "I'm real sorry about Denny," Yvonne apologised. "I know that Gina tried to move heaven and earth to fix it up for Denny. How did she take it?" "She was disappointed of course but I think she took it well. She knows that there's another time," Lauren offered brightly.  
Yvonne gave herself in to a huge sigh of relief. It would be so much better if they were both under her roof and they could be where they were meant to be. She visualised it all so clearly in her mind. Still, one of hers was going to be sprung out of prison, thanks to the judge with who she had, ironically had a bust up when she was only walking the dog in the park and bumped into him, as you happen to do.

"So you didn't go to the funeral?" Lauren asked in a tentatively rhetorical fashion. After Ritchie had died, such a word had a nasty feel to both of them but there simply wasn't another word they could safely use. Yvonne drew heavily on a cigarette and finished it off.  
"Can't stand funerals," Yvonne said in a tight, hard voice. "I've seen my share. I did my bit in looking after the kids of those who did go. I didn't need to go. Not after Ritchie's" Yvonne put her hand on the table and turned it upwards. Very faint tracery lines were still visible of those three lines where she had gashed her hand when two years ago, news had been broken of her Ritchie's suicide. She had been holding a glass and had shattered it under pressure. Ironically, it was Karen who had nursed her wounds that night but they were still there, just buried. She knew how Karen felt all right.  
"That was a pretty crazy time in our lives," Lauren admitted.  
"You can say that again." A hush fell on the visiting room as though the assorted conversations had been turned off like a TV remote control of an irritating programme that they wanted to distance from themselves. The two women were truly alone with their thoughts.  
Lauren could remember only vague sensations of that night except that she must have put away an awful lot of booze that night. "Have you seen much of Karen recently?" "Not much," Lauren replied laconically. "Before…..all this happened, she always put in an appearance on the wing and laughed and joke with us from time to time. Since she's been back, we've hardly seen a trace of her. She must be shutting herself away to grieve by herself."

"That figures," Yvonne agreed. She had done the same for as long as time let herself. Karen is simply using her office as Yvonne's equivalent of her bed. "Do you realise," Lauren said slowly and thoughtfully. "I've not had a drop of alcohol since I came in here. I used to get so pissed sometimes, especially when……" "You're slipping, Lauren. I got my regular supply of miniatures…." Yvonne joked in a low pitched voice, effortlessly sliding the conversation onto safer ground. She was about to mention that the Costas do pretty well in their line in gin and tonic but checked herself in time. Her dormant prison instincts kicked in at precisely the same time as Lauren's foot pressed on hers just to warn her. She wasn't used to watching her words, far less her thoughts, in case they were overheard. She was slipping, not Lauren. "It doesn't matter any more. Certainly not for the present." "But aren't you out in a bit? Can't keep track of time these days but it can't be long." "No one's said. Anyway ask me when I'm out and then I'll tell you how I feel. That's assuming I'll know how I feel. I'd sooner face that then and not before. You know what it's like……." Sensible Lauren, thought Yvonne. She remembered how she felt when she first got out.  
"….besides. I put away more booze that night than I care to think of. I felt so broken up inside but I reacted in typical Atkins fashion by taking it out on Karen, Miss Betts I mean……." Lauren shook her head in confusion as the image of her mother's lover dropped out of her memory banks and the combined feelings of hatred and insecurity that she felt for her, which went with the memories, that fear of losing that one protectress who she was that good and stable factor in her life. "……….it wasn't what happened to Ritchie that freaked me out, it was the whole Atkins thing. Mum, I'm afraid of facing everything in me when I come out. Everything's secure here in a funny way. At least I know who and where I am. I'm top of the pile here as, after all, I am an Atkins." Yvonne pressed her still wounded hand against Lauren's to pass on that strength to Lauren who was going through that momentary flicker of uncertainty and fear for the future. Yvonne knew as surely as she knew anything that Lauren wasn't top dog on G Wing because of Charlie's violent streak and his psychopathic cruelty. No, Lauren had influence because of her own quiet wisdom and strength in her, not even because she was her daughter. Any decent screw could tell that Lauren worked for them if they only treated her with respect. Above all, Nikki and Karen were there in the background and held the strings of power in their very capable and all knowing hands.

"That's because you're my daughter," Yvonne's incredibly tender voice caressed the younger woman as much as if she had held her close. "I've watched over you since you were born from the moment the nurses at the hospital gave you to me to hold." "I'm being silly," Lauren confessed, her mood switching and smiling suddenly in that touchingly childlike way. "I'm lucky, luckier than I dare think before the trial, luckier than……." Both of them knew that Lauren was referring to Denny. Yvonne glanced at the clock on the wall, saw that the time was marching inexorably forward and carried on while there was still time.

"Don't forget what the judge said, Lauren. If I remember rightly….."Yvonne paused for thought as the words slid into place from her faultless memory banks. "…..'You must receive whatever psychiatric treatment that may be recommended for you. However, to ensure that you sufficiently learn your lesson, the day of your release, will be the start of a five year suspended sentence. This means, that if, at any point during the ensuing five years, you commit any crime, you can be recalled to prison immediately, and this will be non-negotiable.'" Lauren's face fell. That spectacular moment of joy and gratitude had obliterated the fine print of the judgment. She remembered the moment as if it were yesterday, standing in the dock, feeling very exposed looking up at that very kindly, wise grey haired man dressed in his red regal robes and speaking in his sonorous tones. He was the only man she had come to respect. "The judge knows what he is doing, well most of the time. You'll bite the bullet and I'm sure that Karen will be on the ball and get everything all fixed up when your time comes up," Continued Yvonne in firm tones.  
"You're sure, mum, the way she is right now?" Yvonne had a flickering moment of hesitation and then dismissed it.  
"I know Karen. She'll dot the i's and cross the t's of everything she comes across and she'll work bloody hard for you even if she's falling apart inside, too bloody hard for her own good. That's what she's like……." Yvonne's feelings were suffused with that anxious wish to be there for her, for that woman whose strength and toughness was perilously likely to work against her "I wish I could help Karen right now but I know she probably won't let me," She added.  
"It's not because the two of you aren't together any more, are you." Lauren asked anxiously.  
"Definitely not, Lauren. It's just that she is not the 'being helped' kind. You must know that. She's worse than I ever was …..." Yvonne gave a short laugh, which wasn't really one. Being stuck with being an Atkins wasn't exactly a bleeding joke. Karen had never talked about her family to her but it crossed her mind that the clue to her must surely lie there. "It's just that she was there for me….that was a first in my life," she added in bitter reflection of how inadequate Charlie and past lovers before him had been. "She helped me through the worst of losing Ritchie and I owe her so much in return." "Why don't you phone her or see her?" Lauren asked simply.  
Yvonne shook her head. If she was emotionally devastated as she suspected as she was, she didn't know which Karen Betts would pick up the phone or answer the door. It wasn't as easy as that.  
"Tell you what, I'll talk to Nikki about her….while I'm still here. She's close to Karen." "Do that, Lauren."

"Roisin and Cassie give their love as always, and Michael and Niamh. I ought to warn you that he's in danger of becoming a teenager," Yvonne ended on a humorous edge after a rather depressed silence.  
"I hope they'll remember what I look like," Lauren asked anxiously as her face softened with real affection. Her most innocent pleasure was to play with their two adorable children. Their cards and messages over the months were her treasured possessions in her cell to be carefully read and reread. They had not changed, as they existed as how she had last seen them. They had been good for her and had helped her escape into a second childhood.

"I wish I knew then what I know now," Lauren suddenly burst out as other memories of Cassie and Roisin came to the surface. They were in their little private island, isolated as they were from the random chatter between other visitors and prisoners, dressed in their identical red bibs, which made them look alike when their lives were anything but. She remembered how she lay in bed with two pairs of warm arms, which carried her off safely to sleep that night. She had known that if this were all she ever had from these two women who had come in to her life it would do her just fine. It was months later on that when they romanced her into their bed. She would never forget that image of that bedroom which was lit by a single lamp, which cast long shadows across the room and the tender way they made love to her.  
"Don't we all." The tone in Yvonne's voice was bittersweet with knowledge of life's chances wasted and those she had not let slip through her fingers. There were only so many chances, that's all. 


	176. Part One Hundred And Seventy Six

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part One Hundred And Seventy Six

In the middle of Tuesday afternoon, Karen was standing at her open office window, taking a brief break from the interminable red tape, to allow the August breeze to wash over her face. The admin block looked out onto one side of the main exercise yard, the other three sides bordered by G wing, the hospital wing, and the mother and baby unit. There were two other exercise yards, but these were out of sight on the other side of the prison. Being three floors up, Karen had a good view of everything that might be going on down there, as did Nikki in her office one floor below. A few inmates, including Kris, Denny and Al, appeared to be playing football, and other more sensible women were taking advantage of the hot afternoon sun. Karen could feel the warmth of it on her cheeks, but it didn't seem to be able to penetrate further. She still felt cold inside, dead, as if she might never be entirely alive again. 

When the knock came on her door, she drew in a long, tired breath and bade the person to come in. It was Gina, carrying a large bunch of flowers. "I was just coming in, when these arrived for you, so I said I'd bring them up." "They're beautiful," Karen said in awe, taking the lily-white roses from Gina's hands. "Do you want me to find a vase for them?" Gina asked, wondering who had sent them, and only just restraining herself from enquiring. "Yes please," Karen replied, retrieving the letter that had been tucked into the top of the bouquet. When Gina returned, and between them they transferred the flowers from paper to water, Gina glanced out of the window. "Jesus," She said with a smile. "You'd think some of them were still kids, wouldn't you." "On a day like this, yes, you would," Karen agreed with her. "You're on the late shift today, aren't you." "Yeah, for my sins. Still, as long as Dominic doesn't forget to video Eastenders for me, I don't care." 

When Gina had gone, Karen picked up the letter that had accompanied the flowers, and sat down on the couch across from her desk. Something seemed vaguely familiar about the writing on the envelope, which had clearly been written by the sender, not the florist. Slitting open the envelope with a paper knife, she slid out the thick, very expensive notepaper. Glancing down to the end of the letter to see who it was from, she felt incredibly touched to see the simple words, Joe Channing, left in the slightly shaky scrawl, that had liberally adorned the margins of the conductor's score. 

"Dear Karen,

First of all, please allow me to offer you my sincere condolences. I cannot begin to imagine how you must feel after losing your son. Losing my wife was difficult enough, and there isn't a day that goes by that I don't miss her. But I found that having a ten-year-old George to take care of, gave me something to focus on, a reason to stop me from entirely disintegrating. I threw myself into work, as I suspect you are doing now, but I would urge you to be careful of making the pursuit of your profession, your only focus in life. 

I have waited until now to write to you, because I have had to grapple with my conscience, in order to arrive at a particularly difficult decision. At the risk of possibly ruining the beginnings of a very interesting friendship, I feel that to be entirely honest with you, is the only course of action I can and must take. I too knew of the situation your son was in, as John sought my advice on whether or not he could break the confidence. I wish with all my heart, that I had not known of this, and that I had not therefore been forced, by virtue of the law, to keep such knowledge from a fellow parent. John knew that he couldn't tell you, but he came to me just to make absolutely sure. He was vehemently opposed to keeping this from you as, inwardly, was I. John told me that day that he felt culpable, as if he was directly increasing the hurt that you would inevitably one day feel. It is extremely rare that I actively disagree with the law as it stands, but on this occasion, I did. The day on which you told me that your son was the result of a misspent youth, I also felt culpable, as it would have been so simple for me to tell you, then, as on other subsequent occasions. I have never before felt the deep-seated desire to break the law, but in this instance it became almost unbearable, as I know it has been for John. 

I have reached the point where I should ask for your forgiveness, though I am not entirely certain that such a request would either be welcomed or appropriate. All I can do is to offer you my sincere apologies, and to hope that in time, you may come to understand why an old man foolishly acted as he did. I believed you when you said that you loved my daughter, and I would not want this to have any effect on your relationship with her. I may not understand a relationship that exists between two women, but George appears to be happy with you, and I would not want to jeopardise that. 

If you should ever require a willing ear, please do not hesitate to make use of the above address or phone number. As John would no doubt testify, I will do my best not to be too judgmental. 

Yours sincerely,

Joe Channing."

Karen hadn't realised she was crying, until one of her tears dropped onto the expensive paper, slightly smudging the s of sincerely. Holding it away from her to avoid any further smudges, she stared at the bleary words in front of her. No one had ever written her anything so heartrending as this, and especially not a man. She could feel the pain and the regret he must have felt for her, almost exuding from the paper itself. He'd said that both he and John had felt culpable, in some way responsible for her grief. She hadn't spoken to John since the funeral, both of them avoiding each other, because neither had the first idea of what could be said. Karen didn't blame him, and she certainly didn't blame Joe, but she could see how they might think she would. But how on earth did she go about putting that right?

Being utterly submerged in the contents of the letter and her reaction to it, she hadn't heard the tap on her door, but becoming aware of Nikki's presence, she glanced up at her, trying to wipe away the tears. "Do you want me to go?" Nikki asked gently, never having seen Karen in such a state before. "No, stay," Karen said, trying to get herself under control. "Who are the flowers from?" Nikki asked, moving towards the desk. "George's father," Karen told her, holding out the letter. "He wrote me this." Hesitantly taking the letter from her, and feeling as though she really shouldn't be reading something so personal, Nikki read it, seeing that Karen wanted her to do so, immediately realising why it had affected Karen so much. When she eventually reached the end, she put the letter back on the desk, and regarded Karen with concern, seeing that the cracks in her emotional armour were far more visible than they had been up to now. "You're wondering who else knew, aren't you," Nikki stated simply. "Just a bit," Karen said bitterly. "Tell me, Nikki, did you?" "No, no, I didn't," Nikki reassured her, taking one of Karen's hands in hers, gently smoothing her thumb over the knuckles. "Probably because Helen knew I wouldn't be able to keep my mouth shut." "Do you think anyone else did?" Karen asked almost desperately, badly needing to know the answer, no matter how devastating it might be. "I can't be certain," Nikki said carefully. "But I don't think anyone else, apart from Helen, the Judge and George's father knew. Most of us wouldn't have been able to be that restrained, and there wasn't any need for anyone else to know." "I just wish..." Karen stopped, knowing this was utterly futile. "I just keep thinking that if I'd known, I could have helped him." "I know," Nikki said gently. "And part of you probably always will." "I'm sorry," Karen said, grabbing some tissues from the box on her desk, and furiously scrubbing at her face. "This is hardly a very professional state to find your boss in, now is it?" "Karen, you're not just my boss," Nikki said sincerely. "You're my friend, your Helen's friend, and that means far more than a couple of extra Governor grades any day." 


	177. Part One Hundred And Seventy Seven

Part One Hundred and Seventy Seven

Nikki continued to keep a discreet eye on Karen as much as her duties permitted as last Tuesday's conversation taught her that Karen was walking on eggshells, emotionally speaking. However, there was little she could do except watch and wait and to be as supportive as she could be. The hurly burly of her job swept her onwards throughout the week and severely restricted her time in deep contemplation of any personal cares on the job.

Thank heavens Karen was now spared any further intrusion soon after the nightmare of Karen's first Monday back at work and that nightmare had come to pass. For the first time in her life, she had popped into a newsagent and had picked up a couple of the trashier rags and had nearly gagged when she had read the cheap, tawdry, voyeuristic language in which the stories were phrased in. As for the headline, that was there to cynically cash in on human tragedy and boost sales- "Top Screw's Junkie Son Dies". That was the first and last time she bought anything like that again in her life, she resolved. Welcome to the favourite rag of the ignorant, the prejudiced and, last but not least, the homophobic. She puzzled the newsagent by picking up a copy of the 'Guardian' to restore some sense of sanity. She threw the coins down on the counter and glared briefly at the surprised newsagent who, after all, was only selling newspapers and kept the favourite sellers available for the public. She slunk out of the shop furtively as if she were buying pornographic literature and in the privacy of her office, glanced through them. At her weekly meeting, she took the bull by the horns and expressly forbade anyone bringing in any of the newspapers, glaring at Di Barker especially.  
"Can't the Home Office put out some sort of public statement?" she had asked of Grayling when she snatched up her phone right after the meeting.  
"Regrettably no. Believe me, Nikki, that it would give me perfect pleasure to screw up a copy of that rag and ram it down the mouth of that bastard in the Sun who wrote that piece but you're talking about the Home Office. I know that they are running scared of anything that could be remotely construed as adverse publicity at the best of times. I guarantee that their attitude will be to rely on the fickleness of the gutter press and its short term attention span and it will be yesterday's news as they find someone else to doorstep, hound and victimise." Grayling's restrained fury and scorching words came loud and clear down the phone and Nikki reluctantly had to agree. She had not known Grayling long but it immediately struck her that he was not normally known to swear.

It was two months since she had started at Larkhall and she was gaining confidence and certainty now in a surprisingly short time, partly due to the events surrounding Karen's week off. She could rely more on instincts to get her way through the working week and now, she had a matter crop up that was more pleasure than business and that was Yvonne's birthday and the surprise present in store for her. She finished work a little early having arranged to meet up with Helen in a quiet bar. At this hour, it was deserted and she found a backroom where they could talk in private.  
"Hiya, Nikki," Helen greeted her with her sparkling smile after which they sat down with a glass of wine each.  
"So what plans have you got to celebrate Lauren's release? If it is anything like Yvonne's lavish idea of a party, it should be a night to remember." Nikki looked thoughtful now that she had time to detach herself from the cares of work. It didn't feel right somehow. "I don't know, Helen. Can you remember the first night after I got out of Larkhall……" Nikki started to say and grinned as the irony of the situation struck her.  
"Yes, I know what you're thinking but every prisoner who has done time finds the outside world very weird. I was at the club with Trisha just before you showed up and I was still expecting someone to lock me in at night, that everything I did from when I woke up in the morning wasn't mine to decide but someone else's. It got to be almost a comfort blanket once you used to stop thinking of the outside world. Once you come across it again you can't deal with it to begin with……..I know that I'm coming to the very same place, day in day out, but this time around, I can make the decisions and I can pass through any set of bars that I please. It's a big difference. I went home with you to our flat that first night, I mean our second night together not only because that I wanted to show you a good time as I once promised you….." Here Nikki's eyes softened at the memory of all that physical desire between them that was let loose like a dam breaking. "……..but because I honestly couldn't have faced anything more than to spend the night in with you. It wasn't just that I wanted to get out of the club as soon as possible for the obvious reasons, I simply would not have been capable of spending the night on the town with any club." "So what are you suggesting?" "Let's make it a quiet night in with those that Lauren is comfortable with, me, you, Cassie and Roisin and Josh and Crystal, a few drinks, company and just be around her. If it's obvious that Yvonne and Lauren want time on their own, then we slide off." "Sounds fine to me. I'll get phoning around and fix it up."

Cassie heard the mobile bleeping and let it go to the sixth bleep as she was lazing back and studying her complexion in the mirror for any minor improvements on perfection. She missed the kids around like crazy and worried if they were going to manage in Aiden's care. There was the prospect that, especially with Michael, there was going to be a blip when he would take out his anger against them when he got back. Everything about him exudes narrow-minded moralising Puritanism at an age when Michael was starting to be vulnerable to peer pressure. She had been a right little madam when she started to become an adolescent and had given both her parents hell. That was what worried her.  
"Hi, it's Cassie," She yawned into the earpiece.  
"I thought you working parents are supposed to be run off your feet. You sound as if you've just got out of bed," Nikki teased.  
"The kids are away with Aiden so I've a chance to catch up with the more decadently lazy side of my personality." "Listen, Lauren's due out of Larkhall next Tuesday and I was wondering if you'd be part of a welcoming party for her." "Any party sounds tempting, especially if it's at Yvonne's and involves Lauren. She is such a babe and anyway Roash and I have really missed her……………." Cassie let drop her devil may care exterior in these last words and let her real softness and affection show through.  
"………OK so what's the deal?" "This is meant to be a surprise as Tuesday is Yvonne's birthday and this is our present for her," Explained Nikki.  
"Do you want someone to fetch her from Larkhall because Roash and I can do it." "Please. That would be a big help because I'd really hate it if someone wants my attention just when Lauren wants to be free of the place and I'd be keeping her hanging around," Nikki answered, in her best forward thinking delegating duties wing governor style. "And when we all get there, that's when the orgy starts," Teased Cassie in total contrast.  
Nikki laughed out loud but felt duty bound to ask Cassie for once to be serious.  
"You think about when you and Roisin got out. You might have wanted to make a beeline for bed like Helen and I did but Lauren wants to be reunited with Yvonne. It'll probably be more low key than the sort of thing that your vivid one track imagination is thinking up. Just a quiet night in if that doesn't sound too boring. Can you live with that? It would be for Lauren's good." Cassie gave way to Nikki's sensible entreaties though a wicked streak in her was fantasising of other ideas. "Seriously, Nikki. We'll be there for her, no probs. You can count on us."

"Such a show off, Cassie," Nikki grinned affectionately at Helen." Now it's time to try Crystal and Josh. "Yeah, Nikki, we'll be there," Josh said straightaway without thinking.they had been there for Lauren's trial and he could still remember being the lowly odd job man, mending fuses and clearing drains and that very cool, self possessed woman who paid him very generous for errands like taking Julie Johnson's children to visit her. She was very kind to him and had natural class. To Crystal, she was Yvonne's daughter for a very big start. "But Josh, we'll have to check if your mum or mine will babysit for Daniel and Zandra," Crystal's voice of reason could be heard in the background over Daniel's very loud exercise lungpower.  
"I'll phone you back, Nikki, once we get sorted out. Got to rush," Josh's answer could just be heard.  
"Well, what's the news," Helen asked expectantly.  
"He's got to get babysitters sorted out. I guess that becomes part of your life if you want to go out anywhere." "They'll make it," Helen said confidently. "So how's Karen these days?" "Not good. She's trying to pretend that the loss of her son, whatever he was like, could be just filed away and forgotten and to pretend that with willpower, she can blast through anything. It wouldn't be an idea her coming along as a sheer change of scene but that is a complete no hoper the way she is right now. She's the world's worst in taking advice, even more pig headed …." "…..than me. Go on, say it." Nikki smiled at Helen's little joke but the memories that rolled back from the years were not so pleasurable as lounging in a back room of a pub. She remembered only too well that getting Helen to see that one of her single minded campaigns was fine on principle but short on practicalities was like a dentist wrestling with an obstinate back tooth that refused to be dislodged from its roots. Helen had mellowed over the past few years but Karen was still prone to that defect and her dogged refusal to grieve made matters worse. "So I'll make my way straight over to Yvonne's if as I imagine, Lauren will be picked up at lunchtime at the latest if my memory serves me right." Nikki hastily nodded her agreement as her mobile phone rang. Thankfully, it was Josh.  
"We're sorted Nikki. Not sure when mum can come over but we'll be there but we might be late," answered a harassed Josh. "They really love it all," Helen said fondly and affectionately. "I'm sure it makes them feel needed and complete." "There can be a downside, Helen," Nikki gently reminded her. The house sounded like bedlam on the other side of the phone but then again, any house with babies is hardly going to be like the Ideal Home Exhibition, everything neatly in place. She could relate to that. "Come on, let's head for home." 


	178. Part One Hundred And Seventy Eight

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part One Hundred And Seventy Eight

On the Monday evening, Karen was sitting at her desk, finding anything remotely dull and tedious to do, so that she wouldn't have to go home. Going home to an empty flat was something she just didn't want to do. She knew it was ridiculous, Ross having not lived at home for years before he died, but the emptiness was far too big a reminder of what she'd lost. But she felt so tired, her limbs almost weighing her down, yet whenever she tried to sleep, she would spend the whole night tossing and turning. Nikki had been trying to persuade her to take some time off, but time to think wasn't what Karen wanted right now. Time to think, meant time to dwell on what she could have done, on all the times she'd refused to give him money. When she heard the knock on her door, she looked up hopefully, anything resembling a distraction from her thoughts being a welcome intrusion these days. It was Nikki, which now Karen came to think about it, wasn't all that much of a surprise. Nikki had taken it into her head to keep checking up on Karen, because she could see her gradually disintegrating. 

"You shouldn't still be here, you know," Nikki said gently, when she saw that Karen was still sitting at the computer. "I could say the same about you," Karen said mildly, knowing Nikki meant well, however irritating her concern might be. "It's after eight," She said, glancing at her watch. "You should be at home with Helen by now." "And you'd have George to go home to if only you'd let her in," Nikki said quietly, and immediately regretted it. "Is that right?" Karen said carefully, just about managing to keep a lid on her anger. "Karen, you can't go on like this," Nikki said, still trying to chisel away at Karen's brittle armour. "Really," Karen replied, the bitter edge of depression giving her words the texture of flint. "Let me ask you something," She continued. "Is my work suffering in any way?" "No, but your health is..." "Thank you," Karen cut her off mid answer. "So, let's just leave it at that, shall we?" "I'm clearly not getting anywhere," Said Nikki determinedly. "So I'll find someone who might be able to knock some sense into you." Before Karen could object, Nikki had walked out. 

George was sitting at her dining-room table, with John seated opposite her, both going through the civil case George was due to begin prosecuting the week after. "Oh, come on, John," She was saying. "We both know Legover, and we know he'll throw this out of court at the earliest opportunity." "And if I were in his shoes, I might do the same," John countered back, always willing to play devil's, or in this case, judge's advocate if she wanted to work out her strategy in advance. He wouldn't have dreamt of doing this if he'd been about to hear the case, but as he wasn't, it wouldn't do George any harm to have a little refresher tutoring. "You need to have the rulings you intend to use, thoroughly worked out and learnt parrot fashion in advance. You remember the Diana Hulsey case? One of your arguments for trying to force me into recusing myself, ended up shooting you in the foot because you hadn't done your homework properly." "Yes, sir," George quipped back with a grin. "Do you want me to go through your argument with you, or not?" He asked slightly sternly. "Yes, of course I do," she said seriously. "Well then, if Legover or the defence tries to throw this out of court, refer to this, this and this," He said, holding up three photocopied extracts of Halsbury's Laws. "And if either one tries to push for an adjournment, which I'm assuming your client won't want because your clients never do, use these," gesturing to yet more printed pages. "But you must, must, must know them backwards. That's what brought you down in the Diana Hulsey case. You can't just pick a relevant quote and hope that the judge you're before isn't familiar with the authority. You've got to painstakingly read, learn and inwardly digest every word, so that if, for some reason there is a hole in your argument, you'll discover it before you get into court." "Message received and understood," George said seriously, knowing he was right, but still loathed to admit it, even after all these years. "You could have done with a spell as my pupil," John said teasingly. "It didn't do Jo any harm." "Oh, really," Said George a little scathingly. "I doubt Jo would see it like that." "We're all right now," He protested. "Yes, maybe, but only after a good few years of heartache, most of it Jo's." "I still say that a year or so of my teaching would have done you the world of good." "I've had enough years of your particular kind of teaching to last me a lifetime," she said with a broad smile. She was about to continue speaking when the phone rang. Stretching out a hand to the cordless that lay somewhere under a stack of papers, she was surprised to see what looked like the number for Larkhall on the display. 

"George, it's Nikki," She said when George answered. "Oh, hello," George said with a smile. "How are you?" "I'm fine, but Karen isn't. That's why I phoned you." "What's happened?" George suddenly looked incredibly worried. "Nothing, as yet," Said Nikki, trying to calm her down. "But if she keeps going on like she is, she's going to work herself into the ground, and I've got absolutely no idea how to stop her." "The short answer," George said slowly. "Is that you can't. You know Karen almost as well as I do, and you know that when she's determined to do something, nothing or nobody will get in her way." "But I can't just leave it like this," Nikki insisted. "She's just about keeping on top of the job, but she's exhausted." George took a moment to stare thoughtfully at the enormous tome of Halsbury's Laws, which she'd been using as a paperweight whilst working in the garden earlier. "Nikki, if Karen won't listen to you or to Helen or Yvonne, I really can't promise that she'll listen to me." "Apart from the Judge," Nikki replied. "I don't know who else might be strong enough to make an impression. She's got to start listening to someone." "Well, John's here, but I suspect Karen wouldn't give him the time of day right now for exactly the same reason as she won't want to listen to Helen." "So, will you try?" Nikki asked, praying that George would agree. "Of course," George said with a rush of feeling. "I'll do my best, I'm just not sure that my interference will be all that welcome. But," She said, straightening her shoulders and stiffening her resolve. "Karen hasn't yet come up against my version of stubbornness. If I can't make her take a good, long look at what she's doing to herself, then nothing will." "Thank you," Nikki said in relieved acceptance. "Is she still at work?" "Yeah, that's where I'm calling you from." "Right, I'm on my way," She said, getting to her feet. "Will you come down to the gate lodge to let me in? The closer I can get without Karen being aware of my presence, the better." 

When Nikki had hung up, John said, "Precisely what are you planning to do?" "To persuade her to come back here, to give her something to eat, and to let her sleep for as long as possible. I'd say that was a start, wouldn't you?" "That's what I've always done for you when you've been on course for self-destruction," He observed. "Where do you think I got the idea from?" She said over her shoulder as she went to find her car keys. "Is she really not letting you get close to her?" John asked. "No, not in the slightest," George replied as she returned to the lounge for her handbag. "And until now, I haven't known what in the world I can do. But if I've got anything to do with it, Karen will not, under any circumstances, be going anywhere near work for the rest of this week. I'm working at home for the next few days, so I can make sure she doesn't." "You do realise that it might turn into a battle of wills." "And living with you for nine years gave me no end of practice," Was George's curt rejoinder. "Do you want me to stay or go?" George stood and contemplated him. "Stay," She finally said after reaching her conclusion. "Karen might not want to hear a word from you on her emotional welfare, but I think she'll stand to be in the same room as you. Besides, you haven't finished putting me in my place regarding my choice of authorities." As she walked out of the front door, John couldn't help but smile. He loved seeing that spark of determination and sheer stubbornness in George, when it was directed at someone else that is. But she'd been right in what she'd said to Nikki, if George couldn't break through Karen's defences, no one could. 

After phoning George, Nikki went down to the gate lodge to wait for her. She tapped her foot in impatient nervousness, and just hoped that Karen wouldn't sack or demote her for this. When George's car pulled swiftly into the car park, Nikki went forward to meet her. "She'll kill me for doing this," Nikki said as George walked towards her. "As long as she doesn't attempt to kill herself," George said matter-of-factly. "We're both quite capable of dealing with a verbal slap on the wrist." "You don't seriously think she would, do you?" Nikki asked as they walked through the gate lodge. "Right now," Replied George. "I'd say anything's possible." Nikki jerked a hand in Ken's direction to let him know George didn't need to be signed in. They walked quietly up to Karen's office, nothing needing to be said. When they reached the last gate, Nikki let George through and then locked it behind her. George gave her a smile in lieu of a thank you, and walked quietly towards the closed door of Karen's office. 

When Karen heard the controlled but authoritative knock on her door, she at first thought it must be Nikki again. But that wasn't Nikki's knock. If she didn't know better, she would have wondered if it was Grayling. "Come in," she called, turning half away from the computer to see who would enter. When George opened the door and moved into the room, Karen stared at her with a mixture of surprise, irritation, and resigned acceptance progressing across her face. George could see in an instant that Karen wasn't pleased to see her, but she wasn't going to stop now. "This is a surprise," Karen commented lamely, noticeably not saying whether it was a nice one or not. "Did Nikki ask you to come and stop me working?" "Yes, she did," George said neutrally, walking over to the desk. "She's worried about you, as am I, and as is just about everyone who knows you." Now really taking the plunge, she walked round to Karen's side of the desk and simply stood next to her chair. "I'm just dealing with this in the way I know best," Karen said quietly. "But it isn't working, is it," George stated gently. "And do you have any better suggestions?" Karen asked bitterly, showing George that the cracks were even more visible than they'd been a few days ago. "I might have, if only you'd talk to me." Karen took a breath to speak, and stopped when she realised that George was right. "It's not quite that simple," She said regretfully. "I know," George said softly. "You are after all talking to one who has, in the past, hidden things even from John." Perching on the edge of the desk, George looked Karen straight in the eye. She did look terrible, with dark circles under her eyes and with her forehead marred with lines of stress and tiredness. "Doesn't look that good, does it," Karen said, interpreting her glance. "Darling, come home with me," George suggested. "You are clearly working yourself into the ground, and I can't just sit here and watch. Come back with me, have something to eat, and go to sleep." "Sleeping isn't all that successful these days," Karen said quietly, and George caught the full force of the strain it was for Karen to keep maintaining her outer professional exterior. "We can sort that out, for tonight at least," George said confidently. "I don't keep a bottle of sleeping tablets in my bathroom cabinet for nothing, and right now, sleep is what you need above everything else." Karen suddenly had an overwhelming urge to cry, to clasp this beautiful, loving woman to her and to howl her eyes out. George was being so wonderful to her, when she, Karen, had been such a cow to live with lately. Standing up, she drew George off the desk and into her arms. They simply stood, holding each other desperately close, closer than they'd been for nearly a fortnight. Karen laid her tired, drawn face against George's soft, beautiful one. "Come on," George said after a while. "Switch off the computer and leave your bars behind for a while." Giving her a small smile, Karen did as she was asked. As they walked through the endless maze of corridors and Karen let them through one gate after another, George said, "I hope you don't mind, but John will probably still be at home when we get there. He was helping me with a case." "Are you sure you want me there if you've got company?" "Not that kind of company," George said to reassure her. "It's not the right time for that kind of company. He was just helping me with a case I've got to prosecute next week." "No, I don't mind, as long as I won't get in the way." "You won't. He's probably written the opening speech for me by now." 

They were quiet in the car, Karen lost in the work she'd left unfinished, and George painfully aware that Karen was only half there. "If I'm staying," Karen said into the silence. "Can we drop in at my flat so I can get some clothes?" "Yes, of course," George said, turning off the road they were on. "George, I'm not sure that this is such a good idea," Karen said as they approached her flat. "I'm not very good company at the moment." "No one's saying you have to be," George replied, pulling up in Karen's driveway. "As things stand, I'll be perfectly happy if you stay alive and vaguely sane. Whether you're good company or not really isn't important." "I'm not about to go the same way as my son," Karen said quietly, a little taken aback at George's perceptiveness. "And I'd rather be far more certain of that than I am at the moment," George said seriously, having realised that only a blunt approach was going to penetrate. "Darling, I haven't wanted to let you out of my sight for the last couple of weeks," She continued, her tone becoming gentler. "But I've tried to keep my distance, because I know that opening up to anyone, especially someone you're sexually involved with, just isn't your way of doing things. But you need to let me help you, even if it's only to let me take you home with me, to stop you from staring at the four walls with nothing to distract you." Again, Karen felt the almost crushing weight of the tears that she couldn't seem to allow herself to shed. It touched her greatly that George was being so honest with her. Everyone, Nikki and Yvonne included, had trodden very delicately around her lately. But here was George, telling her how it was, and pleading with Karen to be allowed to help her. Karen briefly wondered if this was because George had been there herself. She knew that at times, things did get pretty bad for George, the anorexia occasionally taking over every other aspect of her life. So, maybe she did know how it felt to feel so empty, that getting out of bed in the morning seemed pointless. "I don't deserve you," she said as their arms instinctively reached out for each other. "Remember at the end of April, when I was going through one of my phases of self-destruct?" George replied, leaning forward to gently place her lips on Karen's. "When I haven't eaten for a week, and barely maintained an adequate intake before that, with the only functioning part of my brain being work-related, believe me, the balance is well and truly even." "Stay here," Karen said, giving George one final kiss. "And I'll be back in a minute." She didn't want George to see how untidy her flat was. She'd neglected a lot in the last couple of weeks, and she didn't want anyone to know about it. But when she was back in the car, they drove quietly across London to George's house, both feeling slightly happier with the situation. 

When George opened the front door, she called to John. "In here," Was his response, from the room George used as her home office. "I was bored, so I started writing your opening speech." "I said he would, didn't I," George said, fondly rolling her eyes. Karen left her overnight bag in the hall, and they went to see what John was doing, George immediately moving over to the computer, and Karen standing in the doorway watching them. "Not a bad start," George commented after reading what was on the screen. "And that's what I get for doing you a favour," He said in mock disgust. "You enjoy it really," George affirmed. "Pulling a case of mine to pieces allows you to step back into the ring for a while." "And do you agree with this?" John asked, turning to face Karen. "This is you we're talking about, John," Karen said quietly with the ghost of a smile. "Quite," Said George, always thankful to have another opinion to back her up where John was concerned. "So, how hungry are the pair of you?" Karen contemplated the thought. "Not hugely," She replied. "That depends what's on offer," John said, hedging his bets. "Home made Bolognese out of the freezer." "If it's your Bolognese, then I'm definitely hungry," He said with a smile. "Is Mimi still out in the garden?" George asked as she moved towards the kitchen. "She was, last time I looked," Confirmed John. After saying this, he got up from the computer and walked across the room to stand in front of Karen. They just looked at each other. They hadn't spoken for over a fortnight, because Karen had been immersing herself in work to blot out the pain, and John, like everyone else, had been receiving a distinct vibe telling him to keep his distance. But John, in the same way as Helen, had a reason to give Karen as much space as she wanted. They had both known about Ross's drug problem before he'd died, Ross having been one of Helen's patients. Karen hadn't ever specifically blamed either of them for not having told her about it, but it had given both of them a reason for being particularly wary of her need for space. "Are you all right?" John asked quietly, immediately feeling an urge to kick himself for the inanity of the question. "Not really," Karen replied just as quietly, not quite knowing what to say to this type of enquiry. "Karen," John began, feeling very much out of his depth. "I...I am so sorry." "Don't," Karen pleaded quietly. "But Karen, I..." Karen held up a hand. "I mean it, John," She said interrupting him. "I haven't got the energy to fight with anyone, least of all you or Helen. So please, don't make me feel even more guilty than I already do." It cut John to the core to hear her talk like this. She had nothing in the world to feel guilty about, but he knew that saying this wasn't going to make it any better. Putting out his arms, he gently pulled her to him, holding her closer than she'd let him since the night Ross had died. He softly kissed her cheek, feeling an immense surge of protectiveness towards her. "Well, at least that's one thing sorted out this evening," George said from the doorway of the dining room. They both looked round at her. "Did you do this on purpose?" Karen asked knowingly, as they both put out an arm towards her. "Well, let's just say that when Nikki phoned me, it occurred to me that forcing you two to at least be polite to each other for a while, wouldn't be such a bad thing." When she moved into their outstretched arms, they all held each other close. "I'm sorry I've been so difficult to get anywhere near recently," Karen said, feeling an enormous amount of comfort and support coming from both of them. John flashed a smile in George's direction. "You're not as difficult as some I've known," He said conspiratorially. "Oh, thank you, Darling," George said, correctly interpreting his meaning. "And you've got absolutely nothing to be sorry for," She said seriously, gently kissing her. John had obviously seen them kiss each other before, but not at quite such close quarters. When he realised that he was about to find this scene far too disturbingly erotic, he detached himself from them, trailed his hand wanderingly across George's back at waist level, and walked towards the kitchen. "Do either of you want a glass of wine?" He asked over his shoulder. "Yes please," George replied, momentarily releasing Karen's lips. "Not for me," Karen said. "Or I'll be asleep before I've sampled your, er, Bolognese," She finished in an undertone to George. George's eyes widened, this being the first time Karen had made any sexual suggestion since Ross had died. "Whilst that thought is extremely tempting," She said between kisses. "Anything remotely erotic is well and truly off the agenda." "Actually, that's probably a good thing," Said Karen with a soft smile. "Because right now, I'd probably fall asleep half way through." 

The evening being warm, though definitely threatening rain, George left the French windows open, letting in the soft, August breeze, and meaning that Mimi could wander in and out as they ate. Knowing that she was working at home for the rest of this week, George couldn't quite face moving all her papers off the dining-room table, so they ate in the kitchen. She heated up some fresh pasta to go with the Bolognese, briefly wondering just how much Karen had been eating recently. Karen wasn't especially hungry, but made a concerted effort to eat a vaguely healthy amount to please John and George. After years of having to avoid the critical gaze of too many people, George made no comment when Karen left almost half of what George had given her. As if realising Karen's plight, Mimi sat down next to her chair, gazing mournfully up at her, and occasionally plucking at Karen's knee with a fluffy front paw. "I don't think you'd like Bolognese," Karen said to her with a smile. John laughed. "She'll try anything once, but I'd rather you didn't encourage her to beg at the table." When Karen ignored and continued to ignore the little Whippet, she turned her attention to John, giving him her huge, sorrowful eyes that had won him over on many occasions. But it seemed that tonight, he wasn't remotely willing to put up with her antics. Flicking her smartly on the end of her tiny pink nose, he said, "You don't beg at the table, Mimi, you know better," In exactly the same manner as he might use on a recalcitrant barrister. "He'll feed her if he thinks no one's looking," George said with a wink at Karen. "Oh, I know," She agreed. "I've seen him do it." "So," He argued. "She's got to learn when it's acceptable to ask and when it isn't." "John," George said in disgust. "Mimi is a dog, not a child." "Doesn't mean she can't learn," He persisted. When they'd finished eating and Karen began collecting the plates together, George said, "I'll do that. Go and sit down." "Actually, if you don't mind, I'm going to go and have a bath," Karen replied. "I've spent so much time in that place recently that I think it's quite literally getting under my skin." When she'd collected her bag from the hall and gone upstairs, John and George did the washing up between them. "Do you think she's all right?" John asked, his hands immersed in soapy water. "No, she's not anything like all right. At least when I was that emotionally unstable I'd take quite a lot of it out on you." "Don't I remember it," John interjected with a wry smile. George playfully flicked him with the tea towel. "But Karen isn't doing that. Well, not yet anyway." Then, after a pause, she added, "I think I'm finally realising just what a juggling act you were forced to perform all those years ago." George's words knocking him slightly askew, he remained silent until they'd finished the washing up. Then, taking the tea towel from her to dry his hands, he said, "Sometimes it felt as though you did want me to listen, and at others that you didn't. The trick was interpreting how you felt when you couldn't put it into words. It took me all those years with you, to learn that words aren't always good enough to express how one feels." "I'm sorry you had to put up with everything you did from me," She said quietly. "We both put up with an awful lot from each other," He reminded her gently, putting his arms round her and kissing her. "So I'd say we're probably quits." They'd often stood like this in this particular room, the stone flagged floor under their feet, after dinner necessities often having led to far more pleasurable pursuits. This thought must have occurred to George as she stood there, enfolded in his arms, her lips tangled deliciously with his, because she suddenly pushed him away, a flush of slight arousal clear in her face. "Please don't," She said, backing away from him. "Or I'll want what I can't have." "You always did want it more when you couldn't have it," John said, smirking at her. "And before this three-way thing started, that's exactly what you were like with Jo, "George countered back. 

Karen lay upstairs in the large marble bath in George's en suite, the warm, scented water lapping around her, gently easing some of the physical wear and tear from her body. If only her soul could be cured so easily, she thought. She'd put some soft music on in the bedroom, allowing the mixture of sound, smell and touch to begin to relax her. She still wasn't entirely sure what she was doing here, making George take time away from her work, and from John. As the music and the water lapped around her senses, Karen began to see the downside of relaxing. Until now, keeping herself going, working all the hours she could, had meant that she wouldn't be in any danger of emotionally giving way to her grief. But now, now that she had been persuaded to abandon work for a little while and to concentrate on her own needs, it made her all too aware of the building constriction inside her, the force of grief begging to be let out. 

When she'd scrubbed away the feeling of Larkhall, and had finally dragged herself out of the bath, she put on a plain cotton nightie and slid under the duvet on George's bed. It might be a summer evening, but her extreme tiredness had reduced her to shivers once she'd emerged from the warm water. Glancing at the clock on the bedside table, she saw that it was about a quarter past ten, meaning that she'd stayed in the bath for getting on for an hour. She couldn't be bothered to restart the CD when it reached its end, so she lay listening to the birds through the open window. She heard John leave not long after half past ten, with George mounting the stairs soon after. "I wasn't sure if you'd still be awake," George said, seeing that Karen wasn't remotely asleep. "Did you get your case sorted out?" Karen asked as George began removing her clothes. "Yes, just about. He does enjoy playing the role of tutor." Karen laughed. "Wasn't that how he met Jo?" "Yes, and I don't think she's ever entirely recovered," George said dryly as she walked towards the bathroom. Karen listened as George took a quick shower and cleaned her teeth, marveling at just how comforting these normal sounds could be, compared to the silence of an otherwise empty house or flat. When she too got into bed, Karen knew the moment had come for them to talk. "Have I been hell to be with lately?" She asked, though being fairly sure of the answer. "No, not really," George said carefully. "George, tact really doesn't suit you," Karen said with a tight smile. "The hardest thing is not knowing what I can possibly do to help you," George clarified. "And I know there's probably nothing I can say or do to make it easier, but that fact sometimes feels a little too apparent." "I'm sorry," Karen said, putting her arms round the woman who meant more to her than anyone else in the world. "Darling, you don't need to be sorry," George insisted gently. "Just, try not to push me away quite so much." They lay there for a while, simply holding each other and occasionally kissing. "And I'm sorry we haven't, made love, for quite a while." "Is that what you think this is about?" George asked, sitting up with a mixture of hurt and anger in both her face and voice. "No, of course not," Karen said placatingly. "It was just an observation, that's all." "Good," George said as she lay down again. "Because you mean far more to me than that." "I'm sorry I keep pushing you away," Karen said as the tears finally rose to her eyes. "It's just, there's part of me that doesn't want to burden you with everything I'm feeling, and another part of me that is well aware that for some wholly unfathomable reason, you are slipping away from me, and that you were even before this happened." For a brief, terrifying moment, George simply stared at her. How could Karen have worked this out? George had been aware for a while now that her relationship with Karen was gradually approaching its end, but she'd thought she'd been pretty successful in keeping this from Karen. But clearly, she didn't know the first thing about keeping something from someone as perceptive and intuitive as Karen. However, George realised that this wasn't the most pressing concern. Putting her arms round Karen, she held her, trying to soothe away the tears that she'd only ever seen twice before in her. "I'm sorry," Karen said as the frantic gasps racked her entire body. "I just hate feeling like this. I'm lucky if I can get more than a couple of hours sleep a night, and even then I keep dreaming about Ross. Yet when it comes to getting up in the morning, everything feels so heavy that it's an enormous effort just to get out of bed." "I think that's what depression does to you," George said, Karen's pain bringing a few tears to her own eyes. "And I know I'm pushing everyone away from me, but it's only because I don't know how to let them in." "Shh, I know," George said softly. "And I know that the last thing you want is to take some time out, because the more time you have, the more you'll be forced to think. But you're so exhausted that you won't be able to go on functioning if you don't." "I never wanted you to see me like this," Karen said after a while when she was beginning to calm down. "And I never wanted Jo to see me like that either," George told her. "The day I fainted in court, Jo managed to wring so many tears and so much disgust and self-loathing out of me, that I thought I couldn't possibly have any left." "How is it that things like that come in never ending supplies?" "Because when horrific things happen to you, or perfectly natural, normal things don't go quite according to plan, negative feelings are the easiest things in the world to keep regenerating. Jo told me something that weekend, something that I initially took with a pinch of salt. She said that it wasn't wrong to cry, it wasn't wrong to get angry, and that it wasn't wrong to need people." "They sound like pearls of wisdom," Karen said dryly, reaching for the box of tissues on the bedside table. "Yes, they might be. Jo thoroughly believes in that sentiment, but she doesn't always adhere to it." "There's a lot you and me need to talk about, isn't there," Karen said with an air of finality. "Yes," George said regretfully. "But not now, and not any time in the next few days. You might think I'm slipping away from you, but I'm not going that easily. At the moment, my greatest concern is you, which is why you are going to take some time off work, and why you are going to do absolutely nothing in the foreseeable future. Is that understood?" "It might not be quite that simple," Karen said, an immense feeling of affection washing over her for this beautiful, loving, and at times belligerently caustic woman who, even though she might be looking somewhere else, still cared a great deal for her. "It will be that simple, because it is what is going to happen," George said firmly. "I am not allowing you to work yourself into an early grave." 


	179. Part One Hundred And Seventy Nine

Part One Hundred and Seventy Nine

Lauren had finally made it through to the other side. Denny had been as good as her word and had helped her to pack all her belongings into two anonymous plastic bags. "I don't like public goodbyes. They do my nut in," Denny had said as they stood looking in the cell they had both shared for so long. The wardrobe looked half empty as Lauren's clothes were packed away and only a few of Denny's pictures were pinned up on the wall instead of the joint array of both of their personal mementoes.  
"I'll be around, always," Lauren had assured her. "I feel dead strange right now." "You'll be sorted. I knew you would be from when you first came here." A few tears ran down Lauren's face when those few tough clumsy words brought back that incredibly caring side of Denny that she always seemed embarrassed by. She would never have survived if it hadn't been for Denny and, above all, she knew more than ever that she wasn't as hard as she thought she was. It took being banged up to finally teach her that one. She hugged Denny for a long time even though she seemed curiously stiff and unresponsive.  
"Now push off, Lauren. I'll be all right. You have one on me first time you're out in some fancy nightclub." Denny turned her face away while, reluctantly, Lauren stepped forward into what seemed the lengthy red tape by which the prison service finally let go of her. She then went through the emotionally overwhelming experience that first Nikki and then Yvonne had gone through on their release, that procession past some incredibly loving women and a group of prison officers who, in their more restrained way, gave their respects as well. Finally, Nikki turned the tables on her past and shook Lauren's hand in a fashion totally alien to her.  
"Good luck, Lauren. You know that I never want to see you again, at least this side of the prison bars," She quipped in her inimitable way. "Karen would send her best wishes if she were here. You know that." Lauren nodded her head, speechless for words.  
"Come on. I'll walk you to the car. Someone is waiting for you who I think you'll know."

Nikki casually unlocked the last of the bolts and bars and bright sunlight shone through the gap between the stone walls. The way lay open for her. Together they strolled in the sunlight and Lauren looked backwards to where she knew Denny was somewhere entombed in the building. A lump formed in her throat and her blessings extended onwards to the judge, the only real man that she had ever seen in her life, who was giving her a second chance on life. She could not let him down and also so many others. Lauren saw Nikki chat normally to Ken on security and swing the door open wide and beckoned her over to her future.  
"Letting someone out of prison has got to be a first for me, Lauren. I used to watch others get out like Monica Lindsey and Crystal. This has to be the best bit of the job, seeing others get free." "Well, of all the old lags from this dump, Nikki, you did the best of all of us..……" There were tears in Nikki's eyes as the full emotional weight of the moment hit home where past and present sat side by side. There simply wasn't anything in the prison rules, her training course, her experience as a wing governor or her previous three years as an inmate as to the written rules governing the code of conduct of a wing governor who was also ex-inmate towards a prisoner being given her freedom. As with so much in Nikki's life, she made it up as she went along. Lauren's heart went out to this very strong woman who had more than paid her dues and she hugged her back.  
"Well, you're not indispensable round here so don't be late for the party as you'll have Yvonne to reckon with. You get going as soon as you can." Nikki smiled brightly and let her walk in the direction of Cassie's bright red Ford. The door the driver's side was wide open while Cassie lounged back in the car seat, her legs outstretched outside the car. Roisin could be seen in the back seat.  
"Don't be late, Nikki. You remember what I said on the phone earlier on." Nikki laughed out loud even while her emotions still choked her up inside. "Helen is making her own way early to Yvonne's and I'll be as quick as I can." She waved at the three of them and stood while Lauren popped her bags into the boot and got in the front passenger seat.

"Well, you are a sight for sore eyes, babe," Cassie grinned while the bewildered Lauren blinked at finding herself on the outside of the prison. She slumped in the seat while Cassie twirled the car round and Roisin waved at Nikki's steadily decreasing shape, which waved back. "Isn't it just such a long time that we've seen you," Added Roisin.  
"I know you of old, Cassie," Grinned Lauren. "You've got something planned for me." "The general idea," quietly emphasized Cassie with that 'butter wouldn't melt in her mouth' look, "is that the three of us, your mum, Nikki and Helen and Josh and Crystal will have a nice chill out evening in. Nothing flashy or decadent unless you have other ideas." Lauren felt rather bemused. Everything whizzed past her window and Cassie was driving ridiculously fast. She wasn't really here, she was in some dream that she was awake for, wondering what she was going to do when she got out of prison. The only thing was that when she shut her eyes for a moment or two and opened them again, the dream remained switched on. This was weird.  
"I'll let you guys decide."

Crystal was already at Yvonne's. Her mother had lectured her firmly that God's Will meant that every human being should look after their friends and neighbours and insisted that she should look after Zandra and Daniel for the afternoon as well as the evening. That enabled her to act as advance guard for the rest of them. Spending an afternoon in Yvonne's company was something that Crystal relished as a change of scene from being stuck in the house. She knew also that it gave her a mother a chance to indulge her grandchildren shamelessly and that was fine by Crystal. Yvonne was rather down as her fiftieth was something to mourn and not exactly to flaunt. Fortunately, everyone had anticipated Yvonne's wishes for ordinary birthday cards. Seeing the numbers spelt out in all their pitiless finality was a present she could do without.  
"Fifty bleeding years old. I don't feel like it, Crystal." "You're only as old as you feel," Crystal laughed.  
"You're only saying that because you've got a long way to go. Even forty was easy peasy in comparison." Crystal sensed that Yvonne felt it keenly that her Lauren was away from home a second year running and it was especially hard for her to keep quiet. Yvonne couldn't keep track of the passing of time properly but she thought that Lauren would be out soon. She would have thought Karen would have phoned and said so either way, in any case.

At that moment in another place, Helen's phone rang in between appointments and she grabbed at it eagerly.  
"The present is arriving, Helen," Roisin intoned the message into Helen's ear "Great, Roisin. I'll be over and Nikki will make her way over when she's clear." Everything was starting to go according to plan.

Denny didn't wait to see Lauren's long drawn out goodbye ritual. It would have hurt her too much. She was breaking up inside and no one knew it, first that Lauren was getting out and then that screw up over the VO. Why can't Lauren or the Julies or Nikki see how she felt? They've all known her for ages? Then the cynical, hard side of her rose to the surface and a voice inside her head started talking to her 'Why should they bother about you? You're not worth shit just like you always knew you were?' 'You always were trouble. Right from when you were born. I never wanted you.' That same dream went round and round in her frigging head, those slurred words and her mother's mad eyes swivelling in every direction, pissed out of her brain. She said afterwards that she says all sorts of things when she's drunk but she never believed it in her heart of hearts. It all came back to haunt her right now. "Have you got a spare razor blade, Buki?" she had asked one time in the most innocent way possible.  
"What would you be doing with that thing"? "Only some twat who's pissed me off. That Natalie Buxton. I've heard that she fancies being hard. I'll give her hard if she starts anything," Denny had said, in menacing tones.  
"Sure, Denny"

She had studied that clean sharp edged blade in fascination first thing in the morning and words that Buki said to talk about why she used to cut up. It used to sound like a pile of bollocks once but, in Denny's state of self-loathing, they started to exert a horrid fascination. She had always had those rages inside her which had made her want to smash anything in her path when something or someone asked for it. She used to make herself feel better by making someone feel worse and that worked, especially when Shell persuaded her to. If someone who had the looks and brains like Shell would pick her out to be her best mate, then she was worth something and if Shell wanted her to act hard, then she would as well and, if anyone suffered, she couldn't give a shit. It was all so simple then. Then everything changed. When Yvonne wanted to be her mum, it made her feel feelings, good or bad. It was dead scary but in the end, she got to like herself for the first time in her life. When Lauren came, it was even better.She made believe that she had a real sister. She felt so good about herself for so long that something within her didn't want to face the fact that sooner or later, Lauren would be getting out. When Lauren told her, she felt as if her world was falling apart. She couldn't exactly tell Lauren, she wished she were staying longer, could she? Everything told Denny where she was in the scheme of things and that, once Lauren was out, she would be back where she belonged. Only Denny didn't want that anymore. She had to let that rage out only she couldn't be the old Denny and do over someone who deserved better. Perhaps, if she cut her skin, it would let everything out and she would be at peace. Better still, what better place was there to escape but on the roof. She had watched Zandra do that. Why didn't she try for herself? That was a brilliant idea and she had one of those mad manic moods come over her. Only trouble was, how was she going to get the frigging keys. Her mind, rapidly ticking over, picked out Bodybag as easily the most stupid screw around. She darted all over the deserted area of the wing, her eyes flitting everywhere till she saw the two people she wanted, Bodybag in the distance, glowering into space and Al dead close. Terrific. This was her big chance.  
"Al, I want you to help me play a trick on Bodybag over there." "Aye? What do you mean?" Al's eyes glazed over as Denny kept dancing from foot to foot in front of her. "Pretend to fight so she'll stick her nose in and I can pinch her keys. Nikki will come down on her like a ton of bricks. Serve her right" Al grinned at that one. She hated her guts for the way she looked at her in a funny way and looked down her nose at her, treating her like scum. Anything that got Bodybag in trouble had to be good. She trusted Denny and it didn't cross her mind that it would potentially put them in the firing line as well. Anything to stop Denny going all hyper all around her.

Bodybag deliberately kept away from the celebrations. All she knew was that there was one less Atkins on G Wing, much though it grieved her that some lily livered liberal namby pamby judge had let her off with a slap on the wrist instead of sentencing her to her just deserts of as near hard labour in Her Majesty's Prison that could be contrived. She glanced suspiciously at two reprobates over there, Blood and that thug McKenzie. They spelled trouble on their own, doubly so when they were together.

"Give it back, bitch," Denny yelled, that psychopathic look on her face.  
"No way." Immediately, Denny threw the first punch and they were wrestling with each other, trying to land one on the other.  
"Now then, break it up," She yelled wondering why everything should happen when all the other prison officers were watching the cabaret. At the back of the crowd, Colin heard what was going on and saw Bodybag suddenly become embroiled in the struggle.  
"That's enough," He yelled. "You two should know better." Surprisingly easily, the two of them stopped the fight as he got to the scene of the struggle. They both looked apologetic and Denny apologised to Al who calmed down quickly. Colin knew that they were mates but both of them could be edgy and fly off the handle at the slightest provocation. They were quick to apologise so Colin decided to let it go.  
"Next time, you two, I'll send both of you down the block and throw away the key," a very dishevelled Bodybag blustered.  
"We're really sorry miss." "Yeah, just a misunderstanding," chimed in Al after Denny.  
They promptly disappeared out of harms way and Colin and Bodybag had better things to do to watch out for the assembled crowd of prisoners to flood back on to the wing.

"Easy, peasy," exulted Denny in a manic way, a glint in her eye and her razor tucked away in her trouser pocket. It was almost like the old days and just like kids stuff when Shaz was with her except that….Shaz was dead. That realisation made Denny shut her eyes and all that directed rage turned inwards on herself and mixed with those feelings of grief, which she'd never got over. She was emotionally all over the place except for that fixed desire to get onto the roof. Where had Zandra told her to go…oh, yes, into the medical wing, through the door where there was an area where five doors opened out, pick the one on the left and there the first set of barred doors are. Open them, as she did though the clanking sound scared the shit out of her and round and round the metal spiral staircase and right onto the roof. Her hands were shaking as she unlocked the top gate and that bloody rusty chain, swing back the gate and….freedom.

Cassie pulled up in the drive outside Yvonne's house and Lauren automatically got out of the car as she had so many times in the past and she gasped in total astonishment. The house stretched upwards into the sky and the width was enormous. The cars in the front, including her mum's red Ferrari were unbelievably luxurious and the trees at the back were like something out of a stately mansion. She stretched her shoulders and took in deep breaths of air. She was free and she was home even if the realisation of her dormant dreams was bewildering.  
"Where's everyone else got to, Crystal? It ain't my birthday every day?" "They must be held up. You know how it is," Crystal answered with a lopsided grin.  
At that moment, the front doorbell rang loudly and Trigger pricked up his ears after lounging around on the rug. This needed investigating.  
"Surprise, surprise," Yelled the two-part disharmony of Cassie and Lauren.  
Just for a second, Yvonne was speechless and then Lauren ran into her arms and the two women embraced in an enormous hug for what seemed like ages while tears of gratitude streamed down Yvonne's face. For once, she was oblivious of her appearance. Trigger barked uproariously running round in circles and chasing his tail. This was a double birthday as far as he was concerned. He had missed his mistress and had heard her step two feet from the door.  
Yvonne flopped into a chair, utterly gobsmacked.  
"This isn't bleeding Cilla Black you complete and utter…….bloody wonderful friends of mine. Don't ever pull a stunt like that. I nearly had a bleeding heart attack……what do you want to drink, Lauren? Must be forgetting my manners." Cassie poured her a generous measure of her favourite drink and collapsed back in an armchair, unbelievably soft and luxurious. She tasted her first taste of freedom.  
Some time later the party was in full swing.  
"What's happened to Nikki?" Yvonne asked. Either the alcohol or shock was going to her head as the room was starting to get fuzzy in the most delightful way.  
"You know Nikki. She won't leave the place unless she's dragged away. I can tell the symptoms already. She'll come when she's good and ready as she hates letting people down. Besides, she won't miss out on your company." Laughed Cassie.

Once up on the roof, Denny blinked at the sight of all that city in the far horizon. She had forgotten that there was so much space outside the walls. A tear rolled down her cheek as she was sure that she would never get there. That distant memory when Miss Betts took her out for the day was just that. It wasn't real. It was there like Yvonne being mum for there, to be snatched away when she needed it most. It was bullshit. Everything was bullshit. She was sick of life and might as well give up on it. Let's face it, everyone else had given up on her.

She tottered her way to the front where a glimpse of the sheer drop below made her reel. It was a frigging long way down. Why are you worrying, Denny, a voice inside her started to tell her. You've got the choice of topping yourself with the razor or stepping off the edge. Why are you bothering any more? She decided to reach for her razor instead……..

Nikki was ready to leave. She had finished everything and was ready to set out on her way to a lovely reunion. She strolled across the yard and was heading for the lodge to drop her key in before getting into her car and phoning Helen to tell her she was on her way. She had a cursory glance behind her at the prison block, swung her gaze sideways to the hospital block and there, etched against the skyline, just clear of the roof, there was a sight that made her blood run cold and bring back a similar drama right back to the present.  
"Jesus!" She yelled. Her wits were scattered. What in hell was she supposed to do? 


	180. Part One Hundred And Eighty

A/N: Some may find this chapter disturbing. As ever fabulously betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Eighty

Karen didn't wake until after ten on the Tuesday morning, George's sleeping pill having knocked her out for nearly eleven hours. As she drifted into consciousness, she could hear the singing birds through the open window, and see the curtains gently flapping in the breeze. Dragging herself listlessly out of bed, she took a long, cool shower, hoping the temperature of the water might help to fully wake her up. Her limbs still felt like lead, and her brain was still very muzzy with sleep, but she did feel a little more rested than she had done the previous day. Going downstairs, she found George sat at her computer, clearly on the phone and arguing with her client. Seeing Karen's reflection in the monitor, George gave her a smile. As Karen made them both a coffee, she looked out at the garden, the sun practically begging her to come and sit out in it. Placing George's mug on the desk beside her, and briefly touching her cheek in lieu of a kiss, Karen took her own coffee outside, and reclined comfortably on one of the sun loungers. She'd picked up a copy of The Guardian from the coffee table in the lounge, but found that nothing inside it could hold her concentration for long. Her eyes would linger on a sentence for minutes at a time, until she eventually put the paper down in disgust. This wasn't her, this wasn't the Karen Betts she knew. She'd always been able to keep her mind on anything she pleased, so why not now? Had the death of her son wrought such horrific changes in her? This must be depression at its worst, she thought cynically. Well, at least as bad as it gets, before the temptation to off oneself finally kicked in, and that was no way to be thinking on a day like this. She gazed up at the endless blue sky, trying to let her mind go completely blank, trying to blot out all the images that swam unbidden in front of her eyes. 

When George had finished her infuriating phone call, she took her coffee outside, and perched on the sun lounger not far from Karen. "That sounded like a difficult one," Karen observed, as George took a long, grateful swig of the coffee. "Most of my clients are," She replied cynically. "They think that just because they're dealing in millions, they can expect me to perform miracles. Mind you, I should come out of this one with at least half a million, so I suppose it's worth it. How do you feel this morning?" "Erm, flat," Karen eventually said, not entirely sure how to describe the empty feeling inside her. "Are you sure you don't mind me being here?" "No, of course not," George reassured her, feeling that a sort of polite distance had risen between them, probably since the previous night, when Karen had raised the subject of George's possibly wandering affections. "I phoned Neil this morning, and told him where you were, and he said for you to take as long as you need." "Meanwhile, precisely who is taking care of my prison?" George couldn't help but smile at Karen's possessiveness. "Darling, they can manage without you, at least for a little while." "I know it sounds stupid," Karen admitted sheepishly. "But I almost wish they couldn't." Putting her empty mug down on the patio, George moved over to Karen, leaning over her and tentatively putting her arms round her. George knew that the distance between them was entirely her fault, and at least for now, she wanted to rectify that. Karen needed her to be strong, stable, there for her to lean on, not to be moving away from her like a piece of floating drift wood, that appeared to be forever out of reach. When their lips met, gently exploring the mouths they knew so well, Karen's arms came slowly round her, holding George to her just for that short while. "Thank you," Karen said softly into her hair. "What for?" George gently enquired with a smile. "Just for being you," Karen told her, which made George feel an almost unbearable twinge of guilt, for what she must put Karen through in the fairly near future. Yes, any progress between her and Jo might have been put on hold for the last few weeks, because Karen's plight had seemed to put everything on hold for a time, but it couldn't stay like that forever. George was tempted to stay there for the foreseeable future, half sitting, half lying on the sun lounger with Karen, but hearing the phone ring brought her out of her contemplation. Groaning theatrically, she gently disentangled herself from Karen and got to her feet. "John said he would drop in for lunch," She said, making her way back to the house, wishing that they could have maintained that brief feeling of togetherness, something they hadn't felt for far too long. 

At just after one, as duly expected, John arrived, bearing the fabulous home made sandwiches that only the delicatessen near the court knew how to make, plus a punnet of peaches. George was yet again in the middle of an argument with a client who clearly had far more money than sense, so John went straight out to the back garden, after depositing his purchases in the kitchen. "She sounds harassed," He commented, sinking gratefully down onto the garden bench. "It's been like that for most of the morning," Karen told him. "Well, if she will insist on representing the likes of Tim Listfield, she's only got herself to blame," He said loftily, making Karen smile. "Oh, I don't know," She slightly teased him. "I think even you might defend this one, if you were likely to get half a million out of it." "Typical," John said disgustedly. "I practiced law to achieve justice, not to increase my bank balance." "At least she's honest about it," Karen found herself defending George. "Who is?" George asked, emerging out through the kitchen door with their lunch. "You, and your defense of utter scoundrels, all in the name of financial gain." "And precisely what else would you have me do it for?" She asked, pouring them all some freshly squeezed orange juice. "And no," She said, holding up a finger and wagging it at him. "I don't need one of your speeches about the sheer delight of achieving justice for some poor, cash strapped individual, because I've heard it all before." "That bad?" He said with a broad smile, not rising to the bait. "Yes, and getting worse by the minute. I thought that working at home, might mean I could take the odd five minutes to relax, but no chance." Karen listened to them fondly bickering, loving the sheer familiarity of it. She was amazed that Jo ever managed to get a word in edgeways when the three of them were together. Now where had that thought come from, the three of them together? She was about to begin analysing it further, as she took a long and satisfied drag of her after lunch cigarette, when the phone rang, where George had placed it on the garden table. "George Channing," She answered, obviously expecting it to be one of her infamous clients. "Nikki, calm down," She added, putting Karen immediately on the alert. There was a short silence, followed by George's resounding words of, "Absolutely not. Nikki, I don't care what's happened. Karen isn't going anywhere near that place for the foreseeable future, is that clear?" Knowing that Nikki would never have disturbed her unless it was a matter of severe importance, Karen swiftly removed the cordless from George's hand, earning herself a glare of monumental proportions for her trouble. "Nikki," She said. "What's happened?" "Denny's on the hospital wing roof," Nikki told her. Instantly, all the blood drained from Karen's face. Not now, she thought in horror, not today, please! "Karen, are you still there?" Nikki demanded, and Karen could hear the concern in her voice. "Yes, I'm here," Karen said, trying to bring her scattered wits under control. "How long has she been up there?" "I don't know, but not longer than half an hour. The thing is, we think she went up there with a razor blade." "Shit," Karen said in response. "This just gets better and better." "I'm sorry to have phoned you, but I really didn't know what else to do." "Don't be silly," Karen reassured her. "You've done exactly the right thing. Now, I need you to get everyone banged up, and you need to pass that round the other wings. I don't want anyone in the exercise yard who doesn't need to be. The prison is on complete lock down until this is sorted out. On second thoughts, keep the Julies and Tina, because their encouragement from the ground wouldn't go amiss. What about Lauren?" "Cassie's picked her up already." "Yvonne mustn't know anything about this, not until we know where it's going. Do we know why Denny might have done this? Oh no, hang on, stupid question, Lauren's getting out today will have sparked this off. Don't do anything else till I get there." When she'd switched off the phone, both John and George were staring at her, neither of them having seen that light of determination in her since Ross had died. "Denny's up on the hospital wing roof, with a razor blade of all things," Karen told them. "And you're planning to go and talk her down," John said succinctly. "I can see it in your face." "Yes, if I have to," Karen told him without demur. "No way," George said firmly. "You are not doing anything so stupid as to put yourself in danger like that." "Oh, and just what else do you suppose I should do?" Karen demanded hotly. "Allow Nikki to do it, someone who's only been in the job just over two months?" "Karen, this is the last thing you should do," George tried to plead with her, avoiding answering the question. "Tough," Karen said curtly, getting to her feet and walking towards the house. "Because it's what I must do. Can I borrow your car?" She asked over her shoulder, remembering that hers was still sitting in the prison car park. "Would you like me to give you a lift?" John asked her, seeing that she wasn't going to be dissuaded from this reckless course of action. "Yes, if you could," Karen agreed, finally feeling the beginnings of the surge of energy she had always known. 

As he drove, John could feel the almost palpable adrenalin coursing through Karen's veins. Here, now, she had a purpose, something that directly required her to be the incredibly clever and sensitive woman he knew her to be, and he could see that this was what she needed. "Precisely what are you planning to do?" He asked her, though thinking that he could probably guess. "If I tell you before we get there," She said with half a smile. "You won't take me the rest of the way." Now knowing that he was right in his estimations, John rang Coope, telling her to cancel court for the afternoon, because something had cropped up that he had to deal with. "But what reason shall I give the court officer, Judge?" She asked, hating it when he put her on the spot like this. "I don't care," John said, turning into the road where Larkhall stood. "This is very important, so please just do it." "And so's this trial, Judge," She said disapprovingly. "Not more than this it's not," He countered back. "One afternoon won't do any harm." When he'd switched off the phone, Karen said, "You didn't have to do that," Knowing that he was fully intent on coming with her into Larkhall. "And if you're going to do what I think you're going to do, I would far rather be nearby, actually trying to give you some support for a change." Realising that he was indirectly referring to how he'd dealt with his knowledge of what was happening to Ross, Karen briefly rested a hand over his where it lay on the gear stick. "Thank you," She said, immensely appreciating the fact that he was prepared to put everything on hold just to be there for her. 

As he followed her as she moved rapidly through the gates and corridors of Larkhall, he could see her brain working feverishly away, clearly amassing all the things she would need for her mission. The association area of G wing was deserted, but they could hear the sound of voices from the exercise yard. When Karen went outside, she was immediately greeted to the sight of the Julies and Tina, with Nikki, Gina, Dominic and Sylvia looking up to Denny, sitting far above them on the hospital wing roof. Taking in the scene with a practiced glance, Karen was forcefully reminded of the first time she'd come to Larkhall, when she'd stood here with Simon Stubberfield, watching as Zandra was doing precisely what Denny was now. When Nikki came over to her, she didn't bat an eyelid at John's presence, but continued talking to Karen as they made their way back to G wing's officers' room. "Has she said anything whilst she's been up there?" Karen wanted to know. "Not as far as I know," Nikki replied. "Which isn't good. If she was doing this purely for the sake of protest, we'd have heard something out of her by now." "How's she been over the last week?" "The same as normal," Nikki said in obvious bewilderment. "Absolutely no sign that this was going to happen." "Dominic's her personal officer these days. What about him?" "He knows no more than you or me." "And you say she's got something up there for cutting? When the hell did that start? Denny's never been a slasher, at least not as far as I knew." "God knows," Nikki said resignedly. "We only know that because Buki told one of the Julies. It was Buki she got it from." "That figures," Karen said disgustedly. "Buki knows more about self-harming than I do after years of nursing." Grabbing the wing's first aid kit from the shelf, Karen began going through it, making sure it held everything she might need to deal with any self-inflicted wounds Denny might have. Watching her do this, Nikki suddenly realised with blinding clarity precisely what Karen intended to do. "Karen, you can't," She said in horror. "Try me," Karen replied, not meeting her gaze. "Don't be bloody stupid," Nikki said vehemently. "You would be putting yourself at one hell of a risk." "Tell me," Karen said, turning to face her with the first aid box in her hands. "Didn't Helen do something similar, on my very first visit here, if I remember rightly?" "And do you have any idea how terrified I was when she did that?" Nikki threw back, not caring that they had John there as an audience. "Every bloody minute she was up on that roof scared the living daylights out of me." "Then lucky for me I don't have an unrequited lover, or should I say a lover of any kind, waiting for me to come down safely." There was a slightly stunned silence as she said this, and Karen knew, as if a light had suddenly been switched on in her brain, that this was true. That's why she and George had been drifting apart, because George was no longer hers to lose. She wasn't just John's any more; she was John's and someone else's. But this was hardly the time for dwelling on such things. "Karen, please just be careful up there," Nikki said gently, feeling the undercurrent in the conversation and not entirely understanding it. "The only consideration here is Denny," Karen said quietly. "And if I don't get her down from there in one piece, Yvonne will never forgive me." As Karen walked out of the door with the first aid box under her arm, Nikki suddenly grabbed one of the two-way radios from the cupboard and rushed after her. "At least take this with you," She said, catching up to Karen and slipping it into the pocket of her skirt. "That way you can at least call for back up if you need it." Back in the office, Nikki turned to John. "Why didn't you try to stop her?" "Because as reckless and dangerous and stupid as this course of action may be," John said quietly. "I think she needs to do it." "What did she mean, Yvonne would never forgive her?" "That's not something I can tell you, Nikki," He said, unwilling to break Karen's confidence. He knew why, because he could all too clearly remember that day, that day on which George and Jo had questioned her so ruthlessly, that day on which Karen had given them Lauren's name, handing her over to the justice system for punishment. "I've got to tell Grayling about this," Nikki said, seeing that she wasn't going to get any more out of him. "After which I suspect he will suspend her," John said meditatively. "Which in the circumstances may be no bad thing." 

As Karen climbed the numerous staircases, she began automatically cataloguing the precautions she would need to keep in mind whilst up on the roof. Denny would very likely be in a highly volatile state, in which anything could quite literally push her over the edge. Karen had absolutely no idea where her sudden surge of energy had come from, but it felt as though she had finally reconnected herself to her own private source of electricity. Just how had Denny got up there in the first place? She must have stolen someone's keys. Well, woe betide whoever's keys they had been. As she approached the bottom of the last narrow flight of stairs, that would take her up to the roof, Karen slowed. She didn't want to surprise Denny, but she also didn't want to give Denny too much warning that someone was coming up to her. 

When Karen finally stepped out onto the narrow ledge, she saw that Denny was sitting forlornly against the steeply rising slate, with her hands resting in her lap, and with something, presumably the razor blade clutched in her right hand. Karen simply stood there, assessing her surroundings, gradually waiting for Denny to notice her presence. Eventually, seeming to sense that she was no longer alone up here, Denny looked up. "What're you doing here?" She asked, though with no malice in her tone. "I might ask you the same," Karen said, though not moving from where she stood. "Can I sit down?" "Sure," Denny replied. "Ain't as if it's my roof. Zandra was the last one to come up here, and that was ages ago." "Do you know that Zandra's roof protest, was the very first impression I had of Larkhall?" "That was the first thing you saw when you came here?" Denny asked, a little stunned by this revelation. "Yes," Karen said with a wry smile. "And yet I still came back." "You're crazy, man," Denny said, wondering why Karen always seemed to appear when she was going a bit off the rails. 

Down on the ground, John and Nikki now joined the little group of officers and inmates, after Nikki had phoned Grayling to put him in the picture. "Grayling's on his way," Nikki told Gina as they joined her, all gazing up at where Denny sat. They observed as Karen at first stood off to one side, waiting for Denny to speak to her, and then as she sat down and they began talking. In the unnatural hush of the exercise yard, they could hear clearly everything that was being said between Karen and Denny. There weren't even many shouts from the banged up prisoners, because the vast majority of them were gazing out of their windows, all trying to catch glimpses of Denny, and most of them eager to hear anything they could. John couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. Their Karen was, sitting up on the roof, at least four floors up, as coolly and calmly as if she were still sitting out in George's back garden. This was Karen at her most effective, he thought to himself, this was Karen doing the thing she did best. They all watched as Karen lit two cigarettes, handing one to Denny, who briefly put down the razor blade in order to take it. 

"Are you going to tell me why you're up here?" Karen eventually asked, thinking that at least Denny had chosen a nice day for it, meaning that they could stay up here for hours if necessary. "I just wanted a bit of peace, innit," Denny told her miserably. "Peace from what?" "This place, my waste of space life, everything. Only it don't quite work like that, does it, because there ain't no one that can escape from their thoughts." A particularly philosophical thought to come from Denny, Karen reflected. "I just want to not have to think any more." You and me both, Karen silently agreed with her. Slowly moving her hand towards the razor blade, Karen moved to take it, but Denny's hand closed over it first. "I didn't know you'd started cutting," Karen told her, wondering just where this sudden urge had come from. "I ain't done it for ages," Denny replied. "I just felt like it." "Why did you used to do it?" "I ain't no good with words, and no one ever listens. Cutting's just a way of saying stuff I don't know how to say." "In the same way as your painting does?" "Yeah." Glancing at Denny's left arm, Karen could see that Denny had already begun carving tiny indentations into her skin, long before she'd got there. The scratches weren't deep, and the blood loss was extremely minimal, but the two or three superficial gashes were evidence of how bad she was feeling. 

"How do you feel about Lauren getting out?" Karen asked, knowing that this was at the heart of the problem. "It had to happen some time," Denny said dismissively; almost distractedly begin to move the blade over the skin of her left arm. "The judge only gave her two years, and she's done over eighteen months, so it was obvious she'd be getting out pretty soon." "That doesn't tell me how you feel about it," Karen said, slightly impressed at Denny's avoidance of the question. "How the bloody hell do you think I feel?" Denny demanded furiously, turning on Karen and virtually scorching her with her anger. "She left me here to rot, just like every other person I've ever cared about. What is it with people always leaving me here? Even my own mother did it, but then that wasn't the first time she'd ever left me. She preferred the vodka bottle over me, do you know that? She'd rather go to the pub, than stay home and look after her kid. I was nine when the social took me away, and she didn't even bloody notice! Then when she saw me in here, she didn't even bloody recognise me. I asked her if she had any kids, and she said no, said they was more trouble than they're worth. She came to visit me a couple of times, after she got out of here, but then she went back on the drink. I told her I didn't want to see her for a year, to give her a chance to dry out, but when I started trying to find her again, she died. My mother, Shaz, Shell, Zandra, Lauren, they've all either died, or got out, or been sent to a place like Ashmoor, but either way, they're all gone." During the whole of this diatribe, Denny had been randomly digging the blade into her skin, occasionally drawing blood, and at other times simply leaving the faintest of marks. It was as if she were painting with her blood, drawing the abstract, wavey lines of her thoughts into her flesh. Her arm was bleeding freely by this time, but Karen knew that it may be fatal to stop her, any interference possibly causing her to do something far more drastic. Using the tip of a finger as one might a particularly delicate brush, Denny began drawing vague symbols in the blood on her skin, giving Karen the incredibly disturbing thought, that Denny was finger painting, just as Ross had done when he was a child, and as perhaps Denny had done herself. 

"You still have Yvonne," Karen told her quietly, seeing that Denny's fear of no longer having this mother figure, was what had led her up here in the first place. "No, I don't," Denny said with far too much certainty. "She don't need me now, not now that she's got Lauren back for good. Lauren ain't like me, because she'll never come back here. Killing Fenner might have been the best thing she could ever have done for plenty of people, including you, but she ain't stupid enough to do anything like that again. Lauren learnt her lesson, was 'Successfully rehabilitated'," Denny added with utter scorn, clearly a phrase she'd heard uttered by what Sylvia would call some wishy washy liberal. Down on the ground, Nikki quirked a smile in John's direction, receiving the ghost of one in return. "So," Denny continued, oblivious of her audience. "Yvonne don't need to come back here any more now, does she." "Denny," Karen told her gently. "Yvonne isn't going to forget you, just because Lauren's been released. You mean far too much to her for that." "Yeah, right," Denny said disbelievingly, the tears now coursing down her cheeks, thinning the gradually coagulating blood on her arm. "She don't need me any more, that's obvious." "She came to see you, long before Lauren ended up in here, didn't she," Karen tried to reason with her. "Only because she was trying to get to know you a lot better," Denny replied disgustedly, trying to show that she wasn't falling for Karen's tactical manoeuvres. Karen laughed. "Denny, Yvonne could have got to know me just as well, without coming here to see you, I can promise you that. She cares about you, a great deal, and Yvonne doesn't give her affection easily. You know as well as I do that it has to be earned." They were quiet for a time, and Karen wondered just how she would go about persuading Denny to at least let her patch up her arm. 

"Is it such a crime to want to be dead?" Denny eventually asked. "Is it really so bad, to want to not have to feel like this any more?" "Maybe for you, it doesn't seem such a bad thing," Karen said quietly, wishing she could have had the opportunity to say half these things to Ross. "But to those left behind, it's something they never forget. Denny, to lose someone you love in that way, it's something you never get over. No matter how much you try to push it to the back of your mind, so that living, and getting on with your life become bearable, it never entirely goes away." "Are you saying that because of Ross?" Denny asked, only just realising how much all this might be getting to Karen. "No," Karen told her simply. "Because I haven't got to that stage yet. What happened with Ross, is still the first thing that hits me when I wake up in a morning, and still the last thing I think about before I go to sleep. But I do know that that's what it's like for Yvonne. You know how she lost Ritchie, so you ought to know how it would affect her if she lost you. I know someone who lost his mother in a similar way. He might usually continue to function as a perfectly normal human being, but that doesn't prevent him from occasionally dwelling on all the unanswered questions." As John listened to her describing him, his slight gasp of surprise brought Nikki's eyes on him. So, Nikki thought in dawning realisation, the Judge was who Karen was now talking about. "That's what losing someone like that does to you, Denny. It leaves you with so many questions that will never be answered in a million years. That's why the person's memory can never quite be put to rest." "But Yvonne's got a daughter," Denny persisted, still unconsciously drawing vague impressions in her own blood. "Lauren's alive, she's out there, with Yvonne, when I'm stuck in here. Why would she need me, now that she's got Lauren back?" "Because continuing to care for the people who mean an awful lot to her, is one of the things Yvonne does best," Karen told her, knowing just how true this was. "She wouldn't ever forget you, no matter how many other children, real or otherwise she had." Seeing that Denny's resolve was finally broken, Karen swiftly removed a pair of gloves from their packet and put them on. Reaching forward, she gently tried to take the razor blade from Denny's fingers. "No!" Denny shouted, realising what Karen was doing. "Let go of it, Denny," Karen urged, the warning tone of intention all too clear. Trying to stop Karen from what she intended to do, Denny struggled to move closer to the edge of the roof. The feeling of brief anger that welled up in Karen, made her determined not to let Denny go through with her wish. Wrapping her arms round a furiously struggling Denny, Karen held onto her with all the strength she possessed. "Don't you dare," She said furiously, dragging Denny away from the edge. "I refuse to sit here and watch you throw away everything Yvonne has ever done for you, do you hear me. You are not going to do this to her, to Lauren, to anyone. Is that clear?" When Denny shouted, and began moving towards the edge of the roof, John held his breath, only distantly noticing that Grayling was there, and looked as though he'd been there for some time. They could all hear what Karen said, and every single one of them could tell that it came straight from the heart. When Denny eventually stopped struggling, and simply leaned against Karen, the sobs wracking her body, Nikki briefly touched John's arm. "It's all right," She said quietly. "You can start breathing again now." 

Karen held Denny for quite a while, but then moved a little away from her, to begin assessing what damage Denny had done to herself. "Will you let me patch you up?" She asked, receiving a slight nod in return. As she cleaned away some of the blood, and covered the wounds with a sterile dressing, Karen could feel her own nerves singing with tension. Talking down a self-harming, suicidal, frightened young girl hadn't been something she'd thought she would end up doing today. Wrapping the bloody gloves in their empty packet, Karen noticed that her clothes hadn't escaped unspattered, probably due to the struggle. "You know what Zandra always said about being up here?" Denny said, eventually breaking the silence. "She said that it made her feel free. She felt like no one could touch her up here, that if she thought hard enough, she could just fly away." Karen could understand how someone might feel like this after being up here, because they would be able to see across all the prison buildings, over the razor wire to the world outside, a world beyond bolts, bars, and even worse, badly maintained ideals. "I'd like to take you down from here," Karen said, feeling that it was about time they left this far too seductive resting place. Picking up the bunch of keys that lay beside her, Denny held them out. "You might want these," She said, freely handing them to Karen. "They're Bodybag's." Hearing this undeniable assertion, Nikki turned a furious and threatening glare on Sylvia, who couldn't entirely meet her gaze. Getting very carefully to her feet, Karen held out a hand and slowly pulled Denny up to join her. Only then did Denny look down on their audience, seeing the Julies, and Tina, as well as Sylvia, Dominic, Gina, Nikki and Grayling. But the person who caught her eye, was John. "What's he doing here?" She asked without rancour, being simply curious. "He was with me when I got the call about this," Karen told her, as they made their way inside. "So he gave me a lift, and probably got far more than he bargained for." "I'm sorry, Miss," Denny said as they descended the stairs. "Just promise me one thing," Karen asked her. "Promise me never to do anything as stupid as that again. You won't always be in here, Denny, although I know it might sometimes feel that way. Yvonne will always be there for you, because if she makes a commitment to someone, she doesn't go back on it." As they walked through the corridors back to G wing, Karen wondered if, by bringing Denny down safely, she had finally managed to atone for figuratively putting Lauren behind bars. On the day Yvonne's daughter had been freed, Karen hoped that she had at last, been able to free herself from that particular question of guilt. 


	181. Part One Hundred And Eighty One

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part One Hundred And Eighty One

When Karen and Denny reached G wing, Karen asked Gina to take Denny to the hospital wing, and to stay with her for the time being. When she entered the officers' room, she found Nikki, Sylvia, John and Grayling waiting for her, Dominic having obviously been assigned to return Tina and the Julies to their cells. Walking straight up to Sylvia, Karen waved the bunch of keys in front of her face. "I'd have thought by now that you would have learnt to properly look after your keys. This after all, wouldn't be the first time you've unwittingly lost them, now would it. The thought occurs, that you haven't learnt a single, bloody lesson in the entire time you've been here. The further thought occurs, that if you can't be trusted with such a responsibility, you should no longer be in your present employment. Now get out of my sight." Taking the keys from her before Karen could change her mind, Sylvia moved out of the office with far more speed and agility than her frame might indicate, leaving a slightly stunned silence in her wake. "As you are no doubt aware," Karen continued, turning to Nikki and not remotely losing her stride. "Disciplining junior officers, is one of the less delightful responsibilities of a wing governor. I am giving you carte blanche to give her whatever punishment you think fit." Finally acknowledging her superior's presence, Karen turned to him. "You look like you're just about ready to implode with fury." "What the hell, did you think you were doing?" Neil demanded quietly, though with the threat of menace barely below the surface. "I beg your pardon?" Karen replied, more than a little confused. "I asked," Neil said slowly and carefully, as if to a five-year-old. "Precisely what did you think you were doing, going up on that roof?" "Well, forgive me for being thick," Karen retorted flippantly. "But I thought I was trying to prevent someone from decorating the paving slabs out there, or have I missed something?" "You didn't even take the precaution of wearing a hard hat, for god's sake," Neil told her exasperatedly, his voice inevitably rising. Her face wavering for just a second, Karen realised that this thought hadn't once occurred to her. "Admittedly, that was something of an oversight," She said dismissively. "But as it happens, it wasn't necessary." Neil stared at her in aghast astonishment. "I don't believe I'm hearing this," He said a little more quietly. "Karen, this isn't like you." "Neil, if I'd done this strictly by the book, Daniella Blood would more than likely be dead now. I don't need that on my conscience, and you don't need the publicity." "You should never have tried to take the blade away from her," Neil said into the silence, neither confirming nor denying her assessment of the situation. "You weren't up there," Karen said succinctly. "You didn't see what she was doing with it." "Cutting, I would have thought," Neil said a little tartly. "That's what most inmates keep razor blades for." "Tell me," Karen said a little wearily. "Have you ever seen anyone in the process of doing it? Because believe me, it's a sight you wouldn't ever forget." "No, but..." "No, you haven't," She finished for him. "Like me, you've often found it a part of the job to deal with the after effects of such a pastime, but you've never actually witnessed it. The more she said, the more she kept on doing it. I couldn't just sit there, watching her get closer and closer to that main artery. Neil, if she'd had an arterial bleed up there, there would have been nothing you, or I, or anyone else could have done. I went up there to get Denny down safely and in one piece, and that's what I did. Now, can we please leave it at that?" "No way," Neil said quietly, still murderously angry with her for taking such a risk. "Karen, I can't have you working in such a stressful environment, when you are liable to make decisions, that are blatantly not based on your usual common courtesy towards your own safety. During the struggle you had with Denny, she could easily have pushed you off that ledge, whilst still keeping herself on a perfectly level footing." "And your point is?" Karen replied, her tone telling him in no uncertain terms to get on with it. "That is my point," He said in complete disgust. "You clearly don't give a damn about your own safety. Karen, you've been in this job, more than long enough, to know that you can't simply rush into a situation like this one, without giving due consideration to your own safety, you know that. I am more than a little concerned, that this no longer seems to be something to which you care to accord much thought." "My ultimate duty of care, is to the inmates," Karen stated firmly. "And in order to fulfill that duty of care, you have to think about how taking the type of risk that you did today, might put you in an irretrievably dangerous position. Karen, I don't want to have to do this, but you are forcing my hand. From this point on, I must ask you to consider yourself suspended." There was a long, awful pause. "Why?" Karen asked him, all the anger having dissipated, and her voice now containing only betrayal. "Karen, I am suspending you for your own good," Neil told her gently. "I need you to take some time out, to emotionally regroup, and to come back to the job, the Karen Betts I can trust. We both know that you came back to work far too soon, and I think that it's only now, that everything is beginning to catch up with you. I would like you to take a month, but I suspect that for you, that would be too much to ask, so I'm asking you to take at least a fortnight, before I see you anywhere near this place again." With a stunned, utterly appalled look on her face, Karen turned without another word, and strode hurriedly out of the office. As he swiftly made to follow her, John briefly stopped by Neil. "Well done," Was all he said, thinking that Neil had handled the situation admirably. 

As John followed Karen back to her office, he could feel that her nerves were still singing with tension. Seeing Denny cut herself had undoubtedly affected her, and all John really wanted to do, was to hold her, soothe her, and persuade her to calm down, but he couldn't. She was giving off that tightly controlled air of don't you dare come anywhere near me. Sweeping into her domain, Karen noticed that her full ashtray of the day before was gone, meaning that the cleaners had obviously been in since the previous evening. She began stacking papers together, leaving her desk far tidier than she usually did, collecting together the various belongings she might want over the next couple of weeks. John stood and watched her, not knowing what he could possibly do to make her feel better. As if feeling his gaze on her, Karen turned to him. "You entirely agree with what he just did, don't you," She asserted, her tone clearly telling him that she was looking to continue her fight. "Yes," He told her simply, knowing that anything diplomatic wasn't going to go down well at this point. She didn't immediately respond, but he noticed her eyes flitting occasionally to the place where he suspected she kept her trusty bottle of scotch. Moving over to the wall safe above one of her filing cabinets, she punched in the code, opened the door, and began sorting through its contents. "It's funny," She said, glancing at him over her shoulder. "But one of the safest places to keep valuable documents, really is one of Her Majesty's prisons." "This is the last place I would think of keeping something like a passport," John said in astonishment, as she drew forth the little wallet that could take her out of the country if she wanted. "Prisons have to be constructed of as many flame retardant materials as possible, and it's far easier to get out of one, than it is to get in." Picking something else out of the safe, she handed it to him. "Will you do me a favour?" She asked a little more gently. "Will you take care of that for me? It's something I need to keep, but I'd rather not run across it unsuspectingly." "What is it?" He asked, thinking that he recognised the writing on the envelope. "Read it and see," She invited, knowing that John would appreciate its contents just as much as she did. 

As John slowly read the letter Karen had received from Joe Channing, he felt an almost overwhelming combination of feelings beginning to swamp him. The sentiments were so delicately expressed, but with every word, feelings were induced in the reader that John wouldn't have expected to hear from his ex-father-in-law. Everything Joe said about his wife, and his raising of George, gave John an invaluable insight into Joe's relationship with his only daughter. He saw, perhaps for the first time, just how hard it must have been for him. But when he came to the part where Joe had mentioned Karen's clearly loving his daughter, John stopped, staring in wonder at the words before him. He had absolutely no idea that Karen felt so much for George, no idea at all, which made him again begin to question what she'd said before going up on the roof. Karen had said that she didn't have a lover to come back too, but surely she did, she had George. Granted, George wasn't entirely hers, but even so, she did have George, didn't she?

As she watched him reading out of the corner of her eye, Karen put her last few personal possessions together, leaving all the unimportant things, but taking the treasured ones with her. She moved to stand in front of her office window, looking down on the empty exercise yard, briefly glancing up at the hospital wing opposite, on whose roof she had so recently stood. She understood fully what had led Denny to go up there, and she understood why Denny hadn't wanted to come down. When John finished reading the letter, he put it back in its envelope, and laid it back on the desk. Walking slowly over to where Karen stood with her back to him, he gently put his arms round her from behind, feeling every muscle in her to be as hard as concrete. He laid his hands on top of hers, which rested on the sun-warmed ledge of the windowsill. 

"You were amazing up there," He said into her hair, both of them looking out on to the silent grounds. "Bloody mental, you mean," She said turning her hands over so that her fingers interlocked with his. "No," He said with a fond smile. "You acted as though what you were doing was perfectly normal, as if where you were, was as safe as your balcony at home." "If I'd been afraid, Denny might have picked up on it, which would have wound her up even more." "What she did, it really disturbed you, didn't it." "Mmm," She said, trying to relax in his hold. "Not something I'll easily forget in a hurry." "Is that because of what Ross did?" John asked gently, feeling her tense slightly at her son's name. "Possibly," She admitted eventually. "Do you know what I see, nearly every time I close my eyes?" She asked into the silence. "I can see his blood, and there's never anything I can do to stop him bleeding. When I went to see him, the day after he died, I made the monumental mistake of looking at his arm, where he cut his wrist. That was probably the most stupid thing I've ever done, but I had to do it. What Denny was doing to herself, it was just a bit too close to that." John had inwardly winced when she'd told him of dreaming of Ross's blood, but when she'd explained why, his arms had reflexively tightened, as if by doing so, he could banish all the pain for good. Gently turning her to face him, he put his arms back round her, wanting to offer her comfort in the only way he knew how. There were tears in her eyes, but she was resolutely refusing to let them fall. "I wish you'd give into it," He told her softly, his own voice not entirely steady. "If I allowed everything to overwhelm me, John, I would crack up completely." They stood there for some time, Karen taking immeasurable comfort from simply being held by the strongest, gentlest, and at the same time, most passionate man she knew. He delicately ran his fingers through her hair, gradually feeling a little of the tension seeping from her body. "You should be available in pill form," She said into his shoulder, causing him to smile. After another long stretch of companionable silence, she said, "Thank you for being here today."" "I would say it was my pleasure," John said dryly, drawing slightly back from her. "But that wouldn't quite be appropriate." As their eyes met, all the adrenalin and electricity-fuelled feelings seemed to rise once again to the surface, the air positively crackling with the sudden need they had to bridge the distance. They both could feel it, and they both knew what would be the outcome, but neither of them could have stopped. When their lips eventually met, it felt to Karen as if she was coming home. After nearly two years of trying to forget what it had been like to kiss and be kissed by this man, suddenly all the memories were back with a vengeance. God, the things he'd done to her that night, she knew that he could remember it as well as she could. It was long, it was slow, and it was incredibly intense. But when they finally broke apart, John stared at her in astounded shock. "As unbelievable as it sounds, I really didn't mean to do that," He said, his thoughts reeling. Breaking into the first genuine smile she'd had in the last fortnight, Karen touched his cheek. I know you didn't, and neither did I, I think." "I'm sorry," He said seriously, moving slightly away from her. "Don't be sorry, John," She said gently. "Call it a fairly predictable reaction to an enormous adrenalin rush." "Well done," He said with a smirk. "You've come up with a much needed new excuse for my repertoire, but yes, you're probably right. Which reminds me," He said, suddenly remembering what she'd said earlier. "What did you mean, when you said that you didn't have a lover, waiting for you to come down safely." The smile was instantly wiped off Karen's face, something for which he internally kicked himself. "That's something only George can tell you, John, because I'm not entirely sure I'm right, and if I'm not, it wouldn't be fair to give you any false hope." "You're not making an ounce of sense," He told her gently. "As I said, I can't be certain. I've just had a couple of lights switched on today, that's all, and if I am right, it's not something I can or should tell you. I haven't even really discussed it with George, so if you want any answers, you'll have to ask her." As Karen picked up her belongings, she glanced at John's face. "Though I wouldn't ask George anything, looking like that," She said with a smirk, taking a tissue from her box, and gently wiping a smudge of lipstick from his lips. "Are you sure you want me to look after this?" He said, picking up Joe's letter. "Yes," Karen told him seriously. "It's not something I want to stumble on without warning, but it is something that I might want to look at occasionally." As she locked her office door, and they walked towards the outside, John's hand briefly slipped into hers and gave it a squeeze. "What are you going to do?" He asked. "Go away, somewhere, probably somewhere hot. Much as I'm loath to admit it, Neil was right in doing what he did, and I'd have probably done the same in his position. In fact, I did once do the same, or almost did, to Fenner. Believe it or not, he was as much of a workaholic as I am." "You are nothing remotely akin to Fenner, so don't ever let me hear you say so," John told her firmly, brooking no argument. As they passed through the gate lodge, and Karen handed over her keys, she had a brief impression that she was seeing this place for the very last time. But that was stupid, she reminded herself, because she would be back in two or three weeks, because to be away any longer would take away her purpose, the one thing she could cling too, that she knew without doubt she could do, come rain or shine. 


	182. Part One Hundred And Eighty Two

Part One Hundred and Eighty Two

As the situation on the ground returned to as near normality as it could in the circumstances, Grayling found time to turn to Nikki who was totally unsure if she was still required to be on hand.  
"I'll deal with anything else that needs dealing with, Karen, G Wing, the lot." "If that's all right with you." "You've somehow held the fort till Karen, me and a high court judge could come on the scene. I think that's called acting beyond the call of duty," Grayling spoke firmly.  
Nikki smiled in gratitude. She was relieved that someone was allowed to forcibly take responsibility off her. In her club days, she would have been the last to leave after an emergency. "Were you going anywhere special?" "Yvonne's fiftieth birthday." Neil grinned broadly. He had the suspicion that the hospitality would be lavish or she would be in mourning.  
"Well, now is the time for all good men and women to come to the aid of the party. If you are asked about the events of today, I leave entirely to your discretion what you say to everyone, the one proviso being that nothing gets leaked to the press. As before, this stays entirely within my control." 

Nikki reeled out of the gate and made her way to the car. Before setting off, she phoned up Yvonne to say that she was on her way and made a second call to Helen.  
"Hi babe, I'm off to Yvonne's. Are you on your way there." "I'm with Karen. I'll explain later." Nikki shut off her phone and took her car slowly down the road. She was emotionally drained from watching and waiting for what seemed like hours till help came and more so in watching helplessly from the ground while Karen negotiated desperately with Denny and the one heart stopping instant when they wrestled on the edge. She'd been through that movie before and it brought back a whole confusion of emotions when Helen teetered on the edge, not on top of the roof but in later finally admitting her love to Nikki.

At Yvonne's party, the drink and good spirits were flowing freely in equal measure and background music was playing softly. Trigger wandered around from one human being to another, basking in the attention of so much company. He was as well away as the others. They were vaguely aware of the passing of time and it was not till Yvonne's phone bleeped and her perceptions were dulled not to notice the flat expressionless tones in which Nikki spoke.  
"That was Nikki, girls. Cassie, be sure to offer her a double when she gets in," grinned Yvonne.  
"Cassie's idea of a double is my idea of a triple," Blabbed Roisin to all and sundry.  
Crystal was lying back, looking zonked out, as the level of hospitality was more than she was used to. She wasn't against the odd tipple but two very young children severely limited her time to let her hair down.  
Lauren was finding her feet back in her own house. It wasn't feeling quite so strange now and all the people she used to see regularly were with her now. It would seem strange seeing Nikki who she had seen much of but in an entirely different role.

Soon, there was a quiet knock at the door and Lauren eased herself to her feet and answered the door.  
"Hi Nikki," She called out exuberantly and flung her arms slightly drunkenly round her shoulders. "Come and join the party." Trigger was soon behind Lauren and denoted his approval, wagging his tail. Nikki let herself be led towards where the sounds were loudest. The splash of colour and luxury were a real contrast to her austere surroundings at Larkhall. When she entered the lounge, all her friends were there and it brought tears to her eyes. If it weren't for the bad news she had to relate, she would have felt as if she had come home . "You nearly missed out on the drink. Thank yourself lucky there's anything left," Cassie greeted her.  
Nikki's smile was rather strained and Roisin's sharp eyes detected that Nikki was bringing her own troubles with her but was too polite to inflict them on the rest of the crowd and in fact felt positively embarrassed about it.  
"It's great to see you, Nikki. I've not seen you for far too long." "Well I couldn't have come at a better time than with Lauren. I can't claim the credit for all that." Yvonne's eyes were brimming with tears. She knew right enough that Nikki had, in her quiet way, enabled Lauren to come back to her, not someone whom prison had worn down and diminished but someone with a quieter maturity about her. She came towards Nikki and hugged someone who was probably her oldest friend. They went back a good few years now she came to think of it.  
"Bollocks, Nikki, I can tell." "So how's Denny been keeping? You've not let her go back to the way she used to be?" Crystal asked lightly. This was more or less a rhetorical question, a bit of small talk for all she knew.  
Nikki promptly sat down with her drink and swallowed a generous mouthful of the spirits. She needed that. The room went suddenly quiet while she framed her words in her mind to speak. She really hated to spoil the party and wanted to join it as much as anyone but saw no way of holding out on Yvonne whose glance in her direction told her that she was gradually sensing the truth.  
"I'm sorry but Denny has not been at her best to put it mildly." "What do you mean, Nikki?" "I was all set to leave early to come here when I saw Denny up on top of the hospital roof." The shockwaves from that flat, understated remark radiated round the room. Roisin discreetly switched the CD off so they could hear.  
"What the frigging well happened. Nikki?" "Don't ask me, Yvonne. This one blew up out of nowhere," Nikki snapped back, tired and momentarily stretched beyond breaking point. "I'm sorry, Yvonne. I know how much Denny means to you and Lauren. I can assure you that I've checked with Gina and Dominic and they are as surprised as anyone. You know them, if there was anything slightly wrong, they wouldn't let it pass. I was wondering if you might know, Lauren." Guilt at wallowing in her own release and apparently forgetting about Denny made Lauren bite back.  
"Are you asking me as wing governor, Nikki, for some sort of investigation?" "For your information, Lauren, once anyone, and I mean anyone gets out of prison, the rules change. That's the same the moment I got out and I got back with Helen, former acting governing governor of Larkhall. That's the way I felt when we were kissing right outside the club for everyone to see. I'm Nikki, you're Lauren and as you see, rank doesn't matter right now. I want you to tell me anything you might know, as believe it or not, I still believe that prisoners hold the key to a lot of what goes on in prison. Whatever I use, I'll use officially where I have to. Now, I'll repeat the question, Lauren, if you have the slightest clue what went on, for god's sake tell me." Lauren and Yvonne felt a huge wave of guilt wash over them. Nikki deserved better from them. Roisin put her arm round Nikki's shoulders as it pained her to see her emotions breaking loose as her battle to keep up her controlled restrained tones was finally lost.  
"I'm really and truly sorry, Nikki. I've been a right cow. You're right, I should have spotted what was going on but didn't." "We'll leave that for later, girls. What happened next?" Yvonne pronounced softly in those tones, which took them all back to when they were nearly all together in Yvonne's cell, holding some sort of conference.  
"Karen was off work so I phoned her at George's. She and John, I mean the judge, came at the double. It seemed to take a lifetime but I dare say they were quick enough. Karen insisted on going up on the roof, same as Helen did for Zandra." "You must be joking," Yvonne's flat tones concealed her utter horror and shock. She suspected that Karen was not in her right mind.  
"I did all I could to stop her though I admit that if it hadn't been for Karen, Denny might not have come down as she did. At least she's safe now and that's the main thing." Nikki added the last words with particular emphasis. She could not in all conscience say to Yvonne and Lauren 'by the way, Denny had taken a razor to herself.' No one should bear that amount of guilt, certainly not right then.  
"Were we around at the time?" Cassie asked sharply.  
"You'd all gone by then. I'd gone back to the wing and did some more work and was just about to come over here when I first noticed Denny up on the hospital roof," began Nikki in a tired flat tone. She hesitated a little as she had the feeling that she was repeating herself and rambling. "Anyway, Karen wouldn't listen. I had to get her at least to take a radio and she climbed up that metal staircase without any care for herself…..I think she did that as, in her words, if anything happened to Denny, Yvonne would never forgive her …." Tears formed in Yvonne's eyes and not just for Denny. Oh sister, why didn't you believe in me more, or rather believe in yourself, grieved Lauren.  
"……she got up there and they shared a cigarette, just as if they were sat in a Starbucks café somewhere, not four floors up on a prison roof. She got Denny to talk and, yes, it was a reaction to you getting out, feeling that she'd be on her own, that everyone she's known had died or got sent to Ashmoor, like Shaz, Shell, her mother. She tried to tell her that ……" "…she helped me to pack. She seemed fine," Lauren gasped in horror.  
"That sounds like Denny," Crystal said in a low voice.  
"…..anyway Karen tried to reason with her, she explained that she'd just lost Ross and it was the way she talked about him that made me feel that Karen was not that much better off emotionally than Denny….she really gave me the feeling that she didn't give a damn about her life…" Nikki's eyelids were drooping down as she sounded very tired and paused momentarily. What came over was an uncertain trickle of human emotions, how it felt, not a dispassionate incident report as she would have to write up when she got back to work. She was with close friends now and they had seen enough of Larkhall to pencil in the gaps.  
"The poor woman," Roisin spoke in melting tones. It could have applied to Denny, or Karen or even Nikki.  
"I'm losing the plot. In the end, the situation changed suddenly. Denny made a move and Karen went for her and wrestled her down on the edge of the roof. That was the most mad, frightening, dangerous bloody wonderful thing I've seen in my life."

The others could visualise everything and feel everything even with Nikki's sparse description. Crystal had been there the last time around and the others had heard enough to paint a picture in their own minds, which was unbearably vivid. The room sank into gloomy silence while Nikki's eyes closed momentarily and she swam uneasily into confused formless nightmares of her own. The others were torn between intense pity for Denny and Karen in equal measure and, by extension, Yvonne and Lauren for their acute guilt of celebrating Lauren's return. The fact that it was irrational made no difference. A few minutes later, Nikki started mumbling her way through the cloudy nightmare around her, still just functioning. "Neil was on the scene, Neil Grayling. He was around after I phoned him and he ended up suspending Karen from duty for two weeks." She knew that she was unnecessarily clarifying Grayling's identity but that was the last thing to matter.  
"Bastard," Cassie shouted, her sympathies awash for her friend who had achieved a bloody miracle only for some insensitive clod of a man to kick her in the teeth.  
"No, Cassie. He did it for Karen's own good. She's in danger of cracking herself right up in working too hard. She should never have come back to work when she did. Sure, she did brilliantly but she went at it in a totally crazy way and took way too many risks. I was there and I was scared out of my wits for her. I saw everything and so did Grayling and the judge." Nikki's persuasive tones made for food for thought for all of them. Suddenly, wheels started turning in Yvonne's mind. There was something here that was left unexplained.  
"There's something I don't get, Nikki. How the bleeding hell did Denny get on the roof. She didn't fly there like Mary bleeding poppins? Last I was there, that part of Larkhall is bolted and barred." "Oh, didn't I tell you? Denny nicked Sylvia's keys. Denny dropped her in it." Nikki answered with the first faint smile on her face since she entered Yvonne's house.  
"Oh, and is this Sylvia as in Bodybag?" Yvonne enquired, savouring the delicious flavour of what she saw was coming.  
"Of course. Who else? I can't call her Bodybag now she works for me though I've come close to slipping," Came the perfectly logical reply. There was a pause for precisely thirty seconds and the whole room exploded in laughter. This was too rich. This was the perfect release of all that misery and guilt which had grown up as Nikki's tale was told. They laughed so much that it started to hurt their sides. Then, when they had regained their breath, the comments started flying.  
"Send her down the block." "Put her in strips." "……..and play 'Kumbaya' all the time to her." "Take all her chocolate fingers away from her." Nikki laughed along with all the rest of them till they subsided in sheer exhaustion. This moment, at Yvonne's house and seeing everyone happier after telling some of the bad news made her feel better, more relaxed.  
"Seriously though. Karen has given me a free hand in deciding what punishment fits the crime. Third time unlucky, eh. I have to stick to the rules, you know how it is but I shall take time to make sure it will cure her or kill her. I am the boss on G wing, after all. She has to answer directly to me," She finished with a self satisfied smirk.

Nikki's glass was refilled and she drank gratefully of the spirits and of the friendship all around her. You didn't get it much better than this. This was a spirit she had chased all her life, always believing in it, no matter how bad life got.

"What about Helen?" Roisin asked anxiously. After making one mistake of overlooking Denny, she wasn't going to do the same with Helen.  
"She's spending the night looking after Karen. She needs someone like her around more than anything else in the world I can think of. She'll stay safe at least for the night," Came the fervent and immensely reassuring reply. Karen's future was full of questions but that was another day. 


	183. Part One Hundred And Eighty Three

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Eighty Three

As John drove away from the prison, seeing Karen's car turning in the other direction, he wondered what on earth had just happened. Why, after almost two years, had he kissed her? What in god's name had made him do such a thing? Perhaps she was right, he thought, maybe it had been the sheer adrenalin of the situation that had made them both temporarily abandon their usual restraint. But that didn't answer his question about what was going on between Karen and George. Her answer had been very cryptic, because she clearly only suspected most of it, and didn't want to give him something to worry about, unless it was absolutely necessary. But hang on, Karen hadn't said it would worry him, she'd said that she didn't want to give him any false hope. That just made him feel even more confused than he already did. But one thing she had asked him to do, and that was to let George know that she was perfectly safe. Remembering how George had reacted, on the day they'd briefly thought that Charlie might be dead, he couldn't blame Karen for wanting to avoid George's immediate expression of relief. 

When he drew up outside George's house, he briefly wondered if he would be granted the answer he sought. Probably not, he mused to himself, as he waited for her to answer the door. George had been waiting for a call, anything, to let her know that Karen was safe, because she'd realised precisely what Karen was going to do. So, when she saw John standing on her doorstep, a thousand questions seemed to emerge from her at once. "Hey, calm down," He told her gently, as he moved into the hall, seeing the lines of worry etched across her brow. "She's fine, I promise." "How could you let her do it, John, how?" She demanded, quite ready to take her relief out on him as Karen wasn't there. "George, this is Karen we're talking about," John said with a slight smile. "I couldn't have stopped her if I'd tried, you know that." "Did she do what I thought she would do?" George asked, leading the way into the lounge, and immediately lighting herself a cigarette. "If you mean, did Karen go up on the roof, to talk Denny down, yes, she did, and except for your occasional phases of self-destruct, I don't think I've ever been more frightened in my life." Finally taking notice of the tension in his entire body, she took his hand, and pulled him down onto the sofa next to her. "Tell me what happened," She said a lot more quietly, giving his hand a squeeze. "She was so blasé about it," John began. "She must have been four floors up, with nothing to protect her from falling so far, yet she looked like she was perfectly at home up there. You've met Denny, so you know how volatile she can be, but Karen didn't seem to be bothered by it. She sat down on that ledge next to Denny, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Denny was cutting herself, which I know got to Karen far more than she is prepared to say. At one point, Karen tried to take the razor blade away from her, and they struggled. I don't think I've ever heard such angry words from anyone. Karen was furious, which is probably what kept her from being pushed over the edge. She told Denny that she wasn't going to sit there, and watch her throw away everything Yvonne had ever done for her. That's why she did it, you know, for Yvonne. When Nikki was trying to persuade her not to go up there, Karen said that if she didn't get Denny down in one piece, Yvonne would never forgive her. You know why, don't you?" "Karen still feels guilty for giving us Lauren's name, doesn't she," George said in realisation. "It doesn't make any sense," John clarified. "But I think she feels an enormous responsibility for Lauren being behind bars, and I think Denny did this today, because Lauren was released this afternoon. Karen was repaying her debt by doing what she did today, no matter how little sense we might think that makes." "I'm assuming she did get Denny down in one piece," George said, knowing that John wouldn't have been there with her if Karen had needed him. "Yes, after a lot of straight talking. But that's not all. She had a pretty intensive row with Neil Grayling." "Ah," George said in understanding. "He was incredibly cross with her, because she went against every health and safety policy that exists in a place like that. I used to think I was the only one who held such blatant disregard for their superiors, but Karen really gave him as good as she got." "But maybe that's the point," George said regretfully. "Under normal circumstances, Karen simply wouldn't behave like that." "Quite. Anyway, the long and short of it is, that Grayling has suspended her, for a fortnight at the very least, for her own good, to give her some time to sort herself out." "That's hardly a surprise," George astonished him by saying. "John, Karen hasn't been her usual, highly professional self since Ross died. If an enforced absence makes her take some time out to simply rest, then that's all to the good." "She looked so betrayed," John told her. "That's because she thinks that work is all she's good for at the moment. She's coming apart at the seams, John, and I don't know what I'm supposed to do to help her." "Do you know what really frightened me about her being up there? She didn't give a damn, which way she came down. She wanted to make sure that Denny was safe, but she really didn't care whether or not she stayed in one piece." "Which is precisely why some time away from everything is absolutely vital," George told him. "There was something else she said, before taking such a stupid risk," John said carefully, wondering just what sort of reaction he was going to get. "Nikki was trying to persuade her not to do it, and Karen reminded Nikki that Helen had once done something similar. Nikki asked Karen if she knew just how scared she, Nikki, had been for Helen that day. Karen's response, was to say that she didn't have an unrequited lover, or a lover of any kind, waiting for her to come down safely." As he watched, all the colour drained from George's face. "Did, erm, did you ask her what she meant by that?" George asked a little shakily, not having realised that Karen knew so much. Yes, she knew that Karen had suspicions, but she'd had no idea that Karen knew anything concrete about her defection. "I asked her afterwards, and she said that she couldn't tell me. She said that a couple of lights had been switched on today, but that as she wasn't certain, it wouldn't be fair on anyone for her to tell me. I was referred unerringly to you." "John, this is somewhat difficult," George said, getting up from the sofa and beginning to pace. "I can see that," John said dryly. "I can't tell you about this, not yet," She said evasively, refusing to meet his eyes. "Why?" He wanted to know, the look of sheer guilt on her face thoroughly confusing him. "Because this doesn't just involve me," George told him. "Give me a couple of days, till the weekend at the most, and then I will tell you, but not before." Seeing that he wasn't going to get any more out of her, he agreed. But when he left, a good while later, his thoughts were still centring on the guilty expression that she didn't quite seem able to eradicate from her face. 

Karen spent the rest of the afternoon tidying her flat, something she didn't seem to have done in far too long. But at around six, she received a call from Helen. "Nikki told me what happened," Helen said succinctly. "I've got one more appointment, but after that, I wondered if you felt like some company." "Yeah, that'd be good," Karen said, surprising herself by agreeing to it. "Shall I bring a takeaway?" Helen asked. "Probably a good idea," Karen replied, quickly glancing at the slightly decrepit contents of her fridge. When Helen arrived at about half past seven, bearing a bag from the Chinese and a bottle of wine, Karen found that it really was nice to see her. Helen's company was usually undemanding, as Helen always knew when to try and persuade her to talk, and simply when to back off. 

"So, does it still feel as though you're in the middle of nowhere up there?" Helen asked, when they were sitting at the table, digging into the food Helen had brought. "Up on the roof you mean?" Karen asked, winding some noodles around her fork. "Oh, yeah, and it's far too easy to see why they go up there." "I think Zandra went up there, because it was the only place she could feel in control of her own and her baby's destiny," Helen said thoughtfully. "Everyone else was trying to take the baby away from her, so she went up there to regain the reins so to speak." "Denny said she felt free up there, as if it was the only way she could escape the bars. I learnt an awful lot about her mother up on that roof, most of it I wish I didn't know." "That was before your time, wasn't it, when all that blew up," Helen said, stabbing a deliciously plump king prawn. "The first we knew that Jessie Devlin was Denny's mother, was when Denny tried to attack her with one of those plastic knives." "It's a terrible thing to say, but after hearing what I heard this afternoon, I can hardly blame Denny for doing something like that." "What did Grayling say to you, when you brought her down?" "Didn't Nikki tell you?" Karen asked in surprise. "She told me that he'd suspended you, but she didn't say much else." "He was furious. He said that I clearly didn't give a damn about my own safety, and that he couldn't have me around making life threatening decisions, and that he was giving me some time away, so that I could come back the Karen Betts he was used to seeing." "And was he right?" Helen asked quietly, fixing Karen with her hypnotic gaze. "Possibly," Karen admitted defeatedly. "It wasn't that I didn't care about my own safety, I just didn't think about it. The only consideration I had, was that of getting Denny down in one piece. I owed it to Yvonne to do that." "Why do you owe Yvonne, something so enormous?" Helen asked, though with today being what it was, she found some of the pieces beginning to slip into place. Chewing a mouthful of pork in black bean sauce, Karen wondered how to answer this, and finally decided on the truth. "I don't especially want Nikki to know about this," She said eventually. "Because I don't think she would entirely understand it." "We don't tell each other everything," Helen said with a soft smile. Putting her fork down and reaching for her glass of wine, Karen took a swig and then told her. "The day after Fenner's body was found, I was given a pretty ruthless going over by George and Jo, with John there acting as witness. George thought I had killed Fenner, John knew I hadn't, and Jo wasn't sure. If the situation hadn't been so dire, that verbal scrap with George would have been incredibly erotic. They all three of them knew I knew far too much about Fenner's death, even if I hadn't actually been part of it. When John eventually called them off, and Jo escorted me back to my car, I gave her Lauren's name. I made her swear that Yvonne would never know it was me, because at the time, I didn't know how she would react. That's why Jo defended Lauren, because if a total stranger became involved with the case, he or she might have done way too much digging, to find out just how the police had come into the knowledge they did. So, Lauren has spent the last twenty months behind bars, because of me, which is why I had to do what I did today." 

Helen had sat in silence as Karen had told her story, slowly chewing on the odd mouthful of food, yet barely recognising its taste. "You're right in one respect," She said when Karen had finished. "Nikki wouldn't understand it, not in a million years. But having almost done a similar thing to Nikki, I entirely get why you did it." "Do you?" Karen asked, utterly gob smacked. "Sure," Helen told her, taking a sip from her own glass. "The night Nikki got out, and ended up on my doorstep, I thought about phoning the police, afterwards, while she was getting dressed. I even went as far as dialling 999, but when the operator answered, I hung up. If I hadn't slept with Nikki, if I hadn't had the most fantastic night of my life, it would have been much easier to do it. But because I'd exchanged so many feelings, so many promises with her, I couldn't go through with it. But it was different for you. No matter why Lauren says she killed Fenner, no matter how much you think you played a part in her doing that, when it came down to it, you didn't have any choice. Lauren chose to do what she did, Lauren. Not you, not Yvonne, not anyone but her. If you hadn't given Jo Lauren's name, you'd very likely have been investigated along with Yvonne, possibly putting your job at risk, and in the worst case scenario, landing you a stretch in Larkhall, for perverting the course of justice. Karen, you protected your freedom and your livelihood, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that." "But at what cost?" Karen asked her. "Any cost Lauren might have found herself paying because of your actions, are because of her own actions. I understand why you feel as you do, but I wish you didn't. You carry far too much guilt around with you, Karen, not just about Lauren, but about Shell Dockley, Shaz Wiley, even me, and you need to let go of every single bit of it." "You left out Ross," Karen said quietly. "Because you're not the only one who feels incredibly guilty about that," Helen replied sadly. "Helen, you tried to help him," Karen insisted. "You of all people shouldn't feel any guilt about my son." "The night it happened," Helen told her, neither accepting nor denying Karen's assertion. "I asked the Judge if he felt any guilt, because it seemed to me that this time, the law didn't know best. He said that yes, he did feel guilty, because he knew precisely what you were going through." "He does," Karen told her, knowing it wouldn't go any further. "His mother killed herself when he was ten." Helen's fork clattered to the plate. "Shit," She said with feeling. Then, at Karen's raised eyebrow, she added, "I'm just remembering some of the things I said to him that night, not one of the most tactful moments I've ever had." "You couldn't have known," Karen tried to reassure her. "John, is one of the most complicated men I've ever known, because no matter how many layers you think you've peeled away, there are always many more in reserve. He finds it extremely hard to really express how he feels, which is why he usually tries to fall back on actions rather than words." 

A little while later when they were clearing up, Helen asked, "What are you going to do for the next couple of weeks?" "God knows," Karen said ruefully. "I thought I might go on holiday for some of it though." "You should," Helen replied, putting the last plate in the drainer. "I went abroad for three weeks, after Sean made a complete fool of me, by setting fire to his wedding suit in the exercise yard." "Talk about a public disgrace," Karen said in sympathy. "The point is, that the only people to really give a damn about it by the time I got back, were Fenner and Stubberfield. Everyone else had forgotten. You need the time to sleep by the look of you." Karen opened her mouth to tell Helen of the dreams she'd been having, but something, some instinct of preservation, made her stay silent. 

After John had left, George waited until Jo could reasonably be expected to be home from work, and dialled her number. "Jo, we've got a problem," She said in utter certainty. "We need to tell him." 


	184. Part One Hundred And Eighty Four

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part One Hundred And Eighty Four

Karen felt at something of a loose end on the Wednesday morning, not wanted in work, and not required to be anywhere else or to be doing anything else. This wasn't a normal state of being for her, and she wasn't sure she liked it. She was sitting out on her balcony, reading the paper and drinking coffee, when the doorbell rang. Grateful for any intrusion, she went to answer it, only to find Yvonne on the doorstep. "Can we talk?" Yvonne asked in lieu of a greeting, because Karen didn't seem to know what to say to her. "Sure," Karen replied, leading the way upstairs, and wondering how Lauren was this morning. 

When they re-entered her living room, Yvonne turned Karen to face her, putting her arms round her and holding her as tight as possible. "You stupid, stupid cow," Yvonne said almost desperately into her hair, which made Karen smile in spite of herself. This was the Yvonne she knew, the Yvonne she had once thought she loved. "What the hell did you think you were doing?" "You're starting to sound like Grayling," Karen told her affectionately. "And so I bloody should," Yvonne told her sternly. "I can't believe you did that." "Yvonne, you know why I did what I did," Karen said seriously, gently detaching herself from Yvonne's embrace. "Yeah," Yvonne agreed. "And it's that we need to talk about." Pouring Yvonne a mug of coffee, Karen led the way out onto her balcony, and they both lit up cigarettes. 

"How much did Nikki tell you?" Karen asked, after taking a long drag. "She told me what Denny did, and what you did to get her down, but she didn't tell me much of why Denny went up there in the first place, but it doesn't exactly take a genius to work it out." "You're going to have your work cut out over the next few months, between keeping Denny on track and Lauren going through therapy." "Yeah, I know, but that's the point, isn't it. You've done most of it ever since Lauren got sent down, because all I've really been able to do for either of them is visit. But now, it's down to me, to keep Lauren out of trouble, and to convince Denny that I ain't just going to forget about her." "The thing is, Yvonne," Karen told her gently. "If Denny keeps pulling stunts like she did yesterday, any hint of parole is going to be one hell of a long time in coming." "I know," Yvonne said quietly. "So, it looks as though I'll be seeing Bodybag's ugly mug for the foreseeable, doesn't it." "It was Sylvia's keys she got hold of," Karen filled in. "And I've given Nikki carte blanche to deal with her any way she likes." "Jesus," Yvonne said with a broad smile. "I wouldn't mind being a fly on the wall with that one." 

They were quiet for a time, until Yvonne eventually said, "Sweetheart, whatever debt you think you owed me, you well and truly paid it yesterday." Karen stared at her, with the look of a deer caught in the headlights. Yvonne couldn't know what she'd done, she just couldn't! "Don't look like that," Yvonne told her softly. "I didn't ever want you to know," Karen said quietly, unable to tear her gaze away from Yvonne's. "Yeah, he said you wouldn't," Yvonne replied, watching as the pieces began to fit together behind Karen's eyes. "So, that's the real reason he didn't want me to know he'd slept with you," Karen said in dawning comprehension. "And I thought it was just because both Jo and George would kill him if they found out." "To give him his due," Yvonne said fairly. "I took complete advantage of his post-orgasmic relaxation, to get my answer to that question." "Oh, dear, poor John," Karen said with a broad smile, in spite of the fact that she felt as though she were treading on very thin ice. "Yeah, he looked like you did just now. He's incredibly loyal to you." "Yvonne, I'm so, so sorry," Karen said, the tears rising to her eyes, feeling a sense of partial relief, that she could finally be honest with Yvonne about this. "I know," Yvonne said gently, delicately wiping away one of Karen's tears with a finger. "But I don't want you to feel guilty for it any more. I'm serious, you mustn't." 

When Karen had finished her coffee, Yvonne asked, "What are you going to do for the next couple of weeks?" "I've got absolutely no idea," Karen told her ruefully. "I thought I might go on holiday, but I haven't thought any further than that." "Good job I did then," Yvonne said with a smile, digging a bunch of keys out of her handbag. "The keys to the villa," She said, handing them over. "And because I thought you wouldn't have got around to making any firm decisions, I've booked you on a flight tomorrow morning, and left the return part of the ticket open, so that you can come back whenever you're ready." "Thank you," Karen said, leaning over to kiss her cheek. "And you're right, making a vaguely sensible decision, seems to be pretty much beyond me at the moment." 

In the middle of Wednesday afternoon, Karen called round to see George. Karen had done an awful lot of thinking in the early hours of Wednesday morning, and she was finally beginning to understand what had happened. She was saddened, more than anything else, to realise why George's affections had strayed elsewhere, because she knew that there was nothing she would be able to do to alter their course. The ultimate destiny of George's feelings wasn't with her, but with another, and Karen knew in her heart of hearts that this had always been somewhat on the cards. When George opened the door, she looked surprised to see her. "How are you?" George asked, as Karen moved into the hall. "Erm, surviving," Karen told her, not entirely how to express what she really felt. "Did John tell you what happened?" "Yes," George said sternly. "And the desire to shake some sense into you, was almost unbearably strong." "I'm sorry, for worrying you," Karen said quietly, wanting to put her arms round George, but uncertain as to whether her embrace would be welcomed. Seeing the uncertainty in Karen's eyes, George made the decision for her. "I just wish you'd be careful," She said, giving Karen a hug, and not moving away immediately afterwards. "I'm going away for a while," Karen said into her hair. "It'll probably do you good," George said sadly, not wanting to in any way be the cause of why Karen was doing this. "Yvonne has lent me the keys to her villa, and there's something I want to ask you. I'm going out there for a couple of weeks, maybe longer, but at some point, I'd quite like you to come out and stay for a couple of days, so we can talk." At these innocuous words, George stiffened. Drawing her face slightly back from Karen's, she looked deep into her eyes, seeing there a level of understanding that almost frightened her. "You know, don't you," She said, seeing the answer before Karen gave it to her. "I think so," Karen told her, also seeing that George didn't want it to be like this. "Darling, I'm sorry," George said, feeling that she couldn't have picked a worse time to do something like this to Karen. "I know," Karen told her, thinking that it seemed to be the day for significant pledges of apology. "Are you sure that you still want me to come and stay?" George asked. "Yes," Karen replied quietly. "Because I want to understand." "Why?" George wanted to know. "I've successfully managed to hurt you, at what must be the worst time possible, but you still want to understand why I'm doing it. That doesn't make sense." "Yes, it does," Karen told her with a soft smile. "George, if something makes you happy, I want to know about it. Whatever happens in your life, I want to know about it. I just want you to do one thing for me, I need you to tell John, because leave it long enough, and he will work it out by himself, and I don't think it would in any way help the situation if he were allowed to do that. Don't make him wait any longer than necessary." When Karen left, and George watched her drive away, they both knew that when they next saw the other, things would have happened, things that would irrevocably change what their future would hold. 


	185. Part One Hundred And Eighty Five

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Eighty Five

During Wednesday afternoon lock up, Nikki rang down to the wing, and asked for Denny to be brought up to her office. Denny had come back from the hospital wing that morning, and had been on fifteen minute watch ever since. When Gina showed her in, Nikki could see that Denny's arm was still bandaged, and that the desolate, haunted look was still present in her eyes. "Can you come back in about half an hour?" Nikki asked her. "And tell Sylvia to make herself available at the end of her shift." "Are you going to tell her what we talked about this morning?" Gina asked. "Yes, I should think so," Nikki replied with a slightly malevolent smile. "So be ready for the fracas that is sure to follow." 

When Gina had gone, Nikki sat and regarded Denny across the desk. Denny was standing opposite her, refusing to meet her eyes, and looking sulky and belligerent. "How do you feel after yesterday?" Nikki finally asked her. "Shit, how do you think I feel?" Denny replied without looking at her. "Denny, I'm not about to have this conversation, while you're still looking at the floor," Nikki said firmly. "So sit down in that chair, and stop sulking." As Denny moved to do as she was told, Nikki was forcefully reminded of the numerous occasions she'd been in Denny's place, and Helen had been the one calling the shots. "Why do you think you're here?" Nikki asked her, lighting herself a cigarette, and then lighting one for Denny. "By the look of you, to get a few days down the block," Denny said, gratefully taking the cigarette. "And why would I be quite within my rights to do that?" Nikki replied, only just managing to keep her irritation below the surface. "Don't give me this bullshit, Nikki," Denny said, blowing smoke up at the ceiling. "Denny, do you have any idea what you did yesterday?" Nikki demanded, still keeping a grip on the reins of her anger. "You almost got your Governing Governor killed." "I didn't ask her to do what she did," Denny responded sullenly. "No, you didn't, but she still did it," Nikki told her. "Even though Karen was risking her life, her job, everything she has, she still went up onto that roof to get you down. Everyone tried to persuade her not to, me, Grayling, the Judge, everyone, so don't you dare even think of wasting what she did for you yesterday. I know things have been difficult for you, and I know that it's going to be doubly hard for you now that Lauren isn't here any more, but you can't keep pulling stunts like you did yesterday. Denny, risking someone else's life, not to mention your own, that's serious stuff, and not something that can be ignored. Denny, I have a duty of care to both officers and inmates, which means that whilst trying to keep you safe and secure, I also have to keep my officers safe and secure, which I can't do properly, if you choose to repeat your stunt of yesterday." "Jesus," Denny said in disgust. "I don't believe this, you're really starting to sound like one of them. Why did you do it, Nikki, why the bloody hell did you of all people turn screw? You had it just as bad as the rest of us when you were in here. Bodybag gave you as much grief as she gives any of us. What made you think you could be better than the rest of us?" Nikki just stared at her. She'd known this moment would one day come, but not from whom it would emerge. Denny was questioning her right to be in the position she was in, questioning her crossing of the wire, perhaps her ultimate betrayal of who she once had been. "I took this job, Denny, precisely because I do know how bad things are. Is it so bad to want to improve what happens in a place like this, to make things better for you, for the Julies, Jesus, even for Al McKenzie? That's why I'm here, and that's why I'm trying to do the right thing." "Sorry, man," Denny said with a shrug. "It just sometimes feels like you've forgotten, you know?" "Denny, I promise you, that I won't ever forget what it was like to be an inmate in here. They were three of the most difficult years of my life, but if I ever for one moment forgot I'd had them, I would be betraying the only truly wonderful thing that's ever happened to me. Okay?" "What's going to happen to me?" Denny asked, very much unsure as to her future. "I'm keeping you on fifteen minute watch for the next few days, because I want to keep an eye on you. I also think it might be a good idea, if you move back into the four-bed dorm, so that you're not on your own. You'll be with Buki, Darlene and Tina. I'm not going to stop your visits, because I think that would be doing more harm than good, but I am giving you 42 days loss of spends, and I fully expect a swift improvement in your behaviour. The other thing that is an absolute must, is for you to make a formal apology to Miss Betts when she gets back from holiday. She could have died for you up there, Denny, and I need you to go away and think about that, because I'm hoping that it will stop you doing anything like that in the future. I also think it might be time," Nikki said slowly, knowing just how well this wasn't going to go down. "That you had some sort of counselling." "No way, man," Denny protested. "I ain't talking to no shrink." "Dr. Waugh's a nice guy," Nikki tried to persuade her. "Look, at least think about it." 

A good while later, when Gina had escorted Denny back to the wing, Sylvia appeared, looking both uncertain and yet defiant. Nikki had Sylvia's personnel file open on her desk, and was flipping through its fairly voluminous contents. "Doesn't look all that impressive, does it," She said, when Sylvia came in and closed the door. "Oh, and I suppose yours looks lily white in comparison," Sylvia retorted. "Yeah, it does, since my second appeal," Nikki told her, only just resisting the urge to break into a smile. "But then that's probably because I haven't had enough verbal and written warnings to repaper the entire wing, with a demotion into the bargain. You've led a colourful life behind bars, Sylvia, I'll give you that." "At least I've always been behind them for the right reasons," Sylvia spat, her anger now removing any of her previous restraint. "Oh, what was that then," Nikki demanded. "To belittle anyone who didn't quite come up to your scrutiny, or to take out your grudges against the world on the people supposedly in your care, whilst putting in as little real effort as possible." "I've given fifteen years to this service," Sylvia stated vehemently. "God knows how," Nikki responded immediately. "Though I'm guessing that your tenuous connections with your much loved union might have something to do with it. Tell me, Sylvia, when Karen gave me a blank cheque as to your discipline for yesterday's debacle, what do you think she might have had in mind?" "Daniella Blood stole my keys," Sylvia protested. "What was I supposed to do?" "Look after them, I would have thought," Nikki replied almost calmly. "Because they are after all your only way out of here. So, again, what do you suppose I should do with you? Because even the threat of demotion, together with your very last written warning, doesn't seem to make you learn your lesson." "You've been waiting for this, haven't you," Sylvia rounded on her, leaning over the desk, presumably trying to threaten the woman she'd once put in strips. "Sylvia, I'm just trying to do a very difficult job," Nikki replied, not allowing Sylvia's proximity or venom to get to her. "You know, that old excuse that I've heard you use on more than one occasion. The point is, that yesterday wasn't the first time you've lost your keys to a prisoner. It was in fact the third, which tells me that you have a problem." "Oh, and I suppose I should be grateful that you can't give me days in segregation like the rest of them?" "Yes, perhaps you should," Nikki told her, now beginning to lose her patience. "So, what I do have planned for you, will not only keep you working at the pace required of you, but might teach you to pay attention to detail in your work, something that I feel has been distinctly lacking for a very, long, time. You are being put under supervision by a senior officer, and will be given one year's probation. If, at the end of this time, your work has improved, along I might add with your general attitude, the supervision will no longer be necessary, and you will be re-instated at the officer grade you are now at. If, however, you are still displaying your current, highly pathetic attempt at your duties as a prison officer, we will very seriously have to consider letting you go, and please don't think I'm joking." "Not even Madam's ever done something like this," Sylvia said venomously, unconsciously giving Karen the name she'd always accorded her behind her back. "Which makes it all the more ingenious then, doesn't it," Nikki replied, nailing Sylvia to the spot. "The only other thing you need to know, is the name of the officer who has been assigned to be your supervisor. Having known Gina Rossi for years, I'm sure you'll have no problems working with her." "What?" Sylvia demanded in horror. "You heard me," Nikki replied firmly. "Now get out." As Sylvia almost stumbled from the room, Nikki gave Helen's picture a thumbs up, the face in the frame that she always kept on her desk, almost appearing to give her a sly little wink, to tell her that she'd been right to do what she'd done. 


	186. Part One Hundred And Eighty Six

Part one Hundred and Eighty Six Lauren stretched her legs out sleepily full length in this gorgeously comfortable luxurious space that she was suspended in. Somehow the screws must have had a day off and that suited her just fine, as for once in her life that she could take her time getting up in the morning. Thank God they weren't clomping around the landing, shouting and clanking cell doors open and shut. All the other prisoners were dead quiet as well. This was sheer unexpected bliss. Her blanket felt much softer and thicker padded than usual. She turned over on her back with plenty of space to spare without falling out of her bunk so she could explore its unexpectedly generous diagonal dimensions which was much more congenial to the human body than normal. She wasn't exactly complaining especially as the more she woke up, the rougher she felt, as if she had hit all the nightclubs in a twenty mile vicinity combined with a pub crawl down the high street. It couldn't be the case as she was behind bars, wasn't she.

She blinked one sleepy eye open but, instead of the drab puke coloured painted brickwork, a vision of dazzling white space greeted her. It was as if she had gone to heaven in the most decadently luxurious bedroom known to women, as her bleary eyes first focussed on an enormous dressing table complete with an impossibly wide mirror. Instead of the cramped postage stamp of a wardrobe that she shared with Denny, a wardrobe spanning the entire width of the room came into view. She thought the 3s were the height of luxury but this was ridiculous.

"Thank God Bodybag's not come to wake me up. I'll have to miss breakfast after all," mumbled Lauren sleepily.  
"You stupid cow you're back home. Home at last," Broke in the one morning greeting that was dearest of any voice that she could possibly hear.

As her senses sharpened, she realised to a sense of huge relief that, in fact, she was in her own bedroom and that she had somehow come home. Lauren could see Yvonne's smiling face hovering somewhere above her and diagonally to the side. The tone of voice was pure Yvonne, loud banter merging into infinitely gentle and warm-hearted mother love.

"So I am? How did I get here? I don't remember. I feel rough," Mumbled Lauren. Last night's memories were like a jigsaw that was hopelessly jumbled up. No fragment was sensibly attached to anything else. "So you bloody ought to be. You put away enough booze last night so that Cassie and Roisin had to carry you up the stairs. Nothing like making up for lost time." "I swear never to touch another drop." "So they always say till the next time. Which was why you've got a cup of black coffee, a tumbler of water to stop you dehydrating and a glass of Alka Seltzer." Lauren managed to squint at what looked like a tray and gradually eased her way up onto the pile of soft pillows. This definitely is not Larkhall as all she got was a flattened token effort of a head support.  
"You don't have to get up yet, Lauren. Take your time." Yvonne's eyes were filled with tenderness for the house to be filled up with her nearest and dearest. Last night finally ended up as a loving reunion where those still separated from them were still missed but Cassie and Roisin, Nikki and Crystal and Josh were dearer than anything. Her natural instincts drew others to her to share that spirit in her which overflowed from her and which she longed to give to others. Her Lauren was back home and she would realise all her dreams of this moment. It was strange that she had longed for this moment for so long that it wasn't quite real that it had come to pass at last. Lauren looked peaceful, so innocent in a way that she could not express in words.

"That's great. No morning call after all."

Yvonne laughed out loud but remembered her own reactions when she first got out. She had got used to freedom, including the freedom to be on your own when sometimes you don't want it. She discreetly left Lauren to it for when she was ready to face the day. As she sat downstairs, she could sense her presence above and that gap in her house was at last filled. Meanwhile Lauren propped herself up in bed and she sipped her first cup of ground coffee. It tasted delicious to her taste buds, so used to stewed tea, and this told her what the taste of freedom meant. So did lying in bed for as long as she decided and nobody else.

Glancing to one side beside her bed, she had one more treat for the senses and that was to see Trigger sprawled full length, a huge black shape with one ear cocked for when one of his long lost mistresses would surface. He resolved to be as good as gold, at least for the first day, and to watch protectively over her while she goes through the strange process of "getting up." He knew that dogs are much more sensible, one quick stretch and frisk around and he's always up and ready in no time and he had to tolerate these strange human quirks but it was worth it for his mistress to be back and to add to his pack of which he was undisputed leader. He could afford to lie there, be cool and radiate quiet authority, as you need a human around or two to pose for. It did his ego good.

An hour later, Lauren padded downstairs in her nightie and slippers, looking forward to the delicious luxury of being able to slob around for whenever she felt like and settled down in an armchair. She was beginning to feel as if she was attached to the house or it to her and didn't feel quite so transplanted there. Trigger padded downstairs likewise, sometimes brushing against Lauren and criss crossing in front of her and plonked himself down right next to her. An utter feeling of peace and tranquillity and completeness descended on the house, far different from Yvonne's feelings of misery and loneliness last winter. "Have you thought what you'll do first today?" "I don't know," Lauren answered, her mind fogged. She was used to looking watchfully around her, what might come round the corner, what scheme that evil cow Natalie Buxton might have in mind or what pathetic remark Bodybag might come out with. It would take her time to adjust to the reality of being able to drop her guard and be able to do anything she wanted……. "I think I might go for a swim in the pool if that is OK." "What's stopping you, Lauren?" "Nothing….I guess," Came her confused reply. "……..I think I'll take it easy and hang around a bit. Nothing too drastic, first day." "Sounds fine." Yvonne was conscious that Lauren seemed very tentative, very uncertain in her movements with none of that edge and precision that she was used to from more prison visits than she cared to remember. Instead of that splurge of conversation that poured out from both of them in that short, precious period of visiting time, their conversation was sporadic and dealt with commonplace matters like the weather today. She looked closely at Lauren with infinite understanding. It started to dawn on Yvonne that Lauren was here in her house with no threat or fear of the police suddenly descending on them for that period of madness in Lauren's life. She blinked as it didn't seem quite real.  
"Have a read of the magazines." Yvonne offered her the range of what she had in the magazine rack. Lauren approached it very tentative, surprised at the range of them, instead of some dog eared fifty times read last week's edition of all the gossip. She couldn't make up her mind which one to pick for a full five minutes.

"I think I'll have a swim in the pool," Lauren said at length. That felt a little stranger to her to be able to say it, even more as this was something that she would not have thought of as being a decision.  
"I'll sit out on the terrace." Trigger's sharp ears picked up the indication of a decision. Thank God someone had made up their minds or else he would have to indulge himself in a spot of animal type hinting. He didn't want his long lost mistress out of his sight for one second in case those nasty humans come back and drag her away again. He wouldn't put it past them.

Lauren took in the full view of the back garden for the first time and the sheer space took her breath away. The swimming pool and the steps down to them looked like a picture she had seen in some celebrity magazine at Larkhall, impossibly remote and glamorous except that she was now living the dream. But this was the home she had grown up in, she reasoned to herself. In her confusion, a distant memory floated to the surface of how Denny looked when she came here for the day. The poor kid must have felt as if she were the poor relation being overwhelmed by luxury beyond her dreams. She didn't think she showed it but she must have been a moody stuck up cow who picked a fight with mum and all for falling in love with Karen or Miss Betts or whoever she's supposed to call her now. It all happened in that very same back garden until she dragged mum away somewhere. How absurd she must have seemed as mum had the good taste to fall for someone who isn't a complete egotistical bastard. Now she knew how Denny felt.  
"She is going to be all right, Denny I mean," Lauren appealed to her mother.  
"She's in good hands. Remember, she's got Karen and Nikki to keep an eye on her. I know that you feel guilty at being in the lap of luxury while Denny's stuck inside." Lauren nodded assent. She could not put it into words.  
"I seriously wonder if that was part of the reason why Nikki went back there. I understand her perfectly if she did. I still think of the Julies stuck there year after year……" Yvonne said in a reflective mood, staring at the far horizons.  
"…….now you have a good swim and enjoy yourself. I'll sunbathe on the terrace." She added as she had spoken many times before, taking Lauren's towel off her.

Lauren stepped forward to the edge of the pool and plunged into the pool with one elegant forward movement. Christ, it was fresh and bracing. She laughed as she emerged and rapidly struck out to swim the length of the pool while Trigger looked onwards. She hadn't swum in ages but it felt so good. The water flowed past her in some kind of cleansing process and her arms and legs pulled her through the water in the best-known exercise that really tones up her muscles. The blue sky shone overhead and she had fragmentary glimpses of her mother, Trigger, the house in the background and the splendid greenery of her back garden. The sharp bracing water dispelled the last foggy traces of too much booze last night. She was young and alive and, thank god, she had a future. She owed it to the others to make the most of it.

Meanwhile Yvonne made her way back to the recliner and stared at Lauren while she splashed around in the pool. Trigger, torn between which human to watch over, eventually lay on his side, his legs splayed out in different directions keeping one eye on the pool and mopping up the heat. Yvonne stretched herself along the length of her recliner and popped her sunglasses on and read odd bits out of the magazine but her eyes kept darting occasionally to the pool much as Trigger did. It felt like a normal day to her or the sort of normality that she had striven for. 


	187. Part One Hundred And Eighty Seven

Part One Hundred and Eighty Seven

Karen was waiting in a bar in the departure lounge of the huge complex of Heathrow Airport, feeling transplanted from her natural environment. It all felt unreal from the moment that she stepped into that vast echoing space with the expensive refreshment areas, the cheap plastic chairs, anchored down where stranded tourists could slouch and fidget impatiently at the interminable delay. Overhead hung the vast overhead screens advertising a bewildering number of incoming and outgoing flights. It was like a huge railway terminal blown up many sizes. In the distance beyond the glass door of the bar, she had previously checked in with her luggage and had seen the duly labelled shapes slide away from her to be taken on board the aircraft. All it left her was her hand luggage consisting of an assortment of items including suntan lotion, the latest Harry Potter book she had seen displayed conveniently in the W H Smiths bookstall and likewise, a selection of magazines. Her sunglass case was perched on the top.

While she was waiting, she found it incredibly hard to switch off her busy mental timetable and deadlines and where that didn't crowd out her thoughts the twin images of Yvonne's generosity of heart and George's sad understanding floated through her mind.  
To help her relax, she knocked back the generous measure of vodka and lemon in her glass to be ready for the flight and who knows what lay before her. In the bar, soft music played to relax the nervous traveller and because it was obligatory in any public place anyway. For once in her life, she started to listen to the music instead of shoving it in the background as she normally did on the pretext that she had more important things to do. This time, she had no excuse but to let the world flow past her eyes and ears and absorb everything her fast paced lifestyle had denied to her.

The lilting keyboards and the gentle rhythmic percussion broke in on her waking ears and that tender lullaby tone beguiled her thoughts away into the vision of faraway lands, the narrator's real generosity of spirit of imagining sights and scenes not seen. It could have been George in her mind's eye, who was playing the piano and singing the song to her from her office right in the heart of Knightsbridge. She would soon be flying into the sky, if not over her head but within spotting distance of the distant blur of London from way up in the sky. "Daniel is travelling tonight on a plane I can see the red tail lights heading for Spain Oh and I can see Daniel waving goodbye God it looks like Daniel, must be the clouds in my eyes

They say Spain is pretty though I've never been Well Daniel says it's the best place that he's ever seen Oh and he should know, he's been there enough Lord I miss Daniel, oh I miss him so much."

A tear prickled her eye at the gentle selfless narration. She would be coming back to earth on her return but she needed this break. No one was objecting, not even herself.

Once inside the massive tube shaped area, she found the row of seats that pleased her and happened to be next to the window. It was a very long time since she had been up on an aircraft and she felt pale already compared to the sun bronzed self assured travelers hell bent on pleasure on their 18 to 30 travel package plan, complete with sun, sea and sex in abundance. Oh yes, she had forgotten the endless line of nightclubs with their attractions. Quite by chance, she had slid into an 'observing mode' of other passengers, what their clothes, mannerisms, and conversations told of themselves. She had not done this for a long time, to travel completely without ties. The last time she had flown was as part of a couple, with………….. A sudden nightmare thought hit her and Karen screwed up her eyes and her mind at the dangerous direction she had let her thoughts slide. She was pushing it away as desperately as once she was struggling to push him away. She was on the verge of hyperventilating while being painfully aware that the rest of the happy holidaymakers would be totally oblivious to her. There was one other person who she knew whose voice was now silenced and should stay forever silenced. He should not come back ever to haunt her and this man was not Ross.

"Good morning, passengers, you are flying with Captain Smith as your captain in the flight from Heathrow to Alicante. We shall be taking off in about fifteen minutes time."

Karen opened her eyes to look all around her at the anonymous line of passengers sitting next to her and the shuffling queues of late passengers looking for a seat. For once in her life, Karen blessed this bright empty voice, which interrupted her just in time to steer her away from such a dangerous train of thought by its sheer banality. It broke the spell in which she was in danger of being caught up. This was precisely what she was traveling to escape from. She drew several enormous breaths of sheer relief at the impeccable timing of the interruption. After all, she reasoned, as she started to calm down, she had not been factually correct. The very last time she flew was when she traveled on her own after her relationship with Mark fell apart and so did the idea for a holiday together. That was a tenser period in her life but was more dealable with. She was on her own then and she was on her own now. That gave her great cause for satisfaction, she thought, nodding to herself. She was a million miles away from that time in her life, so she reassured herself and she had her future to look forward to, not her past.

As she felt herself returning to normal, she allowed herself to be eagerly caught up in the here and now, in that heightened sense of anticipation of waiting for take off. Finally that rising pitch in whining jet engines and that sudden lurch told her that they were bumping along the runway. Suddenly her stomach lurched as the power of the engines finally blasted the passenger aircraft up off the ground and the cabin inclined upwards, climbing for height. She saw the ground gradually fall away from her and the rooftops and postage stamp gardens gradually diminish in size. She was away and there was no turning back from her destiny.

A couple of hours later, the plane descended at the other end of its trajectory and Karen sat back and indulged herself in the pleasures of the flight. It was strange to sit back while an attractive girl pushed the trolley of in flight catering and to reflect that, for once, she could surrender herself to someone else's responsibility. Looking at her from behind her sunglasses, she was able to eye up the girl without being noticed. It was a totally new experience to taste the excellently cooked meal, eaten off the fold down tray. A suddenly renewed curiosity about life made her look out of the round window at the intense blue sky and fluffy clouds. Looking down from the aircraft, they were pure white and floated gently past her at different layers except for the high thin tracery pattern at a dizzying height way over her head. She felt on top of the world. In intervals from this dazzling exposure to light, she rested her eyes , glanced at the magazines and made casual bland pointless polite conversation with the couple sat next to her who had seemingly traveled to every part of the globe. At least no life or death matters resulted from what she said or did.

The process passed in a blur by which she gathered her belongings and passed through the less grand and much used, slightly battered looking Alicante airport. What she remembered most was the sheer blast of hot air as soon as she stepped out of the departure lounge and the flurry of people milling about. This was definitely a foreign country where cars displayed different number plates and the traditional British religion of polite queuing went straight out of the window. Clumps of people were waiting to find their courier guides and the coach. Karen was lucky as Yvonne had sorted out Karen's transport in the same way that Atkins business was always arranged. Soon, she was traveling along the crazily narrow hairpin bends through parched, rocky mountainous scenery and past innumerable little stone cottages, bleached white by the eternal sun. The car swayed and lurched and the driver sounded his horn as an early warning device to the car coming round the blind corner from the opposite direction, oblivious of oncoming danger. Once Karen got over the initial bout of nervousness, she let it all flow over her as she did anything else. She was beginning to see that there were virtues in not striving for control.

At last, the car pulled up with a slight grating sound on the pebbly coastal road and a perfectly formed Spanish villa appeared before her eyes. This just had to be Yvonne's villa. The white painted bungalow was set off by green painted wooden shutters, designed to blank out the intense glare of the full summer heat rather than the way the large English windows were designed to beg the uncertain English sunshine to bless them. It is only this variable weather that creates the archetypal English conversation opener about the weather. What took her breath away was the sudden sight of the blue Mediterranean sea, stretching its gold glinted way into the distance with barely a ripple of wind on the water. To the side, a jagged headland descended its way dramatically down from the high cliff top to plunge into the sea. Open mouthed at the beauty, Karen stepped out in her loose sandals forward to where there was a clearer view and a delightful old fashioned village nestled in the shelter of the headland, utterly unspoiled by a rash of high rise hotels which civilization immediately clustered and overran any picturesque village as soon as it was discovered. The choice of villa was testimony to Yvonne's immaculate taste and that, in letting her borrow the villa, Yvonne knew what she was doing. 

In broken English, the driver offered to help Karen with her belongings and his wife emerged from the villa. Karen stepped forward to be effusively greeted and treated as the honoured guest who was a friend of Yvonne and, as such, was treated to a guided tour of the villa. The villa combined what was best in the bare but functional and all the more attractive for it. The decorations were all the more beautiful in being set against the white paintwork and the exquisite tiled floors. The kitchen was a little home from home, which Karen took in at a glance and her bedroom commanded a perfect view of the bay that was therapy in itself. Out from a side door, lay the terrace and, stepped down the slope down the cliff lay the swimming pool at the back. 

"But how do I get out and about? I can surely not ask your husband to drive me around. That would not be fair," Karen protested at the one flaw in the paradise that was being offered to her.  
Smiling, the woman pointed out the little white Fiat runabout at the side of the house. Left hand drive though it was, if Yvonne can get herself around, then she can too. That offered her freedom to go where she wanted to go.

While she had steeped herself in the present for the first time in her life, she noticed that she was on her own. There was utter peace around her as she sat out on the terrace and basked in the heat. As time went on, she felt her skin start to feel warm and she realized that this was the first sign of incipient sunburn. She made her way inside to the deliciously cool interior and slipped off her shoes. Instantly, her feet felt deliciously cool to the touch and the still latent industrious side of her set to work to unpack her case, hang her clothes up in the built in wardrobe with slatted doors. She slipped her mobile into a desk drawer and clicked it off. She noticed with only faint surprise that this was the first time since she had bought a mobile that she felt safe in disconnecting herself from the world. A faint memory made her smile of Nikki's stern face telling her on no account to worry about what was happening to her prison or she would play hell with her. She smiled affectionately as only Nikki could talk to her that way. Pride of place on her little bedside table, she placed her book, The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy, ready for some night time reading. She applied sun tan lotion to her face and her bare arms so that she would not become the archetypal English tourist to burn up red on the second day.

Karen strolled casually down the open staircase to the kitchen and helped herself to a bottle of wine from the well-stocked fridge. She inserted the corkscrew and levered off the cork. She poured herself a large glass of wine and she sat out on the terrace in the glorious sunshine and silently drank a toast to absent friends. She felt at peace with herself as everyone who mattered knew where she was and she was under long distance Atkins protection. That was good enough for her. 


	188. Part One Hundred And Eighty Eight

Part One Hundred and Eighty Eight

In Yvonne's eyes, Lauren looked fresher, sharper and more certain of herself than the very first day when she was back home. This was the life, she thought, back to the good old days. This was a curiously labelled part of her life, one, which was wedged between the aftermath of Ritchie's suicide, and the nightmare that started with Fenner's death. Fortunately, time was a healer and was softening the sharp edges of both events. As these were the good old days that she should have had, then Yvonne was all the more determined to enjoy the present and at last had Lauren to enjoy it with. What better way could there be but a spot of retail therapy?  
"Come on Lauren. Put your glad rags on. We're going shopping." Yvonne's carrying voice met Lauren as she was half way down the stairs and rang out from another room.  
Lauren felt dazed as the full meaning of her mother's words sank home. She meant here, at this minute, right now? Her mouth opened but refused to speak.  
"Hey, give your mum a chance to spend some money on herself as well as you. We'll enjoy it together." "Oh, very well," Lauren intoned vaguely. Once again, she was following orders even if it was for her pleasure, a little voice inside herself told her.  
"Is there any post for me?" "Don't worry, the Inland Revenue ain't coming after you as you've dropped off the map as far as they know." Yvonne's cheery answer was delivered with a wicked grin as she came in sight of Lauren.  
"I mean, the appointment with the psychiatrist like the judge said." "Hey, there's nothing wrong with you. Nothing that a few days of good living won't put right and that includes Harvey Nichols. He's the best shrink in town that I've ever known," Yvonne joked.  
"I mean it, mum. I've only just got back into the outside world. I don't think I'm out of the woods. Just remember what they said at the trial." Yvonne mentally pushed that away from her as something that would be faced whenever. She was ready down to her immaculate makeup and soon Lauren bustled herself and was ready in short order. Prison had at least sharpened up her ability in that respect. Yvonne glanced at her daughter and noted that she looked a little washed out but there was nothing that couldn't be fixed.

"You drive, mum," Lauren answered firmly. "I want to take my time to get back into the swing of things. I don't want to wrap your Ferrari round a lamp post."

Lauren started feeling a little strange, as they got further towards the big city. Her mother was smiling as she drove, threading her way confidently through the busy lanes and built up traffic. Lauren's eyes were fixated in horror as the lorry moved ahead of her in the inside lane and the huge cliff like shape of it towered over her and came dangerously close to her and in danger of grazing the side of the car. What was worse, the relative movements weren't smooth and flowing but jerky, as if seen at an old fashioned cinema with a badly running film.

"You all right, Lauren." Yvonne asked out of the side of her mouth.  
"I'm fine. Really," Said Lauren, her glassy smile convincing no close scrutiny, least of all hers. She hunched herself down in the passenger seat and inclined her vision to look at Yvonne's side of the road. She ought to be enjoying herself, she reasoned to herself, she had gone into town with her mother many times before.

When they turned into a multi storey car park, Lauren was plunged into this dark cavernous space, lined with dirty grey concrete. The sharp turns up the ramp three floors up from where they entered made her dizzy. At last, to her relief, they came to a halt.

"You lead the way, mum," Lauren said faintly. She desperately sought to keep up with Yvonne's rapid strides as she made their way to the gaping opening that seemed set to swallow up streams of shoppers. They all moved forward with an almost manic confidence in contrast to her faltering mood. She was caught up in the rush of strangers all around them and sucked up into the narrow channel. Yvonne was majestically confident and edged them across the stream of people to what her sharp eyes had spotted. Suddenly, they were swept into the glossy vastness of Miss Selfridge, which spread opulence in a stream before her, rack after rack on display offering a bewildering range of clothes of all colours and styles. Was she supposed to make a single choice from this impossibly vast range of options? The prospect was terrifying.  
"What do you want, Lauren. It's on me." "I wouldn't mind some perfume and make up. Let me take it easy." "Take it easy? That's what you do after you spend." To Lauren's ears, her mother's enthusiasm seemed to be strident and pressed down on her with unnatural force even if it was for her benefit.  
"Just till I get used to things. This is a far cry from the Julie's sewing room," Pleaded Lauren. Her nerve ends felt as if they were standing off her skin on stalks and a feeling of sheer indescribable panic was welling up inside of her. She desperately needed to make her mother understand what she was feeling without screaming it out loud. She could start to feel sweaty all over.  
"What on earth's happening to you Lauren?" "Just too much, too soon," Mumbled Lauren and she could feel the room swim round her with the incessant sound of voices, the glittering lights and the people pushing past her, oblivious to everyone. A feeling of weakness rose up inside her and suddenly the world switched off and disappeared into oblivion.

It felt like ages later that she was vaguely aware of the faintest sensations of being limply laid out in a nearly flat comfortable position, unable to move. She had been on a long journey somewhere. Out of the haze of sound and vision, her mother's anxious voice and that of a man starting to become clear.  
"She's coming round. Nothing to worry about, Mrs. Atkins. She just had a funny turn. I've checked her over but there's nothing wrong that I can see." "You're sure. My Lauren is as strong as they come. She's never done anything like this in her life." Lauren's eyes looked over and a paramedic in his yellow uniform was talking to her mother as if she were little again. Her eyesight became clearer as she took in her surroundings.  
"Try sitting up a bit and sipping a glass of water, Lauren." She spat out a little of the water back into the beaker but she could gradually feel her spirits reviving.  
"Let her rest for a bit and she may feel like moving but she ought to take it easy." "You've got some colour in your cheeks. When you came in here, you looked as white as a sheet." Added a third concerned voice.  
She took in the shape connected with the voice who had spoken these last words, a middle aged woman in the usual assistant outfit who was obviously concerned and had helped Yvonne carry her through to the back of the shop. Her instinctive kindness made Lauren feel that there was generosity all around her. It was just that her upbringing of Charlie's grand egotistical schemes had not made her feel receptive to the idea of it being a normal part of life. It was not just confined to prison or her real friends but casual strangers would step in and help.  
"I'm really sorry about rushing you around like this. I should have known better." Yvonne's eyes were clouded with real regret. She could kick herself for letting her enthusiasm run away with her. Lauren could sense those feelings. "Let's take it easy, mum. Give me ten minutes and I'll be ready to move if the doctor says I can." Her time in Larkhall had chipped away at any sense of embarrassment she might have felt at making an apparent exhibition of herself in public. It had taught her that life's events will happen and to respond to what was really important and to disregard the rest.  
She left off trying to move until she was sure that she was strong enough and then climbed a little shakily to her feet.  
"You look after her", the shop assistant urged her.

"Mum, I don't want to sound like an ungrateful cow but all I really feel like getting today is a pair of jeans, a top and some makeup and getting the hell out of here. I'm not really up to 'shopping till I drop.' Maybe in time but not now." They were sitting in a corner in a nearby McDonalds, which was noisy enough but was at least comparatively small and had that banal quality which wasn't overwhelming. Queuing up for a Big Mac meal with diet coke with the teenagers was on a whole other level than choosing designer clothes at Harvey Nicholls.The choices were simpler, more circumscribed and that was what appealed to Lauren right now.  
"I'm happy with whatever you want, Lauren," Came Yvonne's incredibly tender reply.  
"I'm glad that I've only got you to pay for today. Ritchie used to be a greedy little sod when he was little when I used to take you here. Even then, he could charm a second helping out of me and never put on any weight." "No justice is there, mum." Lauren joined in Yvonne's throwaway humour. The words brought back memories all right. It was like both of them to remember the light hearted, more trivial moments and to steer away from the more recent fraught memories of him. They both let the time drift on and the noisy background clatter stayed where it was, in the background. The shops weren't exactly going to disappear in front of their eyes.  
"I'm ready mum but let's take our time."

They both strolled out of that archetypal American monument to bad taste eating that had colonised the world. Lauren freely admitted that it was cheap and plastic but the taste of the food was something that went back to her childhood. It was a basic insecurity in Lauren that made her crave any apparently insignificant good memory in her past. She certainly understood that craving in her and if it meant ignoring the Atkins sense of style, then so be it.

The rest of the day progressed more smoothly. Yvonne's eye kept darting to one side just as she used to years ago to check that Lauren and Ritchie weren't lost in the crowds only this time, to make sure that Lauren wasn't emotionally lost. Her active sense of guilt reproached her for overlooking that possibility earlier on. If it meant that she had to treat Lauren as if she were walking on eggshells, then that was what a mother had to do. In the shop, Lauren admired herself as the pair of jeans fitted herself to perfection. She had lighted on the first pair of jeans, which caught her eye, and Yvonne bit back the suggestion that she try a few more shops before finally selecting her choice. In a low-key way, they wandered round a few of the shops, Yvonne selecting a top, which caught her eye.

"You ready to go home?" Yvonne asked to which Lauren nodded. She had managed better than she had feared and the mere periodic edginess was a million miles reduced from that overwhelming feeling of mental and physical collapse of before. She felt footsore but was satisfied to have achieved what she had done. She was ready for home and the walk back to the car was easier as the crowds seemed to have thinned out. She slumped in the car and was happy being driven home like she always used to be way back when.

Trigger greeted them enthusiastically when they returned and when they had dumped their bags, Lauren went to pick up the rectangular buff envelope off the floor. It smacked of officialdom except for the personal manner of address on the front.  
"Well, mum, looks like I'm going to be kept busy. The psychiatrist I'm seeing is Meg Richards who saw me before the trial….and got to see right through me… At least I had the sense to open up to her….." Lauren looked thoughtful as she remembered the softly spoken, sympathetic woman who tapped into the very defensive, uptight and very afraid woman that she used to be. The other guy just didn't get it and was that bit too earnest for her liking.  
"……..I couldn't wish for anyone better…she's also attached to the local hospital and that's where I'll be seeing her. This is what the doctor or rather what the judge ordered like I said earlier on." "Well, it had to come," Yvonne said philosophically and then fell silent as the mention of her name prompted her to start searching her capacious memory. It was a name or a face or some distant memory that enabled her to get to the truth.  
"…….I think I've seen her before the trial come to think of it." "When did you know her before, mum?" "She was the shrink who took on some of Larkhall's most screwed up prisoners in one go, like Dockley for one. That's when Dockley went all funny." "I suppose she can't win them all." Lauren looked a little downcast at the woman whose sympathy had helped stop her being sent down for life being placed in authority over her. It made her feel a little uneasy and Yvonne picked up on it. "Just remember, don't think of it as something that if you fail on, they're going to run you straight back to Larkhall, but think of it of something you need for your sake. You're my daughter and I know you'll get through somehow." The husky emotion choked tone in Yvonne's voice was reassurance enough for Lauren fore the moment. The future was just another day. 


	189. Part One Hundred And Eighty Nine

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Eighty Nine

All day Saturday, George couldn't sit still. She flitted about the house, tidying things that were already in their usual place, removing dust that didn't exist, and generally finding anything to keep herself busy. John was coming to see her that evening, which meant that her time limit was up. She'd known that this day would eventually come, but did it really have to be now? Yes, of course it did, she told herself sternly, because Karen knew about it, and had asked her to put John fully in the picture. That was as good a reason as any, she supposed. The only problem with keeping one's hands thoroughly occupied with any number of menial tasks, is that one's brain has the time to ramble all over the place. George had rehearsed again and again what she should say to John, how she should phrase her involvement with Jo, but nothing sounded quite right. "John, me and Jo have become closer than you ever suspected." Well, that was bloody obvious, wasn't it, and it didn't make anything any plainer than it was right now. They had all grown closer over the last couple of years, closer than any clairvoyant could have predicted, judging by their previous encounters. "John, Jo and I have become lovers." This was a lie for a start, because she and Jo hadn't even slept together, well, not really, not in John's sense of the word. She didn't even know what Jo looked like without her clothes on. "John, you know the feelings I confessed having for Jo, well, it seems they are reciprocated." Oh god, that sounded far too much like something Daddy would say. This was stupid, she thought in despair. She was a barrister, for god's sake, someone who was used to the cut and thrust of legal argument. Not, therefore, someone who ought to be stuck for words, in a situation such as this. But Bar school was hardly the place for preparing to utterly shock your lover, now was it. Finally realising that there was nothing more she could do, she went upstairs and took a long, cool shower, hoping that the steadily flowing water might calm her down. But when she emerged, she felt just as on edge as she had before. This could go so badly, she knew that, because John's reaction to her news was as unpredictable as Daddy's reaction had been to the relationship between her and Karen. What if he were angry with her? What if he really did feel that she was trying to take Jo away from him? Well, she would have to deal with whatever arose, when it happened. 

When John arrived in the middle of Saturday evening, he couldn't help but be immensely curious. George obviously had something enormously difficult to tell him, and the fact that she'd needed someone else's permission to tell him only served to confuse him more. As he walked up the steps to the front door, he became aware of the sound of her piano. God, he hadn't heard her play in so many years. Apart from the time she'd sight-read the accompaniment to the love duet and made him sing, she'd always played when he wasn't in the vicinity. She was playing the Appassionata Sonata if he knew anything, and putting every ounce of stress out through her fingers. Removing the key that she'd never asked him to return from his pocket, he silently let himself in, using the cover of a particularly loud section of music to close the front door behind him. He could almost feel how tense she was through the music, the frantic bars of full-bodied chords, telegraphing just how anxious she was of the coming meeting. Standing perfectly still in the lounge doorway, he watched her, the mid-evening sunlight playing over her face, her gaze buried in the music before her, with her profile giving away her utter determination to get every note absolutely right. Her back was rigid with tension, but her arms and hands flowed with the music, showing him that she was trying to use the music as an outlet. 

George was perfectly aware of John's presence, the prickling of her senses telling her that she was no longer alone in her house, and the faint aroma of his aftershave letting her know for certain just who was behind her. But she kept on playing, knowing that she hadn't played for John in far too long, and if the following conversation went as badly as was possible, this might be the last chance she had. As she approached the final climactic bars of the piece, it was as if everything she had was crying out to him not to go, not to leave her when he'd heard what she had to say. There was a desperation in her playing, not something John could possibly miss. She feared what she had to tell him, he could hear that through her playing, and he could feel every throb of the nervous tension that was itching to escape. The last few bars, almost depicted the image of an approaching execution, that of the blade, ready to swing down and end what was between them, once and for all. 

When she finally stopped, her hands resting in her lap, she glanced over to where he was standing. "You haven't heard me play for quite a while, have you?" "No, not in far too long," He said, moving over to stand beside her. "You look a bit frazzled," He added, leaning down to kiss her. "Which is precisely why I played what I did," She said, resisting the urge to simply wrap her arms around him and refuse to let go. "Is what you've got to tell me quite so frightening?" "Yes," She replied glibly. "It's so stupid," She went on, refusing to look at him. "Because I knew that I would one day have to do this, I just don't think I'd planned on it being so soon, which again is stupid, because if Ross hadn't died, it would probably have come out even sooner." "George, you're rambling," He said, taking a seat in the armchair, directly opposite her so that she couldn't avoid his eyes from where she was sitting sideways on the piano stool. "I know," She said miserably. "But I need you to understand why this is so difficult for me to tell you. I have absolutely no idea how you're going to react, not something I'm used to with you. It's always possible that you could be overjoyed, but on the other hand, it could completely destroy everything that you, me, and Jo, have between us." "Are you pregnant, is that it?" He suggested, thinking that this certainly would have put her in to this sort of state, if she'd decided to tell him at all. "Good god, no," She said in relief. "It's not that, I promise. John, I don't want to lose you, but if this isn't what you want, then I can't help thinking that I might. Part of me wishes that I didn't have to tell you, that I could just let things go on as they have been, and if I were the only one this concerned, then I probably would, but it's not quite that simple." "George, whatever it is, I'm not going to be cross with you, I promise." "You don't know that, John," She said, with such certainty that he longed to reach out his arms and hold her. "Okay, but wouldn't it be easier to get it over with, and then to give me all the explanations you feel are necessary, if they really are?" "Yes, it probably would," She conceded. "But that's what so stupid about this, because I really don't know how to say this to you. I spend every day of my working life arguing for a living, yet I just can't find the right words to say something so simple." "And that really isn't like you," He said dryly, trying to put her at her ease. "No, it's not," She ruefully agreed. Getting up from the piano stool, she went into the kitchen and poured them both a glass of wine, knowing that she was finding yet another excuse to put off the inevitable. 

When she returned to the lounge and handed John his glass, it occurred to her that she probably oughtn't to be drinking on an empty stomach. She began walking round the lounge, picking things up and putting them down, quite obviously working up to dropping her bombshell. As she neared his chair, he caught hold of her hand, and drew her towards him. She didn't protest when he gently pulled her down onto his lap, or when he put his arms round her and kissed her. She loved being in his arms, because he had such a capacity for gentleness, not something one might have suspected from the way he usually treated women. "Just tell me," He said, softly stroking her cheek, seeing all too clearly that the strain was really getting to her. "Both Jo, and I, have feelings for each other, that neither of us ever expected." Now that it had finally been said, and even though this was only the tip of the iceberg, she knew that there was no going back. Her body stiffened, as if preparing for sudden flight, her whole existence suspended while she waited for his reaction. 

John just stared at her. "Both of you?" He asked in astonishment, having been aware of George's growing feelings for Jo, but not of Jo's for George. "Yes," She said a little uncertainly. As she tried to extricate herself from his arms, he tightened his hold on her. "Don't go," He said, holding her close to him. "I'm so sorry," She said, her eyes filling with tears. "Why?" He said, now thoroughly mystified. "I don't want you to feel, as though I'm trying to take Jo away from you." "Oh, George," He said gently, wiping a tear away with a finger. "I couldn't help it, and neither could Jo." "I knew you felt a lot more for Jo, than you really wanted to tell me, but I had no idea about her." "John, we didn't want to keep it from you, but it was the only way we could find out where it was going." "George, am I really so overbearing, that you had to keep something as important as this from me?" "No, of course not," She said firmly, now getting up from his knee before he could stop her. "This was forbidden territory for both of us, something Jo certainly isn't used to inhabiting. This was, is, so new for her, John, that it had to move at her pace, not mine, not yours, but Jo's. You must understand that." "Have you slept with her?" "No, not yet, at least not really," George told him, a slight blush tingeing her cheeks at the memory of the one night she had slept in Jo's bed. "So I'm assuming this issue has arisen fairly recently." "No, not as such," She said carefully, taking a seat on the sofa and lighting a cigarette. "Just start from the beginning," John said quietly, wanting, yet at the same time not wanting to know the details. "When I got very drunk, back at the end of April, me and Jo did an awful lot of talking. She told me a lot about when she first met you, which is something I think I've needed to hear for a considerable amount of time. John, you know how low I was that weekend, and when Jo figured out what I was up to, she was so angry with me, that I half expected her to slap me. I think she kissed me, because she was so relieved that she was there, and that I couldn't go through with what I had planned." "Jo, kissed you?" He asked, utterly astounded by this particular revelation. "Yes, and even though I was plastered, it was incredible. We talked about it, the day after, which was when we decided to simply leave things as they were, and see what happened. We didn't know if it was just a spur of the moment thing, or whether it would turn into something deeper." "The day of 'The Creation'," He said, clearly remembering something. "After I'd made you pass out, you said that this wasn't ever supposed to happen. You were talking about you and Jo, weren't you?" "Yes, I was. I knew I couldn't stop the progression of my feelings for Jo, and yet I also knew that I was in serious danger of hurting Karen, not to mention what you might feel. I almost told you that day, and if I'd thought Jo was remotely ready for you to know, I would have done." "Some time in May," He went on, the memories now beginning to resurface. "Jo had an intensely erotic dream that she wouldn't tell me about. I think that might have been about you." "Yes, it was," George told him. "She told me about it. It thoroughly confused her, because she knew that anything between the two of us would only make things even more complicated than they already were. But every time we saw each other, it just got worse. John, we couldn't have prevented this, no matter how hard we might have tried. You remember that phone call I had, on the morning of my birthday, when we were still in bed? You thought it was Karen, but it wasn't, it was Jo." "You don't do things by halves, do you," He said, a smirk just touching the corners of his mouth. He could remember that occasion only too well. He'd been touching George, teasing her to the point of screaming, because she was on the phone to someone else, and wasn't giving him her undivided attention. By the way she'd been talking, he had naturally assumed it was Karen, but it hadn't been Karen at all, it had been Jo. But as something else seemed to click into place, his eyes widened. "That's why you were so angry over the Chlamydia, wasn't it, not just because I'd caught it from someone young enough to be my daughter, but because I'd given it to Jo." "Yes, that did have an awful lot to do with it," She admitted. "John, that night, the night I slapped you, I spent that night with Jo." "I thought you said you hadn't slept with her," He put in, clearly a little confused. "Two people can spend the night in the same bed without having sex, John, even you know that." "The evening you came to see me at the digs after that, when we all spent the night together, all this would go some way to explain why Jo didn't bat an eyelid at finding you somewhat undressed," He said, neither confirming nor denying her assertion. "It didn't occur to me at the time to wonder about it, but I should have done. So many things, that I should have questioned when they happened, or more often than not didn't happen, and I didn't. It all makes sense now. I don't like being kept in the dark, George." "I know you don't," She said regretfully. "But there really was no other way. John, you mustn't blame Jo for any of this." "Why not?" He asked, his voice exuding hurt. "You've been itching to tell me for weeks, but Jo has completely kept me out of the loop on this one." "You mustn't be cross with her, because you love her," George said simply. "That's why I was incredibly worried about telling you. You have loved Jo absolutely without question, for near enough the last twenty years. I don't want anything to cast a shadow on what you feel for Jo, because even now, even after all this time, it's so thoroughly untainted that it makes anything else look pretty pointless. I need you to understand, that what you have with Jo, isn't in any way threatened by what I might feel for her." "Is that really how you see me and Jo?" He asked, never having heard his relationship described in such beautiful terms. "Yes," George said fondly. "Jo won't ever do anything that could either hurt or disappoint you, whereas I seem to manage that on a fairly regular basis. That's why I wanted to tell you without her here, because it would be easier in the long run for both of us, if any hurt or anger you felt about this, was taken out on me, not Jo." "To tell you the truth," John said carefully. "I'm not really sure what to think. I'm not angry with either of you. Yes, I am a little hurt that you waited until now to tell me, and I'm incredibly confused, but they are things that will probably be sorted out after a lot of thinking and a lot of straight talking, if that isn't a terrible pun. Most of the feelings I have about this are positive, because if this works out as I hope it will, I can't think of anything that would make me happier. However, I do have two negative responses to this, the first being Karen." "Yes, I know," George said quietly. "And it's because of Karen that I'm telling you now. I'm not sure how she managed to work it out, but she did, and I bitterly regret having to do this to her now. I know that I couldn't possibly have picked a worse time for it, and if she had still been ignorant of the matter, then I probably would have left it longer." "She's not stupid, George," John told her, thinking that this used to apply to him. "I know. We haven't really discussed it, but she wants me to go out to Spain for a couple of days, so that we can. Before she left, she asked me to tell you, because I think she wanted everything to finally be out in the open." "That's no surprise," John said gloomily. "George, there really wasn't any need for you to be so nervous of telling me." "John, I wouldn't do anything that might risk your going away from me," She said, with a depth of feeling in her voice that she rarely allowed him to hear. Getting up from his chair, he moved to sit beside her on the sofa, putting his arms round her and kissing her. "Who would have thought," He said with a broad grin. "That there would come a day, when Georgia Channing would have difficulty, in telling me something that let's face it, does originate from a sexual desire." "Oh, very funny," She said drolly. "And I suppose you'll be eagerly waiting for the day when you can entertain the two of us at once." "I can be patient," He said unconvincingly. "Well, you might have to be," She told him seriously. "Not wanting to cast aspersions on your sexual skill," He said between kisses. "Why haven't you slept with Jo?" "I would have done, the night I slapped you, but we couldn't because of the Chlamydia. Since then, well, with everything else that's happened recently, it hasn't really been what you might call a pressing concern. I want to get this absolutely right, and I'm terrified of not being good enough for her." "You were for Karen, weren't you?" He asked, touched that she wanted it to be as perfect as possible for Jo. "That's different," George said dismissively. "Karen taught me everything I know. Jo might love the idea, but end up loathing the reality." "Don't you believe it," John said with utter certainty. "The most explosive orgasm I've ever seen her have, was after that Sunday when she saw you and Karen together. I'm pretty sure she was thinking about you, the whole time I was making love to her. There's only one thing you need to keep in mind with Jo, and that's that it can sometimes take quite a while to get her going. As long as you've got all the time in the world, you'll be fine." "It's not often that I wish I was as confident, or should I say arrogant as you are," She said with a laugh. "But I think this might just be one of them." When John left to return to the digs a good while later, they both knew that there were still an awful lot of questions that hadn't been answered. John was still trying to take it in, and George was trying to piece together her shattered nerves. On the surface John seemed happy, or at the very least accepting of what she'd told him, but George knew that a long and sleepless night would likely be in store for him, crammed with fears, realisations, and even more questions. He'd said that he would leave talking to Jo until tomorrow, because he needed some time to allow the dust to settle. George was also aware that he had only told her of his one negative reaction to her news, even though he'd said there were two. Well, he'd obviously avoided telling her about it for a reason, but she would remind him of it tomorrow, as she was determined that no feeling of hurt, or rejection, or whatever it was he hadn't been able to tell her, would get in the way for lack of talking about it. 


	190. Part One Hundred And Ninety

Part One Hundred and Ninety

Bedtime for John, when it was a solitary occupation, was to him, a place of rest and contemplation. It took him peacefully into the void so that he emerged, recharged the next day. Tonight would prove an unpleasant and unexpected exception.

He had buried himself for a while in reading the case notes for a forthcoming trial and digested the essential points, which he committed to the one place that was safe and sure, his memory. He had taken a break from too much close concentration by taking Mimi for a walk much to her delight. When he got back home, he had turned to his watch and clicked on his TV, which featured an old black and white cowboy film of the sort he enjoyed. He lay back in his chair and watched the hero wearing the white hat gallop furiously past the bluff outcrop of rock that towered into the sky and hell bent in pursuit of the villain of the piece, his black hat slanted over his eye who occasionally turning round and his gun cracked a shot past the hero's ears in a way that John could feel. He could relate to the film and lose himself in that sense of urgency. Finally, the last thing at night, which he turned to, was the majestic and sweeping strings and faint harpsichord of Vivaldi's "The four seasons." So why was he later lying in bed, his mind as sharp and alert as if he were in court, his eyes wide awake and the bed, for once damned uncomfortable and feeling out of sorts with his body? This was highly unusual, so he reasoned to himself, and totally unwelcome for a Saturday night when he needed to recharge his batteries ready for the next week in court. He lay on his back, staring at the straight geometric lines of the ceiling as it slanted away from him but that didn't work. He had never slid off to sleep lying on his back anyway.

After a while, he concluded that this situation was absurd and ridiculous and had never happened to him before. There must be a rational explanation for it. He should be able to switch off his mind and just glide away but the more he got annoyed with a perverse situation, the more his mind remained unsettled. The more he tried to will himself to sleep, the less he was able to do so. His body started to twist and turn around as he wrestled with his recalcitrant mind, which would not let him be. He tried this for perhaps twenty minutes before he realised that his iron will had, for once, met his match. There had to be another way.

As he rested and stared at the amorphous blackness out there, cool reason started coming to his aid. For a start, the pillows might be uncomfortable or his sleeping position might not be as it should be or he had not taken as much exercise as he might have done, for example fencing. He could hardly do press ups this time of night so he tried his hand at practical analysis of the situation. In the end, he got out of bed and considered how inadequate it may be as an aid to rest and relaxation. For a start, the pillows were all twisted and flattened and for another, the quilt was disarranged. He set to work to straighten that out until everything was smooth and symmetrical. At last, he swept aside the corner of the quilt and with a sigh of satisfaction, stretched back on the cool surface and waited for sleep to take him over. It was in this more restful physical state that odd snippets of conversations started to float their way into his reduced level of consciousnessHe .

"Both of you?" The words popped into his mind, his astonishment at this time as sharp edged as when he had first heard the words from an incoherent George. This was a reference to the evening before which he had thought he had satisfactorily blotted out….blotted out….in the press of business.  
At once, he cursed himself for using those words. They made him sound as if he had something to hide from himself, that needed investigating by his own sure mind, seeking out the truth. He was just tired and had worked himself too hard, even in the evening, which was not his habit.  
George's face swam before his eyes, unbidden. She was openly afraid of him and terrified of upsetting his feelings. That accounted for the roundabout way she had broached the matter. She had said, "You have loved Jo absolutely without question, for near enough the last twenty years. I don't want anything to cast a shadow on what you feel for Jo, because even now, even after all this time, it's so thoroughly untainted that it makes anything else look pretty pointless. I need you to understand, that what you have with Jo, isn't in any way threatened by what I might feel for her." Yes, he had been touched by the delicate way George had spoken of his feelings for Jo. It had touched him at the time. He had been steadfast for Jo in his own fashion and she had been the unacknowledged rock of security in his existence for so many years. It had never crossed his mind before, not even when the last couple of years had brought him so much closer to George than he had been for many years. "I'm not really sure what to think. I'm not angry with either of you. Most of the feelings I have about this are positive, because if this works out as I hope it will, I can't think of anything that would make me happier." He had spoken those measured words to reassure George and himself. Surely the portrait of him as some unapproachable monster was not as he would have portrayed himself. He was a rational being and always had been. The problem was that, left alone at night, he did not always manage to fool, or rather reassure himself. In the daylight hours, he could pretend to be the suave, sophisticated man and let the mirrored image of himself reflect back that impression. The trouble was that at nighttime, the truth will out. He carried on wrestling with his anxieties, of being alone, of those who he held dear being suddenly snatched from him in circumstances that were beyond his control, both as a man and as a judge. He tried his best to sleep until, worn out with his anxieties, he drifted off into vague unpleasant reveries which he could not frame or shape in his mind or remember when he woke far too late for his liking.

John did not have much recollections of the Sunday morning except that it passed in a tired out blur and it was not till the afternoon that he resolved, in his impulsive fashion, that he needed to talk to Jo. Exactly what he was going to say, what questions he was going to ask, escaped him as he drove round to her flat. He was totally unprepared and some instinct prompted him to decide that whatever came out of his mouth was what he was going to say. He couldn't face another night with only himself to ask questions.

"John, well this is a surprise," Were Jo's first words when he phoned from his mobile just outside her flat. "When are you coming over?" "Very soon," Came John's dry response.

He lay back in his car seat and opened both front windows so that a gentle breeze could blow across him. He needed that short period of time to seek refreshment of his tired senses for about five minutes before he resolved to face whatever he had to face.  
"John. How nice it is to see you." That familiar smile was the same as ever, the same as she had ever greeted him with over the years. John said nothing but smiled briefly and followed her into her comfortable living room. With a sigh of satisfaction, he reclined in a chair.  
"You look tired. Want a coffee?" Jo asked in concern. There was something different about him, something troubled which she could not put her finger on. Of course, he was impeccably behaved and no one who didn't know him closely would have spotted it. "Please." Jo said no more but turned round and pottered about in the kitchen area of the flat while John sat back and watched her from behind busying herself.  
"You have the air of someone about to make an important announcement and not knowing quite how," Jo probed in her best low-key cross-examination mode.  
"Hardly." John backed away from the direct question, earlier than he would have liked. After taking a sip, he got up and walked about her flat in a random pattern, sometimes facing away from her.  
"Not so much a statement but I would appreciate your help in trying to get some answers to a riddle I've been puzzling over." Jo stopped herself in time from asking the obvious question, personal or professional, as that would have pinned John down far too early. Something was really bothering him.  
"I'm more than happy to help with whatever you want. That is, if I can help you. I'm certainly willing to try." A shadow flitted across John's face as Jo expressed her doubts but he smiled in temporary reassurance when Jo's warm tones reassured him just when he needed it.

"I don't know where to start. It all stems from a chat I had with George last night." That means personal for certain despite his elaborately casual tone. Jo started to get a faint suspicion as to where this was leading.  
"Go on." "I've never seen George less able to get to the point. After all the years of marriage and verbal sparring matches, both in and out of court, if there is one faculty in her that will never desert her, it is her capacity and fluency in speaking." There's another one, Jo smiled as John rambled his way into tiptoeing into emotional hot water, an inch at a time.  
"To put it in George's own words, she finally said and here I quote. 'Both Jo, and I, have feelings for each other, that neither of us ever expected.'" John stopped abruptly, his hands deep in his trouser pockets, with a faint smile on his face and a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.  
"Ah. So George finally did tell you." "After a tension ridden and superb rendition of the 'Appassionata Sonata', which she clearly delivered to use the music as an outlet." Jo sighed and sat back in her chair. She wished that John would stop pacing around but this was clearly his version of struggling with very uncomfortable feelings that his upbringing had taught him to deny in himself. All the men in her professional circle came from that upper class public school background where a languid, mannered sophisticated exterior ran like a gene deep into their fundamental nature. It gave them that air of confidence, of effortless superiority. It was decreed in not so many words that all must conform to that mould. John had done an excellent job in conforming to tribal expectations but his emotions ran closer to the surface. It was what made him care about injustice more than any man she had ever known and what she had admired from when she had first laid eyes on him.  
"Is there anything that you wish to know about George and me…..and you?" John's eyes opened wide incredulously at those two last words. Jo surely couldn't mean him.  
"Am I in the frame?" "Most definitely so. It is very rare when I have talked to George that either one of the other of us won't talk about you." Jo's clear blue eyes intermittently held John's own wavering glances whenever he was facing her. He was highly aware of it and couldn't make up his mind to be afraid of it or feel protected by it. Probably both, he sneakingly admitted to himself.  
"What I really wanted to know was why you never told me of your feelings for George?" The words came out of his mouth clumsily, which embarrassed him. He had done better than he knew at the time in censoring the very pompous words 'saw fit to' which would have made him appear more superior and patronising but in reality be less honest with himself and Jo.  
"You've known me nearly half of my life. I've been married, brought up two children on my own, more conventional than I would probably have liked, feeling inferior to George precisely because of it as a lover. I ask you that, in my forties, is it something that I would find easy in owning up to myself, let alone anyone else, in finding another woman attractive. I always thought that is something that happens to….I mean that if feelings of desire grow in you in another woman, they are going to happen in your teens. I'm starting pretty late in life, you must admit, John." "Since you put it that way, there is a lot of justice in your point of view, but why was I the last to know? That was what hurt me." "John, do you have to know everything?" "Yes, if it is important and personal." "Why?" Was Jo's blunt question "Doesn't everyone want to know what goes on around them in their lives?" "Not like you, John. You are like a dog with a bone. Both George and I know you of old. Once your insatiable curiosity is roused, you never give up. You will try every trick in the book to wheedle and cajole the truth out of anyone by fair means or foul. It's the same when you are up there on your throne in court. You can never resist asking a question once it crosses your mind even if it means bending the rules of court etiquette and absolutely infuriating every barrister that crosses your path. You know very well what your public reputation is like in that respect." John smiled to himself with a certain smug satisfaction. He was like that in court and it was his incisive and penetrating ability to ask the right questions which had led to his professional success.  
"But you are just as bad out of court where such a quality is not laudable and can be and often is, intrusive. Just once in my life, I wanted something of my own to share with George especially when I was trying to work out in my head just exactly where I was going. How could I possibly explain something to you when I was struggling to explain it to myself?" The smile on John's face faded instantly. He felt as if he was being shut out and it hurt, not just George but Jo as well.  
"Why do you have to know everything, John? I really think that you need it to feel more secure." Jo's soft gentle words felt like a burning hot light being trained right into his eyes at close quarters. They hit straight at his vulnerabilities, something you didn't own up to, not in his circle of acquaintances.  
"I can tell that you think I'm being intrusive in my turn…." John's mute nod agreed with her " ………so I'll back off that one so long as now you know how it feels."

The atmosphere in the room fell into a brooding silence. Jo felt that John was getting more and more defensive as time went on and that wasn't helping. He would really hate to be told this but he was wearing his feelings on his sleeve and he felt as uncomfortable and as naked as he had ever been. Jo sipped her cup of lukewarm coffee as the only prop she had to hand to come to the aid of her own uncertainties as to how to handle the situation.

"I've known that George has had feelings for you, Jo," John said at last out of nowhere. "I never expected that you would feel the same way." Jo resisted the temptation to ask John why it was fine for George and not for her. That was a very valid question but would not achieve anything at this point. Instead she opted for keeping it light.  
"Neither did I, John. It wasn't so many years ago that we strained your patience inside and outside the court, in seeking to scratch each other's eyes out," Joked Jo.  
John laughed more easily at one of life's little ironies. Without knowing why, this was something that was easier to deal with, presented this way.  
"So how did this all come about? I'm merely asking so I can understand." Jo was touched that there was real humility in John's tone of voice. It rang true that he was in the position of knowing that he did not know what lay before his eyes and asking for enlightenment, being prepared for whatever it might mean.  
"How can I describe it? I was dreaming of lying out in the open, with George next to me, and there she was utterly enchanting and later on, this became real……..John, what's wrong?" Jo added as the nostalgic smile on her face turned to one of real concern. This was too much, too soon as the expression of her spontaneous feelings outmatched her sense of discretion.  
"I know what's troubling you. I think that I have a duty to say it." Jo's soft voice even managed to take the hard edge off the word 'duty' which, on another level, justified to John why she must speak.  
"You have long since fantasised about the possibilities of the three of us making love, admit it John. I will not forget in a hurry that domestic little foursome, George and Karen together and the two of us. It's not really just George and I. It's the feeling that if George and I took the relationship beyond a certain point, neither George or I will need you any longer. Believe you me, you couldn't be more wrong about both of us." The words silkily caressed John's feelings but he had turned to stone inside at that fear of being left. It had happened once before by his mother who died on him. She cannot have cared for him, not really, or she would never have abandoned the ten year old John who lived in his Alice in Wonderland shrunken world, the enormities of a bafflingly huge grown up world where no one explained anything, no one could see how hurt he was inside. He dared not risk that ever happening to him again. It cannot be he who is left on his own. He carried on pacing the room, utterly unable to settle down.  
"John, we both know how infuriating you can be, but you are too deep in our lives to remove you even if we wanted to. Why else do we end up talking about you? George desperately needs you as one of the very few people she could ever turn to in crisis and, in your own way, someone who knows her behind that façade. She's been changing over the last couple of years. She's stopped trying to put on that act that she's hard and uncaring and only values what a fat fee will buy her. In her way, she's being influenced to think that there are higher values that matter in life and she's stopped being scared of showing it. Where has she got all that from if not from you? Or if she is being influenced by me then where did I get that from if not from you. You have got the idea that the only way of feeling good about yourself is through sex, as if what you do in court has no value. Sex isn't everything in life no matter how much you use that as a solution to everything" With all the eloquence within her to speak from the heart, Jo urged John to open up his eyes and look around with all the force of her passionately caring nature. John's eyes looked briefly out to the distant horizons out of the window instead of at his feet, mentally dazed as the products of his labours were reflected back at him. Somehow, he had done what he had done as he had gone through life with a total reticence to be too self regarding and Jo's clear exposition was the first demonstration in his life of what he was worth with him not being aware of it or being around to see it for what it was. He risked turning back to Jo and, at last, took a seat that faced her directly.  
"We both need you more than any one night stand could possibly do for us, much more than your temporary affairs in the past could ever mean. That hasn't changed from when we drew up the agreement ages ago to stop you from picking up some nameless woman. Just because I have growing feelings for George, that will never take away from what both of us feel for you." John shook his head in wonderment. That paralysing fear inside him needed almost continual emotional stroking from Jo. He found it impossible to put his mind in the place of the other person, either Jo or George. That was what the undertow of the emotions did, to drag him down to a bottomless pit where nothing had meaning, nothing was certain and nothing could be defined or circumscribed.  
"I really thought it was I that you were dreaming of that night." "Just goes to show you how wrong you can be," Jo teased. "Mind you, I have often had dreams of you when I have been on my own and you are somewhere else and I dare say I'll have them again." "You never told me that," John said in wonder.  
"You didn't ask," Jo teased back. "I really thought I knew everything about you," John mused. He felt more vaguely centred than he had been having made that discovery and better about himself. For the first time, he leant back in his chair rather than sat up, tense and rigid.  
"And you think that if there is nothing that is not unknown to you, you will feel safe." "I suppose there is something in what you say," John conceded in measured tones.  
"You have to learn to trust that what you don't know won't harm or threaten you," Jo urged tenderly, placing an arm round his shoulders. "You have to learn to trust to life at times, to intuition and faith where you do not directly know. Our profession, with its emphasis on irrefutable evidence, on solid certainties does not exactly encourage this alternative mode of thinking and it spills over into our private lives." John nodded, unable to speak. The thought of it was all very well in theory but harder to achieve in practice. He wanted to get past this part of the conversation. "From George's account, you have taken your time in your ……relationship." Jo was pleased by John's response. At least he had given it a name, in tones, which were approximately sympathetic as opposed to cold and clinical.  
"That is all down to George. For a start, she feels guilty about it because of Karen even if she has always known that Karen has never wanted a heavy relationship. With what has happened to Karen's son has only make matters more complicated. You are very important in George's eyes, as I've explained. Also important is that she is very careful that I might inadvertently be rushed into something that I was not ready for. She wants to get it absolutely right for me. You do know that George once refused me when I kissed her? Believe it or not, I made the first move not George." John smiled faintly at seeing the expression of incredulity on Jo's face as she recalled the moment.  
"That sounds very unexpected." "I know that this runs totally counter to your lifetime's experience," Laughed Jo. "…but believe it or not, we both want to take our time and see where it goes or where it doesn't. George refused me as she thought that I was not ready and she's probably right." "She told me that she's terrified of not being good enough for you," John said right from out of the blue.  
"Could you ever imagine George to take pains over other people's feelings, whether yours or mine. That's the measure of how much she's changed." The sheer undeniability of Jo's soothing words finally started to get through to John at last. They lapsed into a more companionable silence, both of them tired out. John was not used to this amount of soul baring which wasn't his cup of tea but he felt that somehow he had scraped through the situation by the skin of his teeth. 


	191. Part One Hundred And Ninety One

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part One Hundred And Ninety One

John spent all day with Jo, talking, eating dinner, and late in the afternoon, making slow, gentle love. John had needed the reassurance of Jo's soft, warm body, the affirmation that she loved him in every touch, every kiss. But afterwards, as they were lying contentedly in the bath together, John made a tentative suggestion. "Do you think we ought to go and see George this evening?" "Yes," Jo said, dropping a kiss on his bear shoulder. "She probably had as little sleep as you did last night." "I can't believe she was so afraid of telling me," John said, still not able to come to terms with this. "She didn't want to hurt you, John," Jo told him. "And neither did I. I couldn't tell you at the beginning, because I didn't want to give you any false hope, of something that may never happen." "That's what Karen said," He replied, suddenly remembering her words of the last time he'd seen her. "I told you what she said, before going up on that roof, but afterwards, when I asked her about it, she said that she didn't want to give me any false hope." "I do feel bad about Karen," Jo said regretfully. "So does George. She's going out to see Karen in Spain, the weekend after next, so they can sort things out." "Probably better to do it on neutral territory," Jo concurred. "I doubt that even Switzerland would be neutral enough for that conversation," John said with a slightly mirthless laugh. "John, do you think Karen will cope with this?" Jo asked in concern. "I mean, I wouldn't want this to prove the last straw." "Well, I suppose that remains to be seen," John replied thoughtfully. "But it is something that we should all be aware of. This couldn't have happened at a worse time for Karen, and that deeply concerns me." "When she comes back, I think I ought to clear the air with her," Jo said with a certain amount of wary anticipation. "That's probably not a bad idea," John told her, his way of saying that it was an absolute must. It was odd, he mused to himself that just for once, he wasn't in any way to blame. 

George was just getting out of the bath when the doorbell rang at nine thirty that evening, and knowing that it could only be either Jo or John, or both, she slipped on the blue silk robe that Jo had bought her for her birthday. Dragging a brush through her slightly damp hair, she ran lightly down the stairs, and opened the door looking flushed, supple, and incredibly desirable. "I do wish you wouldn't open your front door looking quite so edible," John said in slight disapproval. "Well, I knew it would probably be either you or Jo, didn't I," She said as they came in. "That looks even better on you than I thought it would," Jo observed, taking in the way the robe clung to George's figure, leaving nothing to the imagination. "So, that's why you wouldn't tell me who it was from," John said in dawning comprehension, as they moved into the lounge. "Oh, and I'd have loved to have seen your face if I had told you," George quipped back, thinking that this might have been too much of a shock. They sat on the sofa, John between them, consuming by mutual agreement a bottle of Frascati that George had chilling in the fridge. There was a certain amount of awkwardness between them, but if they attempted to stay away from anything too close to home, they could all relax. "You look tired," George said to John at one point, wondering if she dared ask them what she wanted to ask. "I didn't sleep very much last night," John said with a slight smile. "And Jo kept me occupied in bed all afternoon." "Lucky you," George said with a smirk. "A slight exaggeration, John," Jo told him fondly. "Do you both want to stay?" George asked, not quite knowing where her courage had come from. "Do you want us to?" John asked in return, observing her slight hesitation. "Yes, I do," She said without having to think about it. "Then we will," Jo answered for them, thinking that although they'd done this once before, now there would be no barriers between them, no holds barred. 

A little while later when they were lying in George's bed upstairs, John couldn't quite believe he was here. He was lying between the two women he loved, both of their soft, naked bodies nestled up against him. George was on his right, and Jo was on his left, both with their arms round him, doing everything possible to make him feel loved and secure. When John's face broke into a sudden grin, and a laugh began rumbling in his chest, George lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him. "What's so funny?" She asked, loving the sound of his infectious laugh. "I was just trying to picture Vera Everard's face, if she saw the two of you leaving the digs at the same time. Then she'd really have something to moan about." "She'd probably get off on it, the frigid old witch," George said in disgust. "That's the point, she isn't," John said, his laughter almost overcoming him. "The thought alone would probably keep her quiet for days." "In that case, it's almost a thought worth giving her," Jo said dryly, having always despised Vera Everard, whose tastes really ought to be confined to an archive in the science museum. They lay there quiet for a while, the tranquility of their closeness seeming to soothe any lingering ruffled feathers. Jo was softly drifting, her sexual satisfaction from the afternoon finally beginning to creep up on her. John was perfectly content to simply lie here with the two of them, because he was man enough to realise that he needed a little time to get used to the situation, to allow his brain to regroup. But when George slightly altered her position, and curled one of her legs over his, in the way she usually did before going to sleep, he couldn't help but to become sexually interested. "Can you not do that?" He said, turning his far too innocent looking eyes on George. "What?" "Drape yourself over me like that. It's far too invigorating." "Sorry, darling, force of habit," She said with a smirk, doing as he asked. "Anyway, I thought you liked it." "That's the point," He said, instantly falling for her wind up. "You just enjoy being something of a tease." As they continued fondly bickering, Jo couldn't help but smile. "Do you two always argue when you're in bed?" She asked, finally breaking in on the conversation. "Invariably," George said dryly. "Only because you're always determined to have the last word," John put in. Exchanging a glance, George and Jo burst into laughter. "That's rich," Jo said, leaning over to kiss him. "Verbally, you always want your own way." "Can you blame me," He said in mock innocence. "Having been married to this one for nigh on ten years?" "Bloody cheek," George said, kissing him to shut him up, and taking over where Jo had left off. But as her lips connected with John's, her eyes met Jo's, the two women exchanging a thought, the question flashing between them as if spoken. Gently parting her lips from John's, George turned her face towards Jo, and right before John's very eyes, their lips met, giving him the most overwhelmingly beautiful display he'd ever had the fortune to witness. Their kiss was deep, gentle, and lingering, making him gasp in wonder at the sheer erotic intensity of it. When their lips parted, they both smiled down at him, seeing the stunned, utterly gob smacked expression in his eyes. "I think," He said a little unsteadily. "That apart from when Charlie was born, that was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." He couldn't believe it, his two favourite women, the two women he had loved for the majority of his life, were bestowing on each other, the types of feelings he had partially taught them both to enjoy. Yes, they had both obviously had lovers before him, (Jo had even had a husband), but John knew that he had been the one to introduce them to such intensity of feeling. 

They lay for a good while longer, occasionally talking, sometimes kissing, all three of them aware that something monumental had happened to them this weekend, something that would change how they were with each other for ever more. But George couldn't entirely relax. Unlike Jo and John, she hadn't had the opportunity to achieve any kind of sexual release that afternoon, and the languid kisses she'd exchanged with both Jo and John, plus the newness of the situation, were causing her body to twitch. She could feel her arousal beginning to grow, her body becoming almost painfully aware of every point of her that was in contact with John. "Are you cold?" John suddenly asked her. "No," She said, her voice trying not to betray her heightened sensitivity. "Your nipples are as hard as bullets," He said, realising precisely what her problem was. "Yes, thank you for that insightful observation," She replied a little tartly. "Is my proximity getting to you that much?" He silkily mocked her. "Oh, so speaks the winner of the biggest ego of the year award. You're not the only one other than me in this bed you know." "I'll consider myself duly flattered," Jo said with a soft smile, wondering if George would permit her and John to alleviate her discomfort. Having his arm round her, it was simple for John to begin stroking the fleshy softness of George's right breast. "John," George said warningly through gritted teeth. "What you are doing is hardly helping my restraint." "Why should you be restrained?" John asked her gently, wanting to give her pleasure, wanting in fact to do the thing he did best. "Well... Because..." George began, and was then unable to formulate an adequate response. "George, I don't mind," Jo told her, reaching over a hand to touch George's shoulder. "Don't you?" George asked, not wanting Jo to witness something she wasn't yet ready to see. "Of course not," Jo said with a smile. "I had quite enough for one day this afternoon." "I didn't hear you complaining," John observed, his hand continuing to move on George's breast. "And you never will," Jo told him with utter certainty, slipping out of the bed and walking round to the other side. "Move over," She told them, and when they did, she slid in beside George, meaning that George was now surrounded by two people who wanted her to feel at ease. When Jo put her arms round George and began kissing her, George thought that she really must be in heaven. "Do you remember when I did this, the night you stayed with me?" Jo reminded her, beginning to move her hand over George's left breast, teasing at her nipple, and making George gasp. "Are you kidding?" George said between kisses. "Do tell," John invited, wanting to know every detail about whenever they'd been together. "It was the night I slapped you," George told him. "And because of the Chlamydia, we couldn't do much more than this, but it was incredible. Not for years, had I had someone give me an orgasm, just from playing with my nipples." "Really?" John said in total amazement, his pride for Jo lighting up his eyes. "Hidden talents, darling," he said, exchanging a long, slow kiss with Jo. As Jo's hand kept moving on her breast, and John's slipped between her legs, George's breathing quickened. She knew it wouldn't take her long, because the sensation of four hands on and around her was intensifying every feeling she possessed. She exchanged deep, languorous kisses with Jo, and listened as John occasionally talked to her, his silky, masculine tones sliding over her like honey. "I bet you've often fantasised about this," He gently teased her. "No more than you have," She quipped back, knowing that the thought had been with him far longer than it had been with her. She tried to remain as quiet as possible, but when John nibbled on her neck, and suggested that this really wasn't necessary, George found that she couldn't restrain herself any longer. As John's hand increased in speed, and her kisses with Jo became more frantic, she clung to both of them, soaring over the edge with a cry of complete abandon. 

As the gasps of emotional release racked her body, and the tears coursed down her cheeks, they held onto her, both trying to soothe away her grief. "Hey, what's brought this on?" John asked her gently, kissing away some of her tears. "I can't believe that you're both finally here," She said between sobs. "When I think, of every horrible, bad thing I've ever said to both of you, I think I must be dreaming. God, I used to be such a bitch, to both of you. Have I changed so much, that this is really what you want, to be here with me?" "You've got absolutely no idea, have you," Jo said, seeing instantly that George was completely overwhelmed by the situation. "You and me used to thrive on making each other's life absolute hell, you know we did, and we were both equally to blame for that. I'm not entirely sure how, but you've changed almost beyond all recognition in the last two years, becoming the much softer, much nicer person that I suspect you used to be." "George," John put in, wanting to offer his own explanation. "Apart from the occasional phases of depression, I feel as though the woman I married, has finally come back to me." "Do you?" She asked, not able to believe she was hearing this from him. "Yes," He told her gently but firmly. "You've gone back to being the George I used to know. Yes, admittedly with a few added eccentricities, but whenever I'm with you these days, I'm constantly reminded of the George I fell in love with, the George I first kissed under the mistletoe on New Year's Eve. You were frightened of telling me about this, because you thought it would hurt me in some way, but I love you, and I love Jo, and I couldn't possibly be happier." As they eventually fell asleep in a delicious tangle of arms and legs, they all found themselves reflecting on the events of the last two years, all marveling at how they'd started out, and how they had eventually ended up. They might go through hard times, and having the personalities they did made this a certainty, but never again would they need to feel adrift, never again would any one of them need to feel alone. 


	192. Part One Hundred And Ninety Two

Part One Hundred and Ninety Two

"So what do I do on a Bank Holiday Monday?" Lauren asked her mother over early morning coffee, feeling at a loose end and fidgety. "The television is as crap as it is in Larkhall. Same repeats as usual, every year." "That's freedom for you," Remarked Yvonne ironically. "The bastards would have you either take to the roads and all get stuck on the M25 or else watch this load of mind rot…….." She saw the disappointed look on Lauren's face and regretted what she had said and her mind sprung out a third solution.  
"…….or better still, why don't you go round and see Cassie and Roisin and the kids. I'm sure they'd love it." "Brilliant." The light was turned on in Lauren's face. It provided the perfect combination of a gentle ride in the car and something utterly different. She loved the idea of being Auntie Lauren again. This was something that she had been reaching out for. For so long, they had been at the sending end of home made cards which she had treasured and kept in a safe place in the cell. She reached for the mobile and was very surprised to find everyone in. "Do you want to come as well, mum?" "I'll leave it for today. If you go on your own, then they'll have more time for you. They'll have a lot to catch up. You know how it is. Trigger will keep me company." Lauren saw the sense in the remark. Trigger's ears flopped down into their usual position as he sensed that he would be deprived of an outing. He made a sorrowful sound in his throat as he saw Lauren get ready and about to leave. Lauren sensed that the dog was wary of letting her go out of his sight and made a big fuss of him first before he flopped down onto the rug.  
She got into the Mercedes and adjusted the chair position very carefully. It had been a long time since she had driven any car and she was far more conscious of every single move than she was used to. She stalled the high performance car while it was in mid turn before gingerly easing it down the drive. She swung clumsily onto the main road, nearly getting the front offside wheel stuck in a ditch before revving the car off down the road. Fortunately, Cassie's and Roisin's house was away from the major roads so she was able to take it easy. It still felt very fast and highly sensitive and a low performance runabout would have been far more to her taste than the very stylish car she was driving. She pulled up outside their house and sat back in the driver's seat. At least, she's got there, she reflected, practice makes perfect. At least the outside of the house looks familiar.  
"Lauren," Roisin exclaimed, throwing her arms round her. "Come in and make yourself comfortable. Children," she added talking over her shoulder," come and see Lauren who's back with us again." Lauren's eyes took in the familiar friendly clutter of the house and Cassie coming up just behind her. It was all as she remembered, how she dreamed the house looked like, could it be nearly two years ago when she last set foot in it. Michael and Niamh came in behind Cassie and this took Lauren by surprise. They were both bigger than she remembered, being frozen in time. Michael in particular was starting to grow noticeably and was no longer quite the child that she remembered and was verging on becoming a teenager.  
"It's lovely to see you, Auntie Lauren," Niamh piped up and Lauren impulsively hugged her." Did you like our cards we sent you?" "I kept them in a special place and treasured every last single one of them. They really helped me get through…." "……get through what?" asked Michael. "You know, when you aren't feeling so good about yourself. It happens to everyone in prison," Lauren explained lightly. "Why did you go to prison?" he asked with a directness that was not childish naivety but had an edgy quality about it that verged on aggression. "Michael, there are certain questions that you just don't ask," Niamh corrected her elder brother. She was starting to get worried about him as he was gradually changing and she didn't understand why. As children, they had always been close and played games together. More recently, he had started to become more aloof and had started to hang round with his friends. It was almost as if he were playing a part that she couldn't understand.  
"Don't see why," He muttered under his breath too softly for anyone to hear properly.  
"Kids, just leave it out," Cassie chimed in. "Give Auntie Lauren a rest and a bit of space." "Do you want a drink?" Niamh offered.  
"I'd love one. A large glass of coke as I'm driving." Lauren's mouth was dry from the drive. She sank back into an armchair and took a big swig from the glass.  
"We have missed you," Came the answer, uttered without reproach.  
"I'm sorry if you've had to make do with Yvonne as stand in for me. She can still tell jokes better than I can." "Still, it's nice to see you back. You're not going away again?" The little girl added anxiously. "There is no chance of that happening, Niamh. Mum took me out to go shopping with her and that was too much for me. I've got a lot of time to make up for, well just everything and everyone." Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Michael hang back awkwardly. It was as if he didn't know how to position himself in comparison with Niamh's child like naturalness of manner.  
"How's your cricket going, Michael? You were good at it last time I talked to you." Instantly, Lauren felt the words coming out all wrong. Then, Michael was the typical enthusiastic boy who would grab her attention as a receptive audience and such words addressed to him would have been natural and would have got an instant response. Now, she felt his chilly awkwardness and self-consciousness of early adolescence and she had pitched her words just two critical years short for him. "All right, I guess. It's a stupid game. Can't see anything in it." "I'm sorry about that…." Lauren started to say.  
"Don't be sorry," He cut in. "Anyway, I play computer games with my friends. It's much more fun. We play Russians against the Americans and how much each other can kill……." Michael immediately started launching into a complicated description of what he and his friends did, freezing Niamh out of the conversation, not deliberately but by just not acknowledging that she was there. Niamh sighed to herself as this was becoming typical of her brother and, increasingly, there was a tendency for everyone to adjust round him.  
"Michael," cut in Roisin while Cassie was in the kitchen, "give your sister a chance to talk, please." The boy coloured but shut up while Niamh started to talk about what she was doing at school and quickly led into the one topic that united them both, even if she didn't want to talk about it, as it wasn't very pleasant to recall.  
"……..and Michael and I went away to see our father and grandma. We didn't enjoy it. For a start, grandma's cooking was terrible." Niamh pulled a face. "Nothing beats home cooking," Came Lauren's heartfelt response before adding a little inanely or so she thought. "I'm sure they love you in their own way." "They would if only they didn't……" blurted out Michael in an unguarded moment before chopping off the sentence short.  
Roisin was listening intently as this was the first time that the children had properly talked about the visit. She sat back, all ears while Lauren was doing a very good job of getting Niamh to talk.  
"What was the problem, kids?" she asked in her most deliberately easy going way.  
"I'm sure they both love us but they are both sort of stick in the mud. We had to sit up stiff and straight at the table. The house is lovely and right in the country but we weren't allowed to touch anything in case we broke anything. We weren't allowed near anything that might break, like her ornaments, like everything." Niamh was rattling away easily enough but Lauren got the sense that she was picking out the easiest topics and steering away from more delicate matters. She went along with what the little girl wanted to say.  
"What sort of food did your grandma cook you?" Lauren enquired casually.  
"Ooooh," Niamh scoured her memory. "Overcooked bacon and runny eggs." Ykkkkh. And she insisted that we ate up every bit. Dad was no help. He always took Grandma's side….." "It will happen in families where adults stick together……."Lauren said, thinking of her grandparents but irresistibly driven to consider the times that mum could not never say how she really felt while Charlie was around. That wasn't two people acting freely as equals but Charlie's tyranny taking over as he took over everything. Sheer honesty drove her to qualify that remark.  
"…….provided that they really agree with each other." "Dad's different. He doesn't think for himself because grandma's always around. He's never tried to." "Yeah, right," Michael joined in. He had been sulking in a corner but Niamh's chatter was the way he thought and it emboldened him to join in.  
"There must be a good side, like the country. Didn't they take you out for walks." "They did." Niamh paused in reflection, a faint smile of pleasure on her face. "But even then they managed to ruin things." "How did they manage that?" came the softly spoken prompt.

Cassie heard the drift of the conversation and, as the meal was cooking nicely, popped her head round the door and were all ears while keeping one eye on the cooking. It was far more than her natural curiosity, which prompted it. She didn't know what on earth she and Roisin were going to hear but instinct told her that it would be critically important.  
"Well, we have to be up at a ridiculous time for a start." "It might be reasonable if you had a long way to go and could make the most of the day." "Right, but not when they were both on at us all the time if we were a second late." "Okay. I hear what you're saying." "That wasn't the worst of it. As soon as we got going, they started their talking……" At that point, Niamh blushed slightly and shut up. It was as if she had stumbled on something painful and recoiled at the memory. Michael looked closed up inside and his eyes were glued to the floor. An embarrassed silence hung on the air, the sort of silence that had never been known before in their house, which was known, most of all, for a free and easy relaxed atmosphere. It was foreign to all of them, unsettling. Cassie and Roisin were both at a loss as to what next step to take and weren't prepared for this from their children. Lauren was no better and her mind was a total blank. She felt as guilty as hell for intruding on them.

"Kids, this is a hard one to ask either of you. I wouldn't ask it unless I thought it might help….." Niamh and Michael looked warily around them, prepared for the very worst news that there could possibly be but it surely couldn't be that dreadful day when dads told them that mum was in prison.  
"……..I was going to ask you if you love your dad and grandma." "Do we have to?" "I guess it's expected of children that they do but there are times when families fall out…." Niamh was looking for a way out and something told her to ask Lauren the very same question.  
"Do you love your mum and dad, Lauren?" Lauren's face turned white. This was a rerun of her trial jumping out of nowhere. She was due to see Meg Richards and would mentally prepare herself for the session. She wasn't expecting this playing Auntie Lauren.  
"You've seen Yvonne, kids. I love her because she acts like a real mother to me, to look after me and protect me and there isn't anything she wouldn't do for me, jump into the water if I were drowning….." Niamh gave a big smile of satisfaction. This was like mum and Cassie.  
"My dad has been dead for a few years but he was a bad man. He had a hold over me for all that and could make me do what he wanted, make me believe that I loved him and he loved me. Perhaps he did love me but not in a way that was good for me. Not all kids are like the way they are made out in children's storybooks. Does that help you?" Both of them nodded their heads vigorously.  
"I don't know your dad and your grandma, kids. They are nothing like as bad as my father but perhaps they just don't understand you, your mum, Cassie and everything."

Niamh and Michael grasped eagerly at the word 'understand.' That meant something and explained why they were angry at their father and grandma and felt guilty about feeling that way.  
"Perhaps you care to tell us about what really happened on your holiday?" Cassie asked gently.  
The dam finally broke and both children poured out the tale of their constant sniping at Roisin and Cassie in the most narrow minded way. Everything made sense now, the way they were caught in the crossfire. Michael was as voluble as Niamh and he looked fresher, more open, more himself.  
"So that's why you didn't want to stay with them" Again they nodded, immensely pleased to have got the weight off their minds.

"We've got some sorting out to do, Roash." Cassie said quietly.  
"And can we play games like we used to?" asked Lauren, her own face lit with child like anticipation.  
In answer, both of them dragged Lauren onto the carpet while Cassie leaped into the kitchen to stop everything from starting to burn. 


	193. Part One Hundred And Ninety Three

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part One Hundred And Ninety Three

On the Friday evening, George found herself at a loose end. John was away, taking part in the opening of the new series of Judge's seminars, and she wasn't due to go to see Karen in Spain until next week. She couldn't believe it had been less than a week since she'd told John about her and Jo. In fact, part of her still couldn't entirely get to grips with the fact that he knew about it. She knew that there was a lot about what he was feeling, that he certainly wasn't sharing with her, and she was forced to admit that his being away for a week or so wouldn't do any of them any harm. What she really wanted to do, she realised, was to be with Jo. It had now been about four months since their initial kiss, yet they still hadn't crossed that final barrier of really sleeping with each other. Did John's knowledge of the situation now give them permission to do so? She supposed it did in a way, but how on earth did she go about suggesting it? George wanted it to be perfect for Jo, well, as perfect as something so new and possibly bizarre could be. What if Jo loathed every minute of it? What if she couldn't bear to be anywhere near George afterwards? These were all the types of questions that were constantly running through her mind during the evening. She had put some soft music on the stereo, to try and give her mind a reason to settle, and was sitting on the sofa drinking a glass of wine and reading the paper. Half of her brain was taking in the words of the articles she was reading, and the other half kept returning to the same old problem. So when the doorbell rang, she folded up the paper with a feeling of relief that she now at least had a distraction. 

Jo had been having similar thoughts to George. She unquestionably appreciated the fact that George had always prevented them from taking their burgeoning feelings too far, and she definitely understood why. She was incredibly touched at George's slight reticence, but she couldn't help feeling that old, instinctive urge to make love with someone new. But maybe that was the point, precisely why George had held back so far, because this wasn't just a new lover, this was an entirely new way of making love. Jo could remember with fond amusement, her intention to become more sexually adventurous, something she'd expressed both to John and to George, back in January. Well, if making love with a woman, when you've spent most of your life claiming you were heterosexual wasn't widening her sexual experience, then she didn't know what was. With this thought in mind, she'd driven over to see George, not with the expectation that they might end up in bed, but with the possibility firmly in her thoughts. 

"Have you taken up mind reading, darling?" George asked, seeing Jo on the doorstep. "I don't believe it's one of my many accomplishments, no," Jo said with a smile as she moved into the hall. "Why?" "Does it sound dreadfully adolescent, to say I was thinking about you?" George asked, as Jo put out her arms. "Oh, well," Jo said ruefully, as George moved into her embrace. "I suppose that makes me fifteen again then." When their lips met, they could both feel the barely suppressed need in the other, the gradually slipping control that might at any moment give way. "You're incredibly tense," Jo said softly, feeling George's nervousness just below the surface. "I wish I wasn't," George replied self-deprecatingly. "So why are you?" Jo asked, as they moved into the lounge and sat down on the sofa. "I'm not sure," George said, feeling a little foolish. "You don't need to be anywhere near as on edge as you are," Jo said quietly, taking George's hand and casually playing with her fingers. "Don't I?" George wanted to know, what Jo was doing with her hand feeling almost unbearably intimate. "No," Jo told her fondly. "Something John did say to me last weekend, was that you are somewhat apprehensive of sleeping with me." Inwardly cursing John to hell and back, George couldn't prevent the violent blush that spread over her face. "He didn't have to tell you that," She said disgustedly. "George," Jo said with a soft smile at George's embarrassment. "The only way this, whatever it is, is going to be successful, is if we are honest with each other. Let's face it, this is far newer to me than it is to you." "I know," George said miserably. "Which is why I feel so stupid. I am so scared, Jo, of ruining the friendship we have, that part of me would far rather not take that risk. Darling, I would love to take that final step, because I can't think of anything that would delight me more, than to give you some of the most intimately erotic pleasure you've ever had in your life. But what I wouldn't want to do is to attempt to make love to you, only to find that you hated it. I know I've been sleeping with a woman for the last few months, but every woman is different. I have absolutely no idea what you like or how you like it, and I don't want to get it completely wrong." Reaching out a hand to touch George's cheek, and to halt her in her tracks, Jo said, "Would you like to find out?" The question seemed to catch George by surprise. Placing a hand over Jo's where it still rested against her cheek, she gazed into Jo's eyes, seeing nothing but tentative encouragement, backed to the hilt by an answering level of need. "Are you sure this is what you want?" She asked, wanting Jo to be absolutely certain. "Yes," Jo told her unequivocally, her hand sliding up to tuck a strand of hair behind George's ear. It seemed almost fitting that their pursuit of pleasure should begin here, on the very sofa where they'd exchanged their first kiss, almost as if to reaffirm their initial instinctive closeness. Their kisses were hungry, needy, with all their barely controlled feelings of the last few months beginning to boil over. When they rose as of one mind, and moved with clear intension towards the stairs, George asked Jo if she would like a glass of wine, thinking that something to help them both relax certainly wouldn't go amiss. Saying that yes she would, Jo left George to it and went up the stairs, briefly wondering how different she would feel when she came down them again. 

When George appeared in the bedroom, carrying two glasses of the chilled Chablis that she always seemed to have some of in her fridge, Jo had switched on the CD-player on George's dressing table, and was lying with only the cotton sheet covering her. The lights were on their dimmest setting, giving the room a warm, rosy glow that was perfect for any seduction. Not that Jo thought she needed much seducing. Silently approving of the music, George walked round to Jo's side of the bed and handed her the glass, wondering if her fingers would slide as caressingly over Jo's skin as the notes of Chopin currently were. Not wanting to spoil the mood, and seeing a glimmer of intent in George's eye, Jo simply lay and watched her. Waiting until she could capture the gently flowing rhythm of the music, George began to dance, gradually removing her clothes as she went. Jo's eyes widened when she realised what George was doing, not having seen something quite so erotically sensual, since George and Neil's dance during 'The Creation.' Not once did her delicate steps ever falter, her beautifully manicured feet moving between the dresser and the bed, her shadow passing across the mirror at every turn. Jo watched in fascination as every inch of skin was revealed, even though she'd seen it all before. 

When her clothes were finally discarded, George moved to perch on the side of the bed, looking down at Jo with a soft, inviting fondness that made her instantly break into a smile. "Did you learn to dance at school?" Jo asked, raising her eyes to George's. "Yes, I did. It does come in handy sometimes." "George, only you could make such a production of taking your clothes off." "Worth it though, wasn't it," She replied with such blatant self-confidence in her own beauty, that Jo wondered if she could come up to such a standard, even though she was a few years younger than George. "Come on," George invited, taking hold of Jo's hand. "I've got something to show you." Wondering what on earth she had in mind, Jo slid out of the bed, and followed George to stand in front of the full-length mirror. "Now," She said, putting an arm round Jo's waist. "That really would be worth posing for." As Jo gazed at their combined image, she had to admit that George was right. They looked incredible, standing there together, the embodiment of everything John desired in a woman. George let her eyes begin to wander over the image of Jo's form, gazing at the reflection, rather than at Jo herself, thinking that a more indirect scrutiny might remove some of Jo's slight apprehension. "If we ever can't think of what to get John for Christmas, that might just be the thing," Jo said with a smirk, though knowing that she would never have the courage to pose for an artist of any kind. "Actually, that isn't a bad idea," George frightened her by saying, the words 'Be careful what you wish for', flashing up in her mind. As Jo kept her eyes fixed on the mirror, she saw George's hand gradually trail its way up her torso, until Jo's left breast lay soft and heavy in George's hand. George's fingers were gentle and warm, their delicate tips tracing every inch, until they grazed over the steadily hardening nipple. Jo couldn't take her eyes away from what she was seeing, never having thought something so simple would look or feel so erotic. "Looks incredible, doesn't it?" George's low, sultry voice broke in on Jo's thoughts. "What, my body, or what you are doing to me?" Jo replied, trying and failing to keep her voice steady. "Both, undoubtedly," George told her, turning to face her and reaching up to kiss her. As they'd turned slightly, Jo could still see their actions in the glass, the combination of sights and feelings seeming so foreign to her, and yet so immensely right that it made her never want to stop. 

When they moved to the bed, and were lying under the thin cotton sheet, their arms went instinctively around each other, George's smooth, naked skin providing Jo with a whole host of new sensations. "Do you have any idea how many times I've thought of this?" Jo said between their gentle though no less fervent kisses. "Tell me," George invited, her fingers wandering over the softer part of Jo's breast, for the moment avoiding the sensitive peak. "Often before going to sleep, I've thought about being here, what it might be like to actually do this." "I hope the reality doesn't send you to sleep," George said dryly. "If you tell me what these fantasies of yours consist of, I might just be able to live up to them." When Jo blushed slightly and didn't immediately answer, George smirked. "Do you remember that night, when you told me that if I couldn't talk about it, I shouldn't be contemplating doing it?" "I knew I'd live to regret that," Jo replied, wondering how on earth she was going to wriggle out of this one. But hitting on John's tactic of actions speak louder than words, she adjusted George's hand slightly, so that her thumb was now grazing back and forth over Jo's nipple, making George laugh huskily when she realised what Jo had done. "I don't want you to feel as though you need to hide anything from me," George assured her gently. "If I'm not doing something quite right, I want to know, and if there's something I'm not doing that you would like, I want to know that too, no matter how obscure you might think it is." "You might come to regret that, George," Jo said with a smile, to cover up how touched she was at George's openness. "I doubt it," George challenged her. "I quite like being surprised on occasions." "Ah, the mystery and intrigue of the entirely unknown." "Yes, something like that. Is that what this feels like to you?" George asked a little tentatively. "Yes, in a way," Jo admitted. "Because whilst what one does to one's self, and what one does to one's lover might be fairly similar in this case, I am hoping they are also somewhat different." "Definitely," George told her firmly, thinking that what she might do for herself, had never come even close to what Karen had so often done for her. 

Bearing this in mind, George trailed her hand down away from Jo's breasts and across her stomach. But as she encountered a particularly sensitive area of Jo's skin, Jo's whole body jerked. "Don't do that, it tickles," Jo told her, trying not to laugh. "Ah, I'll have to remember that for future reference," George said a little evilly. "I could always phone John, and ask him to let me in on a couple of your weak points," Jo teased her in return. "I wouldn't," George said, playing along with her. "Or he'll want to join in by proxy." Using Jo's obvious relaxation from her laughter, George laid a softly seeking hand on her thigh, tracing the crease where thigh meets hip with a delicate finger. She kept her eyes fixed on Jo's, hoping to interpret every flicker, wanting to be able to anticipate any change in Jo's responses to her. When she slightly parted her legs, and George slipped her right hand between them, Jo couldn't help but feel that she had taken that final leap, and that never again could she go back to that safe, blissful innocence of night-time imaginings. Even if she backed out now, and George withdrew her hand, as Jo knew she instantly would if asked to do so, they couldn't return to the way they had been an hour ago. George's touch was feather-light at first, not venturing remotely near to the point at which all female pleasure is born. Jo's bud remained hidden for the moment, as George's gentle fingers delicately flickered over the outer skin, giving her time to get used to the feeling of another woman doing this to her. As she deftly teased at Jo's entrance with the tip of her finger, a shiver ran the length of Jo's body, accompanied by a gasp that couldn't have been from anything but surprise and excitement. Jo was so warm inside, so deliciously moist and silky, that George inched in a second finger to join the first. Withdrawing them somewhat coated in Jo's essence, she moved them up, and began gently rubbing some life into Jo's clitoris. 

Jo didn't think she'd ever felt anything quite so enchanting and yet naughty all in one go. How John made her feel was usually fantastic, but this was so new, so different, that part of her wanted to hide from it, and the rest of her simply lay back and reveled in it. George could gradually feel all the tension seeping out of Jo's muscles, her body relaxing almost bonelessly into the bed. She had her left arm round Jo, with her right hand doing one of the things it did best. She had her cheek resting on Jo's shoulder, with Jo's face turned towards her. They occasionally exchanged deep, lingering kisses, but neither felt it necessary to speak. Jo allowed the music to further relax her, and George allowed it to carry her, to in some ways decide what path her hand would take. She could remember John's telling her that it might take a while for Jo to become fully aroused, and that was absolutely fine with George. They had all the time in the world, and George could last as long as Jo needed her to last. Her hand languorously swept to and fro, Jo's natural lubrication slowly becoming more plentiful. The combination of her wandering hand, the softly swaying music and Jo's endless blue eyes, seemed to be hypnotising George, so that she could have gone on doing this for ever. But when she slipped two fingers back inside Jo's softly yielding warmth, trying to seek out her hidden Grafenberg spot, Jo's kisses suddenly became more insistent. Moving her fingers back and forth, trying to swipe this point with every gentle thrust, George began continually grazing her thumb over Jo's clitoris, provoking a deep, throaty moan that made her smile. When George's hand took on a particular rhythm, Jo's breathing began to quicken, her right arm reflexively tightening where it lay round George's shoulders. George gazed transfixed into Jo's eyes, watching as the pupils dilated at the approach to her orgasm, and then screwed up into pin pricks at the point of completion. Jo was deadly silent as she came, Chopin's music seeming to provide all the sound necessary for such a climactic event. Her whole body stiffened, her chest seeming to expand, with her breath being held for an inordinate amount of time. But as her muscles relaxed, and the waves of her orgasm swept over her, her body quivered, the expression in her eyes appearing to lure George right into their depths, permitting George access to the far reaches of her soul. 

As they lay afterwards, Jo drifting in and out of a blissfully contented haze, George privately thought that there was nothing so beautiful, as a woman who had just experienced her first female generated orgasm. Jo was utterly relaxed, more peaceful than George had ever seen her. When Jo's eyes eventually focused back on her, she asked, "Did that come up to expectation?" Smiling at the self-satisfied smugness in George's voice, Jo simply said, "Mmm," In response, feeling that a coherent sentence was probably beyond her at the moment. Eventually summoning up the energy, Jo sat up and took a long swig from the glass of wine on the bedside table. When she lay back down, enclosing George again in her arms, she looked far more alert. "Will you do something for me?" George asked, getting a sudden flash of inspiration. "I'll try," Jo told her, wondering what was about to be asked of her. "Will you tell me about when you and John left that Sunday, the Sunday I fondly think of as foursome Sunday." "It almost was, wasn't it," Jo said with a laugh. "I was rather inclined to the idea of a mini-orgy," George said contemplatively. "And why doesn't that surprise me," Jo countered back. "Though I'm not sure that much would surprise me about you, after the last few months." "It sounds as though John has been telling you a few too many of my wicked fantasies." "Some," Jo said teasingly. "Like being tied up, for example, and I seem to remember thinking typical." "I haven't done that for years," George said with a smirk. "Something that I feel really ought to be put right in the not too distant future. John used to quite like having me at his mercy." "Why do you want to know about that Sunday?" Jo asked, bringing them back to the topic in hand. "You once told me that you'd thought about me, whilst reaching orgasm. I'm just curious, that's all." "So you should be," Jo told her with a kiss. "How John didn't get done for speeding on the way home, I'll never know. I hadn't felt that lit up in quite a while, and he knew it. He was touching me, because he knew I was pretty close, and he asked me what I would feel, if it were you doing that to me." "And what did you tell him?" George asked, her hand filling in the actions of the story, returning to its former pursuit. "I said that it was too weird, even for him," Jo replied, her voice losing its cool with her rising pleasure, wondering just how far George would try to mimic John's actions of that afternoon. "Famous last words, darling," George said with a laugh. "Then, later on," Jo continued, desperately trying to concentrate, though this was being made persistently harder by George's wandering hand. "He asked me what I thought the two of you were doing right then. So, I challenged him, and asked him what he thought you were up to, and he said he'd rather show me than tell me. George, how you expect me to tell you a story, when I am barely capable of forming a coherent thought, never mind an entire sentence, is beyond me." Deciding to take pity on her obvious shyness, George kissed her way down over Jo's shoulder, and over her right breast. "Did he do this?" She asked, gently enclosing Jo's nipple in her warm, supple lips, soothing the hardening tip with her agile tongue. Jo didn't answer, at least not in any language George recognised, but the corresponding increase of wetness surrounding her fingers, told her all she needed to know. She spent some considerable time mercilessly teasing Jo's right nipple, before moving across to her left, whilst Jo simply lay and basked in the pleasure being heaped upon her. But as George eventually began kissing her way down Jo's body, over the ticklish spot at her waist, Jo laid a hand on her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks. "George, no," She said, making George raise her head to look up at her. "Why?" She asked, clearly mystified. "You're surely not telling me you don't like it?" "No, of course not," Jo said with a sheepish smile. "I... I don't know that I would ever want to do that to you, and it's certainly not something I want to try any time soon." "So?" George queried, still not getting the point. Then, as she saw the flickering expression of uncertainty in Jo's face, she understood. "Darling," She said, moving back up so that she could look Jo in the face. "That really doesn't matter. Whether you do or don't want to try anything with me, really isn't the issue. If you like it, which I know you do because you've said so before, and you want me to do that for you, then that's all that matters." "Are you sure?" Jo asked, feeling incredibly humbled by George's generosity. "Darling, it's one of my favourite pastimes, so yes, I'm perfectly sure." "Every woman is different, George," Jo said matter-of-factly. "You might not like it with me." "Whilst I know Karen's name might not be all that welcome in present circumstances," George said carefully. "Would it make you relax more, if I did with you what I did with her, the first time I tried this?" "George, you can't completely cut Karen out of the situation, no matter what the circumstances," Jo told her gently. "She still means an awful lot to you, and I'm not so naive, as to expect you to forget about all the similar times you had with her." "I'm sorry, it's just that John always hates it, if I accidentally talk about a previous lover when I'm with him, which is admittedly very rare." "And that's probably because he's very insecure, which at the moment, I really don't feel. So, what was it you did with Karen?" Deciding that the verbal description of such an act would probably frighten Jo off, George removed her hand from where it still rested between Jo's legs, and under her widening eyes, decorously sucked the end of her index finger, smiling at the taste she encountered. "Trust me, darling," George said with a predatory gleam in her eye. "I'm going to love every minute of this." "Then far be it from me, to prevent you from continuing," Jo replied a little hoarsely, slightly unable to believe she'd just seen George do that. Returning to her former endeavour, George eventually reached her goal, the tip of her tongue at first just grazing the outer surface of Jo's labia. George was lying between her legs now, and Jo thought that John would give anything to see this, to bear witness to such an erotic delicacy. When George's tongue teased at her entrance, savouring the sweet, heady muskiness of her flavour, Jo couldn't help but to let out a groan of enjoyment. She wasn't used to being quite so vocal, but George seemed to draw out every ounce of her reactions, to almost give her the freedom to fully express herself. George's tongue was sweeping over her clitoris now, and Jo was forced to concede the true advantages of having such smooth facial skin in contact with her most sensitive flesh, instead of the faintest stubble that perpetually existed on any man's face. She was deftly nibbling on her bud now, taking it so delicately between those lips that knew how to smile or sneer with so much power. Then, as Jo's breathing began quickening in earnest, she got the shock of her life. George, suddenly becoming aware of the music's climactic crescendo around them, began humming along to it, clearly knowing the piece well enough to do so. It wasn't something she'd purposefully thought of doing, but an action which appeared to come naturally to her. As Jo felt the combined sensations of the vibrations from George's lips, together with the languorous encouragement of her tongue, she soared up and over the crest of her peak, Chopin's chords and George's lips, carrying her out of the previous confines of her sexual repression, and forever removing the chains that had for so many years kept her desires in check. 

Moving back up to lie beside her, George saw that there were tears cascading down Jo's cheeks. That hadn't just been any ordinary orgasm for Jo, George knew that. Something had happened that time, something that had left Jo reeling from the aftershock. Putting her arms round her, George just lay quiet, running a hand up and down Jo's arm, trying to offer comfort when she really didn't know the source of her tears. "I'm sorry," Jo said, trying to regather her scattered wits. "It's all right," George told her softly. "I did exactly the same, the first time I slept with Karen." "You don't understand," Jo tried to tell her. "Yes, I do," George replied, remembering how emotionally overwhelmed she'd felt with Karen. "No, you don't," Jo assured her. "For more years than I care to remember, I've felt stifled, restrained, as if real, fulfilling sexual enjoyment, was something I shouldn't feel. When I first met John, making love with him was wrong, because cheating on my husband when he was ill was one of the worst things I have ever done. But in spite of that, or maybe because of it, making love with John was incredible, and though I'm loath to admit it, I couldn't get enough of it. But those few months of satisfying my own pleasure, eventually led to my having to destroy the life of my baby. I think, that ever since then, I have subconsciously forbidden myself to enjoy making love as much as I would like to, probably because with John, there is always the possibility of having to do the same thing again, no matter how careful we may be. But with you, I am obviously in no danger of ever repeating that disaster, and that makes me feel so free." George lay there stunned, as Jo's words seemed to pour out of her, painting a picture of years of subconscious emotional punishment. Guilt could affect people in many different ways, she knew that only too well from her own years of self-inflicted torture, but she had never suspected that Jo's ran so deep, and she supposed that neither had John. "Do you think this realisation will have any effect on how you are with John?" George couldn't help asking, feeling that although it was fabulous for Jo to feel the loosening of her subconscious restraints, it wouldn't help any of them if it made it harder for her to sleep with John. "At least now I know why I've always kept so much of myself in reserve. I think I needed to be shown just how incredible it was possible to feel again. I came close to it that Sunday, and he knew it. He thought it was simply because I'd discovered something else that worked for me, but I don't think it was. I've a feeling that part of me realised what being with a woman might just do for me. It's stupid, because I know that I'm as careful as I can be with John, and that the older I get, the less likely it is to happen again, but no matter how loved he always makes me feel, I'm never quite as overwhelmed as perhaps I think I should be." "Sexual pleasure isn't an exact science, Jo." "I know it's not, but maybe being with you, has given me something of a breakthrough." They lay there talking for an inestimable amount of time, finishing their wine and occasionally kissing. Jo hadn't made any move to satisfy George, but George didn't care. Tonight was all about Jo, and nothing was going to move her on that. When they eventually settled down to sleep, Jo quietly laughed into the darkness. "What?" George asked her, their faces very close together. "I'm just wondering how this is going to work, the three of us, I mean." "Yes, the mind does somewhat boggle, doesn't it," George answered dryly, thinking that John would be in his element when that day eventually arrived. 

When Jo awoke on the Saturday morning, she just lay there for a time, listening to the birds through the open window, and thinking about the night before. She had been emotionally exhausted, and had gone to sleep feeling more contented than she had done in a long while. Her body stiffened, and a blush crept over her skin, as she realised that it hadn't occurred to her to attempt to return the favour. But George hadn't said a word, and the only feelings she'd given off were ones of happiness and pleasure at Jo's own enjoyment. George was sleeping soundly next to her, all the curves and angles of her body soft and warm, inviting her touch as strongly as a magnet. There was a peaceful smile on George's face, showing that she was in the middle of some sort of happy dream. Putting out a tentative hand, Jo began softly stroking one of George's breasts, enchanted at their pert, rich ripeness. Carefully pushing back the bedclothes, so as not to wake George with a jolt, she left a trail of gentle kisses over George's shoulder, arcing over the curve of her cleavage, until she was delicately teasing a nipple with her lips. 

The first thing that told George she was no longer just dreaming, was the sensation of a slightly inexperienced mouth firmly tugging at her flesh, yet trying to be gentle at the same time. She didn't care that Jo's movements were a little overzealous, it felt incredible! Letting out a thoroughly contented groan, George began running her fingers through Jo's sleep tousled hair, thinking that what Jo was doing to her was utterly delicious. Realising that George was now awake, Jo moved over to the other nipple, her ministrations gradually becoming more accurate and less heavy-handed. When George gently detached Jo from her, and encouraged her back up to face level, they exchanged a deep, hungry, languorous kiss. "Mmm," George said a little huskily. "What a way to wake up." Jo was lying half draped over her now, which George found delightful. "Ah, well, it occurred to me when I woke up, that I somehow managed to forget to return the favour last night," Jo said, her left leg slipping in between George's. "That was my intention," George replied, lifting a hand to cover a yawn. "I wanted last night to be all about you." "Why?" Jo asked her, extremely touched by this statement. "I just did," George told her, not having the energy to explain. But as she wrapped her arms round Jo, bringing them even closer, Jo's thigh rubbed up against George's moist, warm centre. Laughing throatily at the expression on Jo's face, George said, "You see, that's what you do to me, by being in my bed in such a debauched and disheveled state." "I don't look debauched," Jo protested with a smile, laying a tentative left hand on George's hip. "Yes, you do, darling, believe me," George said approvingly. "I'll bear that look in mind, every time I'm opposite you in court." "If I keep your tongue in mind, every time I'm opposite you in court, you'll always win, and we couldn't possibly have that, now could we," Jo quipped back, at the same time trailing her hand between George's legs. George was so warm, so soft and inviting, that Jo found that any lingering apprehension she might have had about doing this instantly disappeared. "Why are string players, so fabulous with both hands?" George asked, her voice clearly having lost some of its sultry sleepiness, in favour of the unstable lilt of rising passion. "Because bowing and plucking, require equal amounts of dexterity," Jo told her, her soft, husky voice wrapping itself around George's senses. George wasn't anywhere near as quiet as Jo had been the night before, the little indecipherable whimpers of ecstasy, telling Jo just how much she was enjoying this. "Sorry, darling," She said as her pleasure mounted and her breathing quickened. "But I haven't a hope in hell of being as quiet as you are." "I wouldn't expect anything else from you, George," Jo told her with a laugh, her hand increasing in speed, finally tipping George over the edge, and provoking a cry of joy from her that Jo would cherish the memory of for ever. This was the signal that she had finally achieved her goal. After months, or even years of feeling sexually unequal to George, and thinking that John perhaps saw her as the unadventurous woman to whom he had taught everything she knew, both in bed and in court, she had done it. Not only had she discovered the key to the releasing of her true sexual being, but she had widened her experience in the process. She knew that she wasn't entirely there yet, but she had taken that enormous step forward, and would never again feel quite as inferior to John as she always had done. 


	194. Part One Hundred And Ninety Four

Part One Hundred and Ninety Four

Denny leaned disconsolately against the wall of the 'ones," thinking of her changed surroundings. She was back in the same 'four bed' dorm that she had once shared with Crystal, Zandra and what was the name of that kid who hung herself, Rachel that's her name. That memory gave her a headache of another bad memory in her life. Here she was, back there in the same cell, just different inmates. Of course Tina was nice and friendly enough but a bit slow on the uptake. Buki was all right but she didn't like the thought of that razor blade of hers being somewhere around the dorm. Blades just got her nerves on edge. Darlene got on her tits from time to time with her bloody music of hers and she really had to strain her ears to pick out half of what she was frigging well saying. It wasn't the same as just her and Lauren sharing a cell as she remembered that Lauren was dead considerate, knew how she felt and could make her laugh. It got her down that her life with Lauren was becoming a memory. It could have been worse after she went off the rails but everything around her was a depressing flat anti climax. She wondered vaguely how Lauren was going on and into her waking dreams, appeared the fairytale palace in which she must be living, swimming pool, country garden, house full of gadgets, plush carpets. Why should she think of prison, some shitty cell, in which she could have been banged up for life? Why should she ever bother to ever come back if she were in Lauren's shoes?

"So Yvonne's coming in this afternoon," Nikki's soft, very kindly voice insinuated itself into her dreams out of nowhere. She had been rushed off her feet all morning and wanted to pop in and make sure that Denny was in the right frame of mind to face Yvonne.  
"She says she is. Doesn't mean that she'll come," Denny muttered cynically. Somehow it felt easier to stay hard and tough so it keeps all the crap out of your life. Don't expect much out of life so you won't get let down. "You've known Yvonne as long as I have. Don't you know that one casual promise from her is worth its weight in gold? Do you really believe she's not turning up?" "Suppose so," Denny muttered as the memory of Nikki's voice echoed round in her mind when she was up for adjudication. "I took this job, Denny, precisely because I do know how bad things are. Is it so bad to want to improve what happens in a place like this, to make things better for you, for the Julies, Jesus, even for Al McKenzie? That's why I'm here, and that's why I'm trying to do the right thing." "You scared a lot of us half to death, me included, when you were up on the roof so I'm not taking any chances on anything going wrong. I've double checked and I've just phoned Yvonne to make dead sure." Nikki's intense brown eyes looked directly at her while Denny's eyes glazed over. Nikki chatted away to Denny in her friendly fashion but soon had the curious fashion that Denny wasn't listening.

"……..so how have you been getting on in the four bed dorm, Denny." "Eh?" Denny mouthed almost silently. She had seen Nikki's mouth open and close and heard sounds come out of her mouth but they sounded more like what Nikki had gone on to tell her at her adjudication. "Denny, I promise you, that I won't ever forget what it was like to be an inmate in here. They were three of the most difficult years of my life, but if I ever for one moment forgot I'd had them, I would be betraying the only truly wonderful thing that's ever happened to me. Okay?" She'd been up before one authority figure after another, either in the children's home onwards and right through into Larkhall prison. She had got to get hard to survive either place and it was easier to be a bully and hit anyone weaker than herself to cover up her own hurt so she couldn't feel anything. They'd all sat behind their official desks and said the same load of crap, even Stewart. She was Shell's mate so Stewart had a down on her. It was simple as that, wasn't it? Only Nikki was different right now. She has to do everything her own way, the way Nikki had always done things, when she's stood up to Fenner and Bodybag all those years ago. She had always seen her at a distance and she really wished she'd known her better at the time. She was still the same though different and her words went round and round in her head. She was bloody right …..about everything and at least there was someone stronger and wiser than she was who had been one of them and was now looking after her. Behind her stood Miss Betts who'd been the first decent wing governor and hadn't ever forgotten her, had she. She hadn't been around Larkhall for a week or so and Denny hoped she was looking after herself. She half suspected that it had been down to her, the way she was chancing her arm up there on the roof. They could have both fallen over the edge. Why couldn't she be like any of them, or like Lauren? They had that kind of gloss that she never had. She wasn't jealous of any of them, it was just that she felt inadequate next to them. "You haven't heard a word of what I've been saying, Denny," Nikki cut through Denny's deep thoughts with slightly strained patience.  
"You're dead wrong, Nikki. I've heard everything you told me at adjudication. It's been going on round and round in my head." "And does it make sense to you and it's not another load of well meaning crap?" Like lightning, Nikki mentally shifted gear and put herself in Denny's mind. That was worth far more than the mild inconvenience of a second take of what she'd been saying.  
Denny nodded her head vigorously.  
"That's worth much more than anything. You have to have hope, haven't you?" They looked into each other's eyes and that exchange of shared memories said everything. From anyone else, Nikki's words would have been a load of bollocks that meant sod all. Nikki was different. She'd been there.  
Now are you listening, Denny….." Denny grinned at Nikki's gentle, joking manner.  
"……..then I'll begin again."

"Is Lauren coming?" Denny asked eagerly, starting to jump up and down in excitement. The day was getting better and surely it had to happen. Nikki's face fell and Denny knew the bitter truth before her words said so. The words were as gentle as could be but the truth was brutal.  
"It ain't worth going to the visitor's room in that case." "Don't be so bloody stupid," Came the smart retort. It could have been Yvonne talking to her. "I didn't press Yvonne for the reason why as she sounded uncomfortable so you go in and find out from her, do you hear." Denny got the message and filed down after all the others. Her feelings were mixed but at least she felt better than this morning. She had to do as she was told. Everything was set up perfectly for the visit. Her loose fitting top was just about long enough in the sleeve so that the surgical bandage on her arm didn't really show. Besides, she could as easily have hurt her arm in some kind of accident. 

Yvonne's welcome was warm and expansive as it could possibly be. On the bright side, it meant that she would get Yvonne's undivided attention. On the other hand, she wondered if it would exactly be a bonus, as she would be bound to know all about her little escapade up on the roof. It never crossed her mind that she would not know about it. As a result, Denny greeted Yvonne a little sheepishly. "I suppose you're going to ask me what I was frigging well doing on the roof. I ain't sure myself how I got there." "Denny, I can understand that you want to top up your suntan as Larkhall hasn't exactly got the latest in getting that tanned celebrity look, not with the Julies bangers and mash and a bit of sunshine in recreation if you're lucky. It's that Bodybag would be bound to notice you up on the roof. Even she's not that stupid." Denny grinned slightly at Yvonne's totally affectionate piss take. It did its best to take away anything heavy from that day as much as words ever could. "The main thing is that you're safe. I've been worrying over you and I wanted to make sure you're all right." Even Denny's wavering and uncertain self-esteem couldn't prevent her being gently pulled into that emotionally comforting deep end of the pool. She had spent so much of her life avoiding getting her feet wet. A part of her still felt down and depressed. This was something that Yvonne picked up on straightaway and, rather than pussyfoot around the subject, opted for the direct approach.  
"Come on, spit it out. There's something on your mind, Denny." The younger woman sighed in despair. She was far worse than any screw in keeping secrets from. Even though Yvonne was on the outside, she seemed to know everything that went on on the inside. She shuffled uncomfortably in her chair and, as she was unconscious of the clock ticking, got to the point.  
"It's just that I would have thought that Lauren would have come. I was looking forward to seeing her." "You're really fond of her." Denny nodded, unable to speak for a moment until she finally found words to express her feelings.  
"Me and Lauren got to be real close. We would look after each other. When she was down, she would look after me like after I saw Shell in Ashmoor. It was the same when she first came here, I was the strong one. It made me feel dead important and somehow useful." Yvonne immediately understood the weight of feeling behind those stumbling words. "It's going to take Lauren a while before she can come back to Larkhall, Denny." Yvonne explained patiently. "She's been finding it weird getting out. If you're on the inside, you've got a routine to keep your head straight, yeah, even the sort of pain in the arse like Bodybag.On the outside, you're trying to catch up with the person that you used to be but you find that you've changed. Prison changes you. I found that out when I got out of Larkhall. Lauren's finding that out and one day, you'll go through the same thing." "Chance will be a fine thing," Denny muttered cynically.  
"It will happen. You've got everything going for you. Yourself for a start, your mates and you've Nikki and Karen on your side as well. You haven't got that bastard Fenner to screw things up for you." Denny looked thoughtfully at her. It was only her fear that just when something that she really wanted was going to happen, something would snatch it away from her.  
"Lauren will come in her own time. She's like you. No use in pushing the pair of you. I should know." Again, that incredible tenderness in Yvonne's voice performed that frigging miracle inside Denny's head. "She's thinking of you all the time." An impulse shot into Denny's mind, the way it always did. It was now or never.  
"Can I talk to her? I mean now. Straight after visiting." "I don't see why not but it ain't my nick. I only visit the place. I don't run it." Behind Yvonne's inimitable grin, her mind was working overtime. She was highly conscious not to bring her friendship with Nikki into her job. Yvonne could see her out of the corner of her eye and wondered how she was taking that one. The old saying about not mixing business with pleasure always made sense to her. On the other hand, it had the makings of a good idea and Nikki was Nikki.  
"I need a light." "Sure" For some reason, Denny raised her left hand to reach for Yvonne's Silk Cut cigarette, which was offered to her. As she did, her sleeve fell away and the surgical dressing came into view.  
"How in hell did you do that?" Her voice was choked and throaty with emotion and utter shock. The moment the first word left her lips, she knew. It could only spell one thing. All her dormant instincts and memories of Larkhall fitted the pieces of the puzzle together in a sickeningly easy way.  
"Eh?" The expression on Denny's face was of total bemusement at the situation and of Yvonne's reaction. Time had moved on for Denny and that mad stuff with the razor blade was something she didn't want to think of, something she had pushed into the past as quickly as the passing days had let her. Life moved on in prison. It had also never crossed her mind that Nikki wouldn't have told Yvonne and that, alternatively, she wouldn't have known from any other source. She knew everything. It had always been that way.  
"I've been stupid. I cut myself with a razor blade," She said shamefacedly.

Nikki had been watching the conversation from some distance away but her sharp ears had caught the drift of the conversation. Her hand covered her mouth in horror and she blushed in shame. She had only talked to Yvonne earlier that morning and a parallel instinct to Denny's had made her unconsciously push out of her mind the horrors of Denny cutting up. It meant that an outraged Yvonne was glaring in her direction with devastating eye contact.  
"Selena, get the keys to the private interview room and fast. I'm going to need it." Her feet took her reluctantly and stiffly in Yvonne's direction.  
"I know what you're thinking, Yvonne," She started apologetically and hesitantly.  
"Don't you just." Nikki winced before the suppressed ferocity of Yvonne's opening verbal blast before an instinct in her prompted her to take over. She had always acted that way, whether as wing governor, dealing with drunken women in the club or haranguing Helen in a matter of blatant injustice.  
"The three of us need a private room. Let's move it." "Are you saying that as head screw?" Yvonne was secretly aghast at the way the words shot out of her mind. She didn't really mean to say that but they came to Nikki's rescue as controlled anger took over. In the very few arguments she had had with Yvonne, she was the one fellow prisoner who was her match. "No, as Nikki Wade, same as I've always been. We need to be able to talk in private and get this sorted out, as long as it takes. Now move it, I said." That whiplash crack of authority in Nikki's voice got the other two women to their feet and they followed Nikki's determined forceful stride. Secretly, she hadn't a clue what she was going to say but she put her trust in instinct. It couldn't be worse than when she had single handedly confronted the Peckham Boot Gang and their friends when they were getting the knives out in the middle of the prison riot. "Denny, I bet you've guessed a bit of what's going on .I never mentioned anything about you cutting up not to Cassie, Roisin, Josh Crystal or Lauren or anyone when I went round to Yvonne's the night that Lauren got out…" An instinct in Yvonne could see the way that Nikki shook inwardly at the mention of the name of every friend of theirs who she'd kept in the dark. Nikki didn't mean to do it but that didn't help her at that moment.  
"So why didn't you say, Nikki. Just one word would have helped. You've got a phone. You could have told me anytime even if you were too busy to see me." Nikki flinched at the perfect truth of the remarks. She didn't know what made her feel worse, the other woman's blazing anger or her hurt sorrow.  
"I could never have told you, not when you were so happy that night with Lauren getting out, sorry Denny…….." "That's all right, Nikki," Denny said eagerly. It was down to her to stop both women hurting so much, especially as it was over her.  
"……..as for later on, well, I could have told you but I didn't want to think about it. I messed up, Yvonne." Nikki ground to a halt. She felt that she should say more but did not know how. Unknown to her at that moment, it was the best thing she could have done. Yvonne had slipped back into seeing the smart suit of the wing governor but when she blinked, it was only Nikki after all.  
"Don't mind admitting it's been a hell of a shock. I thought you were doing so well." "That's because Lauren was getting out. I thought you didn't need me," Blurted out Denny. "You soft cow, Denny. You know better now? Once you're in the firm, I mean the family, you don't get out so easily. You hear that?" Yvonne gathered up Denny in her arms and gave her a big hug as the room went very quiet, in fact surprisingly so. The usual background sound of a room full of visitors and prisoners rapidly talking appeared to have faded into the distance and time was passing. At first Nikki thought that the cut and thrust of the very fraught argument had taken it out of all of them until she realized that the visitor's room really had gone quiet.  
"Can Denny make a call to Lauren from your office, Nikki. I know you wouldn't do that sort of thing and I wouldn't be asking if I didn't think that if Denny had some contact with Lauren it would help her." What she really meant to say was that it might stop Denny doing anything stupid again but Nikki got the drift straightaway. There was a polite knock at the door and Selena popped her head round the door.  
"Sorry to disturb, miss, but I thought I'd check to make sure everything was all right." "You did right, Selena. I take it that the visiting room is clear now?" "Very exceptionally, I'm proposing to escort Yvonne Atkins and Denny Blood to my office and I'll be responsible for their whereabouts afterwards when I'll show my face on the wing. If anyone wants me, I'm not to be disturbed for the next half hour unless it's an emergency. Got that?" It intrigued Yvonne to hear her old friend assume the official tones so perfectly but Nikki always had been smart that way.

The three of them trooped along to Nikki's office, past a gaping Bodybag who muttered 'typical' under her breath and into Nikki's room.  
"I shouldn't have taken it out of you earlier on, Nikki. I'm sorry," Yvonne said promptly. As they had been walking, she had been turning matters over in her mind. It needed to be said.  
"Forget it. I'd have done the same if I were in your shoes. I used to have a really bad temper as you remember" Yvonne grinned back and Nikki promptly made everyone welcome and turned her attention to Denny with a question that was niggling away at the back of her mind.  
"Help yourself to the phone, Denny but, one thing. Are you going to let Lauren know what happened or should I do it?" The expression on Denny's face was scared. She daren't tell Lauren, as she would be too ashamed.  
"Leave it to me, Nikki till when I get home. Don't you do it, you've taken on quite enough." Yvonne's face was set like iron as she spoke in hard, determined, authoritative tones. Nikki was glad to give way to her.  
"Hi Lauren……yes, I've been a pillock in not talking sooner………not too bad, I'm sharing with Buki, Tina and Darlene in the four bed dorm………yeah, Darlene gets on my tits but I'm getting used to her crap music……..well, it's your turn to get out, I'd be a twat if I thought you sort of have to hang around Larkhall waiting for me to get out…….I'm phoning from Nikki's office instead of the phone box……well, she's being dead kind and thinks I need cheering up as well……how's the swimming pool and the house……bet you're having the time of your life…… you come when you feel ready…..mum's been filling me in about how you've been feeling and I understand…….. Love you loads and I can't wait to see you………" The two other women smiled fondly at Denny and were glad to hear Denny at her best chattering excitedly about nothing in particular. It was the best for all concerned. 


	195. Part One Hundred And Ninety Five

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Ninety Five

As Karen drove to the airport to meet George's plane late on the Friday afternoon, she couldn't help feeling a certain level of excitement at the prospect of seeing her again. She was well aware that things would probably have changed a great deal with George, but that didn't mean that Karen wasn't looking forward to seeing her again. Karen had done nothing but sunbathe, swim and sleep for the past two weeks, and she knew it had done her good. She'd barely spoken to anyone, except occasionally to Yvonne when she'd phoned, or to George when they'd arranged when she would come out here. She'd shopped for food in the local market, the beautifully ripened fruit and the freshly caught fish having provided her diet for the last fortnight. She'd gotten used to driving on the right side of the road, moving Yvonne's air-conditioned car through the nearby towns and tiny fishing villages. She'd walked along endless sandy beaches, swum far enough out to sea to make her almost lose her sense of direction, and she'd enjoyed every minute of it. The time to herself did occasionally give her too much time to think, but this had also allowed her to begin trying to make some sense of the last couple of months. She hadn't in any way completed the grieving process she must go through over Ross, but she reflected that she was now perhaps more able to deal with it. She hadn't progressed in any way through many of her feelings of hurt or anger over his death, and she knew that it would all be waiting for her just as soon as she returned to England. But these last two weeks had permitted her to put most of it aside for a time, to regather her strength for the toil ahead. 

As she stood beyond the barrier, and watched George walk towards her, carrying a simple holdall as she was only staying for a couple of days, Karen couldn't help but think that she looked happy. Gone was the worry and concern that had lingered in George's eyes, every time she'd looked at her, though there was a slight wariness about her, telling Karen that George was a little unsure of what this meeting might entail. When she finally stood in front of Karen, George gaped. Karen looked rested, healthy, and incredibly tanned. "Good god," She said in amazement. "You're so brown you could almost be reclassified." "You're not looking so bad yourself," Karen told her, giving her a hug and kissing her cheek. As they walked out to the car and drove to the villa, they didn't talk about anything deep and meaningful, both aware that this would happen only too soon. "You look as though you feel at home here," George observed, as they drove up the long coastal road to the villa. "Yes, it's funny, but I suppose I do," Karen replied. "I kept drifting over to the wrong side of the road for the first couple of days, but you get used to it pretty quickly." When they pulled up in the driveway, and Karen led the way inside, George couldn't help but be impressed. "Well, next time I have a client who needs to do some pretty swift money laundering, I'll tell them to take Yvonne's advice," Was her dry observation, as she took in the beautifully decorated interior, the tiled floors that would be cold on the feet, and the terrace and swimming-pool that lay at the back. After Karen had poured them both a glass of chilled white wine, they sat out on the terrace, the late afternoon sun having moved round a bit, so as to afford them some shade. "So, how are you really?" George asked, taking a swig of her wine and then lighting a cigarette. "Oh, I'm all right," Karen said a little evasively. "I've done sod all apart from sleep, so at least I might have some energy when I go back on Sunday." "You're coming back with me?" George asked, not having been aware of this till now. "Yes," Karen told her simply. "That's why I asked you to come this weekend, to make me come back. I might have had the longest rest imaginable, which has definitely done me all the good in the world, but everything will still be there waiting for me when I get back. It would be far too easy just to stay out here for ever, to live in a sort of contented limbo, far enough away so that everything can just go on without me." "Darling, that doesn't sound like you," George said in concern, for the first time wondering if two week's solitude had been the best idea after all. "No, I know it doesn't," Karen replied, lighting her own cigarette. "So, I thought that if I have to go back when you do, I won't be able to find an excuse to stay. I haven't dealt with a single, bloody thing while I've been out here, but perhaps now I'll have the energy to do that when I get back." Laying a hand over the one of Karen's that wasn't holding her cigarette, George gave it a squeeze, understanding everything Karen had said. "Everyone sends their love," She said, trying to lighten the conversation a little. "I talked to Nikki just yesterday, and she said that everything's ticking over just fine." "I had to resist the urge to phone her for the first couple of days," Karen admitted sheepishly. "I'm more than a little intrigued as to what Nikki came up with, as punishment for Sylvia." "Ah," George said with a broad smile. "Then I think you will be highly amused by that particular turn of events. Nikki told me to tell you, that Sylvia has been put on a year's probation, and is being supervised by Gina." Only just managing to swallow her mouthful of wine in time, Karen laughed, a sound that George hadn't heard out of her in far too long. "That is truly inspired," Karen said approvingly. "She'll make a Governing Governor in the next five years with an attitude like that. God, I bet Sylvia's been cursing herself to hell and back in the last fortnight." "She thought that might cheer you up." "George, tell me what's been happening with you?" George had been about to take another sip from her glass, but put it back down on the table in favour of trying to get her brain into some semblance of order. "I'm not sure how much you want to know," She said evasively, not entirely meeting Karen's gaze. Reaching forward, Karen gently tilted George's face up to hers, so that they were looking straight into each other's eyes. "I want to know everything," She said, without an ounce of hurt or anger anywhere in her tone. Gazing back into Karen's soft, hypnotising blue eyes, George found a few tears rising to her own eyes, but tried not to let them fall. "I'm sorry," She said, feeling such a complete cow for doing this to Karen. "George..." Karen tried to say, not wanting her to feel like this. "No, please just let me say it," George interrupted. "I couldn't have done this to you at a worse time, and I wish with all my heart that I hadn't had to do it, I really do. You mean an awful lot to me, and you always will do. I won't ever forget what we've had together, not ever, no matter who else I might be with. If you still want to know everything, then I'll tell you, because it probably wouldn't do me any harm to talk about it, but I don't want to do that if it will hurt you." "George, look at me," Karen said gently, taking George's hands in hers. "That's the last time I want to hear any hint of an apology from you. I've barely spoken to anyone over the last couple of weeks, which has been fantastic, but it's given me time to think. Not about Ross, because I haven't yet summoned up the courage to do that in anything resembling a pointful fashion, but I have thought about you, and about why you ended up feeling the way you did. So please, enough of the sorries, because they're not necessary." "All right," George acquiesced quietly. "We did tell John, or at least I did. God, I swear that was one of the most nerve-racking evenings of my life. He was a little confused, a little hurt that we'd taken so long to tell him, and I think he's still getting used to the idea." "Have you slept with her?" Karen asked with a soft smile, thinking that George's level of neuroticism must have been going through the roof. "You know, that was virtually the first thing John wanted to know." "Hey, I'm simply curious to know whether or not you've passed on my expertise," Karen said with a perfectly straight face. When George realised that Karen was playing with her, she laughed. "That's one way of putting it, I suppose. John couldn't at first get his head round the fact, that how we felt about each other wasn't exactly a recent occurrence, and yet we hadn't got around to sleeping with each other." Karen was incredibly curious to know just how long this had been going on, but she didn't want to plunge them both back into the territory of hurt feelings by asking such a question. "I slept with her last weekend," George told her eventually. "And?" "And, it was fabulous. The first time you slept with me, did you find it utterly mind blowing, to initiate someone like that?" "Yes, I did," Karen told her fondly. "It gave me a sense of achievement that I hadn't felt in a long time." "I felt so special, that she'd trusted me to do that for her." "That's pretty much what I felt like with you," Karen agreed, remembering just how on top of the world she'd felt after making love to George. 

Back in London, John had returned from the opening of the new session of judge's seminars, and had driven straight over to Jo's, knowing that she was cooking him a meal. George was in Spain by now, and John was looking forward to a weekend alone with Jo. She'd seemed happier this week whenever he'd spoken to her on the phone, and he had a sneaking suspicion as to why. It wasn't impossible that as their relationship was now out in the open, George and Jo had finally got around to sleeping with each other. Last weekend would have been the perfect time, because he was away and couldn't possibly have disturbed them. When Jo let him in, there was a new light in her eyes, something shining out of her that without a doubt confirmed his suspicion. "You're looking pleased with yourself," He said when she'd kissed him long and hard. "Hmm, I suppose I am," She said, wholly unable to keep the smirk off her face. "Actually, you look like the cat who got the cream," john said, piercing her with his unflinching gaze. "Ah, well," She said with satisfaction. "When the male cat's away, the females will play." John laughed. "Is that right," He said, holding her from him and scrutinizing her. "Well, it seems to have done you good." "I do realise that you've just driven back from Warwick," She said speculatively. "But I've just put dinner in the oven, and it will take over an hour to cook." "Sounds perfect," He said, immediately understanding her meaning. But when they were lying in bed, their hands following their old familiar paths, John could sense something different in her. "Can I make an observation?" He said into her hair, his hands roaming her silky soft skin. "As long as it's complementary," Jo replied, though thinking that it wouldn't be in John's nature to be otherwise at the moment. "You're different tonight, I can't explain it. It's almost as if you're the Jo I used to make love to, before you became pregnant." Stopping in her insistent caresses of his skin, Jo touched his cheek, making him look at her. "I think that's because I am," She said quietly. "John, sleeping with George, it did something to me, something I really didn't expect." As she began explaining the way she'd felt on reaching her second orgasm with George, a whole host of feelings rose up in John. He had often wondered over the years, if Jo's termination had led to her putting a subconscious restraint on her sexual urges, but he'd never discussed his thoughts with her, because he hadn't wanted to bring up what was for both of them, a very difficult subject. He had got used to the more reserved Jo, and would never have loved or fancied her any less because of it. The way Jo had always kept some of herself from him, had possibly made him be more cautious with her, as though he were trying to respect the woman she now was, compared to the one he'd once known. But who would have thought it? Who would have thought that after all these years of Jo not being willing to really let herself go, George had been the one to achieve something he'd been trying for half his life. "I think she's performed a miracle, if she did but know it," John said, the surge of emotions almost swamping him. "I did tell her, when it happened," Jo replied. "I think it made her feel quite overawed." "I'm not surprised," John said ruefully. "But I'm so happy, Jo. I always thought that it might be something like that. I didn't ever consider saying so, because I knew that it was partly my fault that you ended up feeling like that, and I didn't know how to put it right." "John, as unbelievable as it sounds," Jo tried to soothe his scattered wits. "I don't think any man would have been able to do it. I think it needed a woman, because sleeping with a woman is so different." "I do hope that I don't become entirely surplus to requirements," He said with a smile, though Jo could hear the seriousness of his fear in his tone. "Of course you won't," She said, beginning to kiss him again, and getting him back onto familiar ground. Their lovemaking was furious, rapturous, every feeling being laid bare for maximum consumption. No barrier remained between them, and no words were left unsaid. "I do hope George isn't better than me at this," John couldn't help saying, as he swiped his tongue over Jo's clitoris. "Different, not better," Jo told him between gasps, immediately halting John in his tracks. "She really did this to you?" He asked, wishing he'd been there to see it. "You don't need to look quite so surprised," She said with a smirk at his expression. "I'd give anything to see that," He said in awe. "I'm sure you will, one day," She tried to placate him. "Though probably not any time soon. I want to improve my skill a bit on both of you first." 

On the Saturday morning, George woke to find that Karen was no longer lying beside her. They'd found it easy enough to share the same bed on the Friday night, knowing that it would have felt unnaturally distant to be separate from each other, even though they were no longer lovers. Pulling herself out of bed, George wrapped a towel round her, and walked outside to see where Karen might be. Finding her in the swimming pool, she stood and watched, as Karen's toned body moved swiftly from one end to the other. She looked as though she'd been doing an awful lot of swimming over the last couple of weeks, and George would bet anything that not all of it had been in the safety of the pool. When Karen turned for her last length, she saw George watching her. When she at last got out, she looked a little breathless but happy. "Try it," Karen invited, picking up a towel and wrapping it round herself. "It's the perfect way to wake up." "Yes, well, even though I knew I was coming over here for two days in the sun, I forgot to bring a bikini," George admitted disgustedly. "That doesn't matter," Karen replied, briefly touching George's bare shoulder. "No one can see you. Well, no one except me, and I've seen it all before." Leaving George in a slightly stunned silence, Karen went inside to take a shower. Thinking that the water looked far too cool and inviting, George took Karen at her word, slipped off the towel and put it on the sun lounger, and approaching the edge of the pool, slid into the beautifully refreshing water with a groan of content. She lost all track of time as she moved through the water, her shoulder length hair streaming out behind her. She often went swimming at home, because other than sex, it was the most pleasurable exercise she had found. But the confines of the far too warm pool at the leisure centre, was nothing in comparison to being outdoors, and having the pleasantly cool water sliding over her entirely naked body. 

When Karen emerged from her shower, putting on a clean bikini ready for sunbathing, she went back outside to find George still in the water, looking more beautiful with every moment that Karen stood and watched her. When she swam to the side and looked up at Karen staring down at her, Karen grinned. "You look like a mermaid," She said, pointing to George's hopelessly tangled hair. "Except that I have two legs rather than a tail," George said dryly. "Would you like some breakfast?" Karen asked her. "You know, for the first time in my life, I'm actually hungry at the thought of breakfast." "Swimming always does that," Karen said as George pulled herself out of the pool and reached for her towel, giving Karen a brief but unforgettable display of her naked body. When George sat down at the table on the terrace, Karen brought out some melon and strawberries that needed eating up before she left tomorrow. They'd eaten fresh salmon the night before, that Karen had picked up from the market, along with a succulent salad and followed by the strawberries, of which half were left over this morning. They drank fresh orange juice and iced coffee, and afterwards George went inside for a shower, emerging some time later to find Karen lying on a sun bed and reading a book. Slipping off the towel she was wearing, George perched on the edge of a sun bed and picked up Karen's bottle of sun cream. When she'd plastered some on her fair skinned arms, Karen looked up and said, "Do you want me to oil you?" Thinking that this was probably playing with fire, George agreed, and lay down on her back as Karen approached. Karen also knew that she shouldn't be doing this, but George lying there in all her naked, unselfconscious glory was simply too good an opportunity to miss. After applying a good coating to George's legs, Karen moved onto her thighs, massaging the cream in as she went, instantly making George realise that she never should have said yes to this. Karen's touch was so skilful, so arousing, that George had to bite furiously down on her lip, to prevent herself from gasping at the feel of Karen's hands on her. Glancing up at her, Karen smiled when she saw George's reaction to her ministrations. "You'll have no lip left if you keep doing that," She said silkily, her tone of voice making George almost shiver with the intensity of the rush of remembered feelings. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" George asked, her voice not completely steady. "Do you want me to stop?" Karen asked her, entirely prepared to if this really wasn't what George wanted, though Karen thought that if it hadn't been, George wouldn't have allowed Karen to touch her in the first place. "I, er, I'd rather you didn't stop," George told her, a little shame facedly, as Karen began working the sun cream into her torso, her fingers sliding languidly over George's prominent ribs. But as they slid silkily over her breasts, George laid her hands over Karen's, just for a moment holding them in place, her eyes begging Karen to continue. Karen was sitting on the edge of the sun lounger by this time, her hands gently smothering the cream into George's soft breasts, using the softness of her fingers to graze the painfully erect nipples. Adjusting her position, Karen was now lying next to George on the thoroughly accommodating sun bed, her left hand continuing to caress George's breasts, while her right arm went round George to hold her close. Keeping her eyes fixed on George's, to make sure that everything she did was wanted as much as George said it was, Karen trailed her oily hand down, until her slickly covered fingers where seeking out George's even slicker centre. George couldn't believe how incredible this felt, to have Karen's sun cream covered hands moving on and inside her like this, and being out in the sunshine into the bargain. They didn't exchange so much as a word as Karen did this, and neither did they exchange a kiss. Kisses were for lovers, whereas touching could occasionally be something between friends, at least this was how George was reconciling what she was doing, with what lay back home waiting for her. She cried out as she came, knowing that nothing she'd ever done had ever felt so wickedly decadent, or so utterly sinful. Karen lay with her for a short time, softly watching George's face, and only when George's eyes drifted closed did she gently disentangle herself. As she slid quietly into the cool, still water, she reflected that this was just as good as a cold shower. Karen was utterly overwhelmed by what she'd just done, as it certainly wasn't something she'd planned to happen this weekend. She just hoped that George wouldn't regret it, because they had more than enough obstacles to encounter some time today, without making the morning's activities one of them. 


	196. Part One Hundred And Ninety Six

Part One Hundred and Ninety Six

Outside the bedroom window of the vicarage, the trees waved their branches as heavy winds and squalls of rain showers blasted through them. The leaves of the trees were starting to curl brown at the edges from the onset of autumn. It suited Babs' mood, which was bleak inside, however much she wore her smile for her dear Henry's sake. The thought that his health had slid alarmingly downhill so soon tore at her heart. She did not want to know just yet that she had been through this situation before.

She ought to have been warned by Henry's increasing pallor but then again, he had never looked the healthy open-air kind of man. That tendency to a racking cough last summer had made her worry slightly but the dear, foolish man would never have let himself be dragged along to the doctor for a check up. He had always been the pack mule in life, able to carry any burden uncomplainingly, never to give way and bemoan his lot. He had looked after his first wife so devotedly throughout her illness that it had made him self sufficient to a fault, to the point that he, the vicar, should listen to advice himself.

She could remember at last that feeling of jubilation when she had finally got Henry to go to his local doctor. He was of the old fashioned school, not dissimilar from Henry, which was what finally led him to tear himself away from his duties. He was immensely reassuring in his manner and had unhurriedly written out a referral to the specialist at St. Mary's hospital in Paddington. He spoke confidently of the enormous advances the medical profession had made in the last few years, since Peter's untimely death while delicately not spelling it out in words. She really did think that there was hope for him, because she had wanted to believe it. She had watched the post dropping through the letterbox with an eagle eye while trying to keep up the act to herself and to Henry that everything was in hand. It was a Middle England tradition to believe in the wisdom of the captain and that everyone would be rescued. Her previous experience of Larkhall had taught her the savage lesson that, in that particular establishment, the sergeants and lieutenants were either fools or villains or both but in this area of precious life itself, she had wanted to believe.

All the more paralysing was the shock was Henry had been taken in immediately for an operation and the bad news was broached to her in private. "I'm Connie Beauchamp, consultant cardio thoracic surgeon….." She started in confidently enough before the hesitation in her voice gave away what she was going to say.  
"…..I'm really sorry to tell you, Barbara, that your husband is suffering from a highly advanced malignant form of cancer of the lung. I started the operation but I found that it was too far advanced to do anything about it. To tell you the truth, I wonder that he has not come for treatment earlier than this. He must have been in pain from the illness and the repeated coughing which must have made him feel weak and drained. He must be a very strong willed man."

This was the part of her job that the consultant had found distasteful, just how to break the bad news. It went against her instincts to fight hard for other people's lives with that dedication and perfectionism that was embedded deep within her. Anything less than success was a personal failure, which she successfully hid behind that professional mask.

Babs might even have smiled politely in her usual restrained Middle England way. The gesture was automatic. It took a little while for her to recover from the shock of the announcement and her first crazy inconsequential thought was how young the consultant was. "That's Henry all right. I am afraid that his deeply held vocation as a vicar makes him the world's worst patient." The other woman smiled politely back at her in her usual way but something in the expression in her eye and the faint lines in her face visibly recognised a kindred soul. "I'm afraid that palliative treatment is all that can be offered." "How long has he got? I have gone through this before with my previous husband and I know what to expect. I would prefer to face the truth." "A matter of some months, I'm afraid." As the final death sentence was pronounced in as caring gentle fashion as possible, Babs immediately reproached herself for not insisting more forcibly that he go to the doctor but dear Henry would never have gone before. I went against my secret better judgement as I knew deep down that I would have done the same if I were him.

From then on, Babs tried to take one or two of the more onerous duties off him and a locum used to stand in for Henry when even he admitted that his strength was beyond him to stand in the pulpit and to project his voice to the entire congregation in the church. It happened occasionally at first and then more often as time and his illness progressed. It explained why the memory of one of her proudest moments in her life, the performance of the "Creation" was so mixed. On the one hand, it did her good to lose herself in rehearsals in the religious severity of her harpsichord part. It gave her something she could concentrate on and to lose herself in. The performance was an utterly overwhelming experience when she was at one in the swelling cascade of instrumental devotion in all its shapes and sounds and tones. The magnificent harmonising of George, Neil and Monty was something out of the world. She could still remember the words sung as the piece approached its triumphant finale.  
"Spouse adored, at thy side, purest joys o'erflow the heart. With thee, with thee, with thee."

That was true and truly inspiring if it weren't for human mortality. At a time like this when one partner might be fated to be outlasted by the other, it tried her Christian faith to the utmost.  
She was so proud of her dear Henry that day as she reminisced, determinedly thinking of happier times. His thanks for the magnificent performance were in his typically generous, genuine fashion. She might even have persuaded herself that he looked hale and hearty except for his whispered aside to her in the celebrations in the church hall as to how much the day had taken it out of him. It was then that she put up her façade to Karen of all people that she had faith for Henry's future when that was slipping away from her like sand trickling through an egg timer. Right now, she dared not even think of the future, only the day-to-day present.

"It's all right, dearest," She reassured Henry on that Saturday in September. "The locum has been arranged for tomorrow. He has no trouble in attending." "That is good news, Barbara. I fear I have been imposing on his good nature. I must offer my thanks, you know, when I am fit enough to take over." A single tear hovered in Babs eye. He still thinks that he will fight his illness. I wish I had his faith, she thought ruefully. "That's all right, Henry. He is only too glad to help. You might not know it but you are held up as an example to the younger vicars." "He does me too much credit. I have only done what I should have done…."Henry's weakened self deprecating reply was interrupted by a coughing bout. Babs immediately came to him and did what she could do for him, which she felt, was precious little.  
"You, on the other hand, have offered me so much comfort over the last couple of years, Barbara. I have had such a happy life with you." "Have, Henry dear?" Babs questioned with a brave smile. "You make it sound as you're talking about the past." "The past, the present and the fut…." Henry started to say when a coughing bout racked his far too thin body.

It was a little while later that Henry lay back on the long settee, which was covered by a large duvet. He would not hear of taking to his bed. That seemed symbolic of lying back and accepting his fate meekly. Appearances were misleading where Henry was concerned. He was quite prepared to run up against his brother who had made a pretense of being willing to help at the wedding only to turn vociferously against her. Though Henry was the younger of the two brothers, he stood up fearlessly to fight to defend the woman that he loved, more deeply than his fragile health would permit him to say at length.  
"You could have ended up with Bodybag once. She made a very determined play for you once." "Heaven forbid," Henry smiled faintly. "I still remember being embarrassed by that pushy woman. Thank goodness you came to the rescue……." Henry's eyelids drooped over and the fingers relaxed and let the pen he had been holding drop gently onto the quilt while the little notebook he had been writing in lay where he had dropped it. He was still painfully making notes for further church services in the future and tasks that he intended to do when he was better. He was conscious of time and duties slipping away from him. That was not like him, he sleepily reflected.

Suddenly, he twitched in his sleep and cracks in his eyelids started to open up.  
"We were talking about us, Barbara. I think I remember rightly though my memory is not what it used to be." "It happens to us all as we get older." "I've always been conscious of you in the vicarage wherever I am. You don't have to say anything or do anything. I just know that you're around. So restful, so peaceful and so caring. Before you came into my life, I had given up on my future. When I saw you distinctly for the first time at Larkhall, I knew that you were meant to be part of my life. I am a somewhat shy man and I took my time in talking properly to you………" "Everything happened for the best, Henry. Even the time when I thought you were far too trusting and naïve in letting that fearful woman, Snowball Merriman manipulate you." "You were always right, Barbara….."

The wind continued to howl round the vicarage, besieging it in the foretaste of winter to come. It always has to happen this time of the year that nature starts to decay until the first buds of spring the following year. Nature is so much better ordered than human lives.

"You ought to get to see your friends more, Barbara. You cannot wear yourself out day after day looking after me…." So who would look after Henry, Babs asked God in her misery? She was becoming very afraid for what might happen to Henry. She had another appointment to check up on Henry's health and having to fight down an instinct to not want to know. She was getting more and more tired and looking after Henry was becoming harder work. The idea seemed lovely but somewhat unrealistic.  
"I will some time. Rest assured of that." There was no conviction behind her tones. She rarely went out of the vicarage these days unless she had to. That was her life these days.

They chatted awhile about the past, as if in hanging onto the past, the present would be more secure. 


	197. Part One Hundred And Ninety Seven

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part One Hundred And Ninety Seven

Neither Karen nor George chose to raise the subject of what they'd done that morning, because neither could find a satisfactory way of discussing it. George had fallen asleep afterwards and Karen had immediately taken a dip in the pool. When George had woken, Karen was again stretched out on the sunbed, for the moment hidden behind the barrier of her book. George's body had begun turning a deliciously sun rich gold, making her feel lazily contented in the sultry heat of the mid September sun. On the Saturday evening, Karen drove them to a beautiful little fish restaurant in a nearby town that she'd discovered the week before. It was just above the beach, with fishing nets and other assorted paraphernalia hanging round the door. They sat at a table outside, with the gently lapping waves only a couple of hundred yards or so away from them. As the stunningly tanned waiter came to take their order for drinks, he smiled in recognition when he saw Karen, causing George to smirk when he'd left. "Darling, precisely how often have you been here?" She asked knowingly. "Only twice," Karen told her, seeing exactly where the conversation was heading. "I think I made a bit of an impression on him." "I bet you did," George said dryly. "No, before you ask," Karen told her. "Though the thought did cross my mind." "So why not?" George said with a laugh. "Three reasons really," Karen replied, ticking them off on her fingers. "He doesn't speak enough English, I don't speak enough if any Spanish, and because he is far too young. I'm trying to stay away from men young enough to be my... Well, from men younger than Ritchie Atkins anyway." It hadn't gone unnoticed by either of them that she'd almost said young enough to be my son, but neither of them drew attention to it. "I once picked up someone only just out of university," George astounded Karen by telling her. "I was fast approaching my fortieth birthday, and was feeling very old, very unattractive, and completely dried up. So, I made myself look as young as possible, which in those days wasn't all that difficult, and haunted the kind of place where absolutely no one I knew would have thought to seek my company. I was thirty-nine, and he was twenty-one, and it was possibly the naughtiest thing I've ever done in my life. Talk about a rerun of The Graduate." Karen laughed. "I can just see you playing Mrs. Robinson," She said, making George blush scarlet. "Giving someone orders would be your idea of heaven." This time, it was George's turn to laugh. "You're absolutely right," George said in tones of remembered ecstasy. "There really is something to be said for getting one's chance to play tutor. It was so utterly, unquestionably wrong, that it worked, if that isn't a contradiction in terms. He was very sweet, but then he got a job abroad, at around the time I was considering ending it anyway, so you could say it worked out for all concerned. I used to see him occasionally in the public gallery when I was in court, but he thankfully knew better than to even think of approaching me." "You're outrageous," Karen said fondly, as the waiter returned to take their order for food. When he'd gone, Karen said, "I couldn't have taught Ritchie anything if I'd tried. You never saw him when he was looking incredible, with the charm turned up to maximum, and the lines dropping off him as if from a script. Put John's suave, self-assured confidence, with Fenner's manipulative insincerity, and that was Ritchie for you." "Is, erm, is rough sex as good as it sounds?" George asked, not sure if Karen would really want to tell her. "I suppose it depends on why you want it like that," Karen said contemplatively. "But yes, it certainly was for me. I took a pretty big risk, doing that with someone I knew absolutely nothing about, but I think taking risks was part of my raison d'etre in those days. I wouldn't recommend trying it, unless you're completely sure that you know what you're getting into, but if it works, it's fabulous." "I asked John to try it once, but he wouldn't. He said that he'd never been violent towards a woman in his life, and that he wasn't about to start now." "That sounds like John," Karen said with a smile, thinking that George probably would have liked it if she'd been able to try it. 

"I think there's a part of me that thrives on taking risks," Karen said when their starters came. "Like going up on roofs for example," George said a little sternly. "That at least had a good reason behind it," Karen said, though knowing that George did mean well. "It was so seductive up there, George, that I instantly understood why Denny had gone up there. She said that it made her feel free, untouchable, as if she could just fly away and leave everything behind." "And you understanding that wish doesn't bother you?" George asked in disgusted amazement. "Yes, it did, when I got around to thinking about it, but that was the point. Denny went up there because not coming down, or at least not coming down safely, was always a possibility for her, but it wasn't with me." "Try and convince John of that," George told her disbelievingly. "Afterwards, when he came to see me, to tell me you were safe, his exact words were, that you didn't give a damn which way you came down." "I'm not sure I'd go that far," Karen replied, though seeing why John had thought such a thing. "He was so frightened for you," George said, briefly laying a hand over one of Karen's. "So was I, and so were Neil and Nikki." "Neil was furious with me afterwards," Karen put in, enormously touched at the feeling in George's voice. "And I probably deserved it." They talked through the rest of the meal, but without either of them touching on precisely why George was there in the first place. They wanted to leave that until the last moment possible, because its only result would be to raise feelings of hurt and betrayal that neither of them were in any hurry to face. 

When at last they'd finished eating and had paid the bill, they stepped down onto the sand and began walking towards the sea. They carried their shoes in their hands, the soft sand creeping between their toes. "Tell me when it began," Karen eventually invited, taking that final step away from their safe, calm shore of surface tranquility. "April," George told her quietly, immediately wincing at the shock she saw on Karen's face. "I figured that it had probably been going on for a while," Karen said, clearly thrown by this information. "But I had no idea it was that long." "The weekend I got drunk," George filled in for her. "Jo was so angry with me, more angry than I think I've ever seen her. I think she kissed me, because she was so relieved that I hadn't got round to taking those pills." "When I saw her the next day, she looked more than a little frazzled. Maybe now I know why. Just tell me one thing, George, why on earth did you keep it going with me for so long?" "Darling, I had absolutely no idea where it was going with Jo, not for at least the next month. I couldn't have given you up, no matter how hard I tried. But as the feelings I had for Jo grew, I knew that it wasn't fair to either of you to keep up the pretense." "That's a roundabout way of saying that you were keeping your options open," Karen said, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice, and not entirely succeeding. "I didn't think about it like that," George told her, though knowing that this was how it must seem. "You see, this wasn't ever supposed to happen," Karen said, desperately trying to maintain her iron grip on her unpredictable emotions. "In the beginning, you and me was just supposed to be something light, something fun, something with absolutely no strings, only it never quite turns out like that, does it." "No," George agreed regretfully, as they turned to walk along the edge of the sea, and Karen dug out her cigarettes, automatically lighting one for George. "That's what I thought I wanted," Karen continued. "Nothing heavy, nothing that would ask too much of a part of me that had nothing left to give. I'm loathed to admit it, but over the last few months, you've completely got under my skin. It's not anyone's fault, it just happened." "And do you really think that the same thing didn't happen to me?" George asked, wanting to get this absolutely clear. "It didn't matter that I was back with John," She continued. "Because being with you was so new, so different, and because you made me feel alive. You showed me that who I was didn't matter, and being with someone who simply accepted me warts and all, wasn't something I'd ever had before. Even John, even in his slightly misguided wisdom, he thinks he can change me, whether it's the anorexia or the enjoying being with a woman, he thinks, or at least thought, he could cure it. I didn't intend to fall in love with Jo, I promise you I didn't." "I know," Karen said quietly, slipping a hand into George's, as they walked with the sea lapping around their feet. "And if I'm honest, I think you were always destined to fall in love with her." "I'm not sure I believe in destiny," George replied, wondering just how much thinking Karen had done over the last couple of weeks. "You should this time," Karen said simply, and then tried to explain. "George, you've had something in common with Jo for the last twenty years, or almost that long. You've both loved John, and whilst that has for most of that time only given you two a reason to verbally scrap at every given opportunity, it's not something you should immediately dismiss. That has meant, whether or not you care to admit it, that both you and Jo have been quietly interested in the other's life for far longer than the last two years. Then there's the relationship the pair of you entered into with John. That made it almost unavoidable for you to become far closer than you otherwise might have done. As a result of what you share with each other, in other words John, you've had to get to know each other pretty thoroughly in order to make it work. When you found your way into my bed, because let's face it, that's how it was in the beginning, that's pretty much all we both thought you were there for. You were spreading your wings a bit, exploring a side of you that you'd never before sought to discover, a situation I was entirely happy with. George, as you learnt what being with a woman was like, I think it was only natural for your closeness with Jo to spill over into what you were doing with me. Sweetheart, I might feel incredibly hurt at having to let you go, but I do understand it." "How can you rationalise it so, well, so calmly?" George asked after a few moment's silence, almost wishing that Karen would shout at her, say something to try and equal the balance. "I've had two weeks to work it out," Karen said matter-of-factly. "Dwelling on something that I know I can at least begin to deal with, is far easier than thinking about things that I know I definitely can't." "What first made you wonder?" George asked, badly wanting her curiosity satisfied on this point. "The night you slapped John, I phoned you after he'd left me, because I wanted to make sure you were all right. You weren't there, and I started trying to work out why." "That was the only night I spent with Jo, before last weekend, and it hammered home to me that I had to tell you soon, and Daddy liking you so much only made it worse." "You know he wrote to me, after Ross died." "Did he? He didn't say so." "He told me a lot about when your mother died, but he mainly wrote to tell me that he'd also known about Ross. John asked his advice, when he first found out about him." "I should have known," George said, yet another piece of the jigsaw fitting into place. "John always did go to Daddy when he had a problem he couldn't solve, even after we got divorced." 

They walked in silence for a while, beginning to make their way back to the car, but still taking their time. "George, I shouldn't have done what I did this morning, I'm sorry," Karen said after a while, knowing that this subject did have to be broached. "Darling," George said, half laughing. "I wanted what happened this morning, just as much as I think you did. You're right, it probably shouldn't have happened, but I'm not going to lose any sleep over it, and neither should you. I'm also not so naive, as to think that either of us will get through tonight, without wanting a far more satisfactory repeat." When Karen burst into a fit of laughter, George smirked in agreement. "Don't ever change, will you?" Karen said, taking George's hand as they neared the car, and taking in the dark clouds that seemed to have crept in above them. The air was electric, the crickets buzzing in the trees around the carpark, the atmospheric anticipation of the coming storm almost dense enough to touch. They only just made it to the car in time, before the large, heavy droplets began pattering down on the windscreen. "There was a storm last week," Karen told her as they drove towards the villa. "I could have sworn it was going to carry the villa off into the sea it was that powerful." "I don't think this one's going to be any different," George said, as the rain began falling in torrents, drumming on the roof of the car. 

When they pulled up in the driveway, they made a dash to the front door, both getting utterly soaked in the process. Karen had reflexively flung an arm round George's waist as they'd run towards the shelter of the front porch, and she didn't bother to remove it as they went inside. Every inch of skin that was in contact with Karen, burned from her touch, sending sparks of fiery recognition up and down George's spine. When Karen had banged the door behind them, and they stood dripping on the tiled floor of the hall, Karen reached up to brush George's slightly bedraggled hair out of her face. "I like the thoroughly drenched look," She said, as their eyes met with that old intensity, that familiar fire that had once burned between them so brightly. "I... I think we ought to get rid of these wet clothes," George said, her voice slightly hoarse from the feelings that were almost swamping her. Neither of them moved, as time seemed to stand still around them, measured solely by the rain on the windows and the rumble of the approaching thunder. Neither could have said who it was who moved first, but they were suddenly held fast in each other's arms, lips seeking out the other's mouth, and hands wandering over well-known territory. They didn't speak as they rapidly cast their clothes aside, somehow managing to move in the direction of the bedroom. They needed each other desperately, their hands and mouths hungry to sample everything the other had to offer once and for all. The raging storm around them seemed to encourage the almost ferocious quality in their lovemaking, sounds being torn from them as if ripped asunder by the lightning itself. Having neglected to close the curtains, they both gasped as the flash of fork lightning shone in through the windows, bathing them briefly in all its revealing glory. As the waves pounded on the rocks lower down the cliff, and the thunder broke regularly overhead, they brought each other to the edge again and again, doing almost everything they'd ever done together in their few short months of happiness. But eventually, as the storm began to drift away, and their energy began to die down, they found themselves crying tears of true regret for what they could no longer have. They were lying in a tangle of limbs and sheets, their bodies glistening with sweat from their exertion, cradling the other as the tears coursed down their cheeks. "I'm sorry," George said between sobs, the guilt at what she had done causing her an almost physical pain. "I'm sorry too," Karen told her, part of her never wanting to let this beautiful woman go from her. Then, as she now had nothing left to lose, Karen allowed herself to say the words she'd wanted to say for so long now. "I love you," She said, feeling as though her soul had been cracked wide open, leaving its entire contents bare for all to see. George just stared at her, having had no idea that Karen's feelings for her ran quite so deep. "I'm sorry," Karen continued, trying to qualify her statement. "I know you didn't want to hear it, but I had to say it, just once." George didn't say a word as they gradually calmed down and drifted towards sleep, more from exhaustion than anything else. She simply lay there and held Karen tighter if possible, trying to soothe the fractured soul she could see was in tatters before her. 

Sunday was spent tidying the villa and preparing to go home again. They could both feel the weight of the approaching departure, knowing that this would finally mean the end of them as lovers. There had been no doubt that they had needed what had happened last night, but neither of them wanted to face the far too daunting reality, that last night had been the last time anything of the sort would ever happen between them. They spoke fairly little during the day, both women lost in their thoughts, and when they eventually took a cab to the airport, Karen couldn't help but to dread the return to her even emptier life. They sat next to each other on the plane home, and walked through the arrivals hall at Heathrow, feeling the chill of the mid September evening, in stark comparison to the heat they had left. As George had only been going away for a couple of days, she had left her car in the overnight carpark, and now offered Karen a lift home which she accepted. They were silent on the drive to Karen's flat, both never wanting the journey to end. But end it eventually did, with the car coming to rest in Karen's driveway. Neither of them knew what to say, because everything that needed to be said had been said the night before. "George," Karen said quietly. "I don't want you to feel guilty about this." "It's a bit late for that, Darling," George replied cynically. "I mean it," Karen said firmly but gently. "I know what guilt does to you, and I refuse to let you go through that because of me." "I'm not making any promises," George told her evasively. "But I'll try." Reaching out to the other simultaneously, they held each other close. "Whatever happens, I'm always here," Karen said into her hair. "So don't you dare stay away." "And I'm hardly going anywhere either," George replied a little unsteadily. As Karen eventually disentangled herself and opened the door, George said, "I'll call you soon." "Promise?" Karen said, feeling childish but needing to say it. "Yes, that's one promise I can make," George said with a watery smile, as Karen got out of the car, retrieved her bags from the boot and went inside. Waiting until she saw the light come on upstairs, George switched on the engine, backed out of the drive, and slid quietly away, knowing that there would always be a place in her heart for Karen, because no one, no matter how experienced they may one day be, can ever forget their first. 

When she arrived home, she wanted nothing more than to go to bed, and to try and sleep away some of the despair that seemed to be swamping her, but this wasn't to be. John's car was already in her driveway, and George found herself cursing his having a key to her house for the first time since she'd allowed him to keep it. She really didn't want company tonight, and she just knew that everything she was feeling was about to burst out of her, and would probably crash down all over him. John had heard her car arrive, and couldn't help but be curious about her weekend. He'd come over this evening, because he wanted to make sure she was all right, after what must have been a pretty emotional couple of days. He hadn't known exactly when George would get back, so had decided to wait for her. Letting herself in, George dumped her bag in the hall and called John's name. "In here," He said from the lounge, and when she appeared, got up to kiss her. "You're looking good," He said, surveying the progress she'd managed to make on her tan in such a short time. "No, I don't," She said belligerently. "I look tired, and stressed, and could really have done without the welcoming committee." Seeing that he was probably going to be in for a rough ride, John offered to pour her a glass of wine. Relenting slightly, George acquiesced and sank down onto the sofa. When he handed her the glass, she took a grateful swig and put the glass down on the coffee table. "Will I get my head bitten off, if I ask how it went?" He asked, knowing the answer before he'd finished the word will. "What do you think?" She retorted immediately. "I don't think I've ever felt as much of a complete and utter bitch as I do tonight. How did I do this to her, John? How did I manage to hurt her quite so thoroughly? Do you have any idea what I've done to her?" "Yes," John replied, sitting down in the armchair. "You did it to me once, remember?" "Yes, well, there's a tiny little bit of a difference here, isn't there," She replied acidly. "Because Karen hasn't done anything to deserve it." Then, realising precisely what she'd said, she lost her bite immediately. "I'm sorry," She said, putting her hands to her tired face. "That was a bit below the belt." John could see how wound up she was, and didn't take any offense at her thoughtless remark. "Come here," He said, realising that only a cuddle might calm her down, and when she hesitated, said, "come on." When she crossed the carpet to him, he pulled her down onto his knee, always having loved the fact that she was small enough to be enclosed in his arms in this way. "Do you know what the worst thing was about this weekend?" She began when he'd kissed her. "She wasn't in the least angry with me. If this had been you, you'd at least have shouted at me, made it abundantly clear how hurt you were, and then gone out and picked up some random tart, just to achieve some sort of revenge. But Karen's obviously spent the last fortnight working this out, which meant that she'd got rid of all the anger and most of the hurt, long before I turned up. She said she understood why it had happened, and then, last night, John, she said she loved me. Not once has she ever said that before." "I think," John said slowly and carefully. "That she thought you didn't want to hear it. Karen never would have wanted to put any pressure on you, no matter how strong her feelings are for you." "I know, which makes what I've done to her so much worse." "You know, for quite a long time, I thought it would be the other way round. I thought that it would be Karen to find her affections straying off somewhere else, not you." "We're really going to have to keep an eye on her, John," George said seriously. "She really didn't want to come back, which is why she chose to return home with me. She knows that everything is still waiting here for her to deal with, and I honestly don't know how she's going to get through the next few months. Karen may not be my lover any more, but she is my friend, and I refuse to let her go under, purely for lack of a friend." "Jo was right about you," John said with gentle pride in his voice. "Because you'd never have said something like that a few years ago and actually meant it. Karen won't have to get through any of this alone, because it's safe to say that she means far too much to all of us to let her do that." 


	198. Part One Hundred And Ninety Eight

Part One Hundred and Ninety Eight

At the appointed time, the bedside alarm clock peeped out its urgent message and the half conscious dreaming Karen would sorely have wanted to push it away. She had had weeks of getting up when she wanted, sipping a morning cup of coffee and lingering over the first cigarette of the day. She had been used to the brilliant sunshine finding its way through the cracks of the shuttered windows as a precursor to the blasting heat of the Spanish sun. She was back in England now and everything seemed pale and washed out in contrast to her tanned skin. No more strolling round the local market and basking by the swimming pool. A flat in the middle of the East End docklands hardly allowed for such an indulgence. The bloody clock was in full nag mode and she lazily switched the alarm off with an exasperated flick of her hand.

She couldn't believe it that she was back in her flat and everything was normal, or as normal as it could be after the bittersweet way that her relationship with George had ended. That brought her back to full circle of being on her own, of truly being on her own now that…….. She promptly slid away from that one. She really didn't want to go there but for once, she didn't want to click into action as she normally did. She stared into the mirror to look at herself. A much more suntanned face surprised her from the mental image she expected and she sensed that she had looked worn and washed out before she had gone away. Her gaze focussed on her work suit, which was hung up on the rail, but it didn't fit with that suntan. She really had to make an effort to pull herself together.

Once in the car, she was shocked to encounter the hordes of cars manically jockeying for position and dominance in the London rush hour traffic. Normally, she hardly noticed it but today, it offended her inclination to lazily make her round in a car, like in Yvonne's runabout. It felt strange getting used to the traffic being on the different side of the road and to watch out for right hand turns across the stream of traffic instead of the left turn. For one second, she felt that she was sitting in the wrong seat to drive until instincts took over. Eventually, she found her way to the familiar side street for Larkhall. For a second, she felt anxious in throwing herself back into the maelstrom of her work.  
"You only run the bloody place," She chided herself out loud. In the times she had spent on her own except when George had come to stay, she had got used to occasionally speaking her thoughts allowed. 'First sign of madness' was the playground saying years ago but when she came to think of it, was it any madder than some of the situations she had faced in the prison service. In her mellow mood, she couldn't see the harm in it, not in comparison with the reckless way she had gone up on the roof to save Denny. Now that she sat in the car and the prison walls had prompted her first thoughts of her actions that day, that word did jump out of her unconscious.  
Wearily, she gathered her brief case and locked up the car, straightened her face to what a governing governor looked like and went through the sturdy wooden door to pass by the gate lodge.  
"Morning, Karen. You look really well." "Do I?" Karen answered vaguely, her eyes clouding over slightly.  
"Course you do. You've obviously been mopping up the sun or else been at one of those health centres," Came Ken's confident reassuring tones.  
"It doesn't last forever. Sooner or later, you have to catch the flight home and struggle through all the rigmarole," Sighed Karen.  
Ken was genuinely glad that his boss looked a hundred times better though a little bit of his mind would have liked the sun and the sea. That 'fishing expedition' with the lads in Amsterdam which was plastered across the front page of the Sun was the last real break he'd had, if you could call it a break.  
"I nearly forgot, two messages for you. One from Mr. Grayling that he's coming down at eleven o clock to see you and another from Nikki to hope everything's all right when you get in." Karen wondered if Grayling was going to carry on the row from where he had left off when he had suspended her from duty. She really wasn't in the mood for an argument. In fact she wasn't in the mood for much except for crawling into her office and doing something pretty mundane, dull and repetitive. The message from Nikki was obviously her carefully coded professional enquiry under which was her very real personal concern for Karen. It touched her in an abstract way. "Can you pass the general message that I'm back but I'll need a little time to settle back in. I'll be around the wings again when I'm ready." Ken smiled briefly at her in acknowledgement of the wish and she picked up her keys as normal. She was soon swallowed up by the none too bright artificial lights of the prison. She felt that it was fortunate that the prisoners were still locked up and there weren't any well-wishers. Somehow she didn't feel that she could cope with it.

It was with a feeling of relief that she entered her office. She ran her eye over it and, while the in tray was piled up with papers, it wasn't nearly as much as she feared. There were a few scrawled noted paper clipped to some of the papers, most of it in Nikki's handwriting as to the generalised stab that had been made to deal with the matter. She clicked on her computer and heartily hoped that Neil had ploughed his way through the torrent of E mails that would have poured in. there were moments like this that she thought that electronic advances in communication were a mixed blessing. In the end, she let a moderate stream of them emerge from the cyberspace and lie there where they lay. It was, after all, her first day back and she reasoned to herself that there was no sense in breaking her back first day in. The chances were, she admitted grimly to herself, that she would be doing that in short order because what else did she have in her life right then?

She glanced sideways while she lit her first works cigarette of the day and her eyes fell upon a silver framed photograph which had mysteriously appeared, propped up to the right hand side of her desk. Immediately, her feelings of panic and desperation went into overdrive. Life was too cruel to transform the clean cut adolescent into the cold, lifeless colourless face of her son who had deserted this world and the horrific flashback of that sideways gash on the inside of his wrist. Helen had been right to shout at her not to look.  
There were things in life that no human being should look at. Courage didn't come into the matter and, with that resolve, she took the photograph frame and slid it into her top drawer. It would come out when she was ready for it.

With that resolve, she summoned up the energy to attack the pile of E-mails waiting for her. No matter how taxing or tedious they were, this was something in her life that she could deal with right now.

"No news of how Karen is?" enquired Colin of Nikki in passing. She was the first person everyone thought of asking for information.  
"Give her a break," Nikki told him firmly before softening her approach. "Look, I know you're genuinely concerned about her like we all are. Just give her a little time as she's been through a lot recently. She'll talk when she's ready." Gina approached the two of them and was not so sure of this. She had worked closely with Karen when she was acting wing governor and she knew that Karen could certainly put up the professional mask when she wanted to. She spotted the flicker in Nikki's eye and the hesitancy in her speech.  
"Reckon you'd get a bloody medal, Colin, if you asked her straight out. That is, if you lived to tell the tale." There was a general laugh as Gina expertly lightened the atmosphere to Nikki's immense relief.

Karen picked up her phone for the first time that morning to be told that Grayling was on the scene.  
"Oh help," She responded just after she put the phone down. There were papers all over the place as Karen had an unexpectedly unwelcome phase of indecisiveness. She grabbed at some files and looked for a place to tidy them away so that her room was ready for inspection but Grayling didn't give her enough time.  
"Three out of ten for tidiness," came his carrying voice from behind her. "Never mind, I'm not some anally retentive staff inspector and I thoroughly recommend your use of the floor as the one temporary filing place so you can decide what to do with things. Unlimited space to work in. Mind you, I've had to give that up now Alison Warner is the neighbourhood spy and won't give me a moment's peace." There was a broad grin on his face and this was his accompaniment to his indirect way of showing Karen that all was forgiven after their verbal set to. "So what's been going on while I've been away?" "You're asking me?" "Well," answered Karen dryly to Grayling's exaggerated look of innocence. "Either you or Nikki are most likely to know. You've always known everything there is to know. I learnt that one years ago and later on, that if there was anyone I'd go to with a problem at work, I'd go to you." "Well, as it happens, Nikki had got practice as your part time stand in. I really ought to give you a direct order to be well as you possibly can as I can see that there is another highly talented workaholic in the making. She really ought to learn to stick to just the one job." Karen was touched to see that, behind that joking exterior, a real sense of warm affection for both of them flowed out from him. He could sense the incredible talent that both of them possessed and he could not find it in himself to be jealous of either of them. In turn, at a time when her sense of self worth in her home life left something to be desired, she was gratified to be told that in one area of her life, she was getting it right. "I must talk to her some time," Came her straight faced reply before she softened her tone." I'd like to thank her for what she's done." "Anyway, it's been the same routine as before. You'll find my 'Adam' E-mail folder significantly enlarged. I'm sorry for the mess that was left but I could not be spared last week from Area as Alison Warner had pinned me down to some urgent deadlines. The main reason I came to see you was to ask you how you are, I mean personally." Karen was happy to chatter on about work related matters but the shutters came up when Grayling asked about her home life. She had trouble trying to work that out in her own head far less to talk to even a close and loyal friend.  
"As well as can be expected," Karen answered with a blank face.  
"That's not saying much. That's what they say in hospitals when…." "I know, Neil. I used to work in one." A silence fell on the room after Karen had edgily cut in on Grayling with less than her usual politeness. One part of his mind was racing instinctively at lightning speed to manoeuvre his way behind Karen's 'stonewalling' tactics but acute inhibitions held him back. A long time ago, when he was another person, he could appeal to greed and self-interest and know what strings to pull but this was totally different. He really cared about people these days and he was hyper conscious that he should do and say the right thing. He could so easily be indirect and camouflaged in the way he operated but at moments like these he always questioned himself. He finally resolved this inner tension by telling himself that it really wasn't doing her any good to behave the way she did and that he could not in all conscience just leave his visit with a few commonplace pleasantries, go back to area and worry on the other end of the phone. "What sort of break have you had? I hope you've not been thinking about work? That was not the object of the exercise." He laughed lightly.  
"Oh, as you can see, I've spent time in a villa in Spain. Yvonne lent it to me. I've just been sunbathing, driving around and taking it easy. It did me some good." "Have you seen much of George recently?" Instantly, Grayling knew that he had blundered. One look at her face and he saw a scared look in her eye before the shutter slammed down shut. What have I done, he groaned inwardly? What in hell have I said wrong? I have to know. "What happened? I'd really would like to know as I got to like her a lot." "Well, what can I say? I saw her recently." "I trust she was well." "Not exactly," Came Karen's hesitant answer to his bland question. Her eyes were flitting all over the place but she could not entirely remove herself from his intent gaze. "You really have to know, Neil," She finally said with exasperation.  
"Look here, Karen. I really don't like to pry if I don't need to. I'm not like I used to be……" It was Grayling's turn to sound unsettled, totally unlike the super smooth character he used to be once.  
"……..but if there is something really troubling you, it would be better to confide in someone who I would like to think of as not only your boss but as a good friend. If you really didn't know which way to turn and you wanted to talk to someone, I'd like to think you could pick up the phone and talk to me. Or if you thought I was that formidable……" and at this point, he laughed self deprecatingly, "……I'd be happy if you talked to Nikki or anyone close to you. It needn't be me, but I'm as good a candidate as anyone." It was his mixture of his hypnotic voice and utter humility that took her back in a weird sense of role reversal back to when she came to make her claim as Governing Governor. It was the one thing that finally got through.  
"You're as persistent as John. You'll never give up so I might as well tell you. I think that George and I finished while we were in Spain. That's all." An incredible wave of mixed emotion broke over him, of relief that he knew and infinite pity for Karen at those flat, understated words. He closed his eyes. He was lucky he was living with Marcus and dreaded the thought of returning to his so called carefree single days. Add to that the pain of losing her son and Karen's nerve endings were so obviously red raw and exposed.  
"Oh God. I never knew. I'm so sorry." Instantly, he felt awkward to hear what he thought were very trite words but the faintest flicker of a smile soothed the lines on her face. It wasn't until you were really down that you see the good that there is around. They were facing each other, close up almost like lovers wanting to comfort each other except that they both knew that it could never be like that. 


	199. Part One Hundred And Ninety Nine

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part One Hundred And Ninety Nine

On the Friday evening, Karen was sitting out on her balcony, the mid September sun providing a warmth she did not feel inside. She was sitting in one of the two comfortably cushioned, wicker chairs, that stayed in the garage downstairs in the winter and which she always brought up here for the summer. There was an ashtray on the wall that ran round the edge of the balcony, with her cigarettes and faithful Zippo beside it. On the floor next to her chair, was a bottle of scotch, an ice bucket and a half-filled glass. Those two weeks doing nothing but sleep and sunbathe at Yvonne's villa in Spain, had done her the world of good, or so she'd thought. All she had done was sleep. Sleep, swim in the pool and soak up the sun. That's what she'd done with her days until George had arrived. At first, they'd simply taken advantage of the weather and the time they had, to do nothing but enjoy each other's company again, something they'd not really done since Ross had died. Karen found herself making the most of the two days she had with George, because she knew that sooner or later, they must talk. She'd known George was drifting away from her, possibly even before Ross's death, but she became certain of it afterwards. It wasn't all George's fault, because she, Karen, had been pushing George away ever since that most horrific night of all her nightmares. She'd pushed everyone away after that, or at least she'd subconsciously tried to. But too many of her friends, John, Jo, Yvonne, Nikki, and the rest, none of them had let her. She'd put on one of Ross's CD's, one of the few possessions he hadn't sold to supply his habit. Some of it was a little too heavy for her liking, but some of it was soft and haunting, making her wonder if it might have been what he was listening to when he died. It struck her as odd that both Ross and Ritchie had liked some of the same music. Not much, but the occasional CD being owned by both of them. But then, Ritchie had only been eight years older than Ross. God, what a whore she must have been, to sleep with someone almost as young as her son. As she lit another cigarette, there came a most unwelcome intrusion by the ringing of the doorbell. Karen really wasn't in the mood for seeing anyone tonight. She needed to spend some time with her memories of Ross, whether they be good or bad, and she didn't want anyone else around while she did that. So, she simply ignored it, leaving whoever it was on her doorstep to go away and leave her alone. But she had reckoned without John's determination to gain entrance. 

Ever since George had returned from Spain, John had wondered how Karen was doing. Was she coping, or wasn't she? Was she as sorted out about the break up with George, as George seemed to think she was, or was she doing a very good job of hiding her true feelings, he couldn't be sure. But what he did know and know with absolute clarity, was that even before this, Karen hadn't needed any more emotional hurts on her shoulders. Until she had been forcibly persuaded to take a holiday, Karen had been steadily disintegrating. She had been doing her best to maintain her outer professional persona, but they had all seen the persistent crumbling of her exterior, the cracking of her spirit, that might have taken her away from them for good, if she'd been allowed to go on as she was. Quite how she would have taken this latest mental slug to the jaw, he needed to find out. He didn't really blame George for what had happened between her and Karen, because nobody can help the feelings they have, or so he was always telling her, and himself. But he wished she could have chosen a better time for it. After giving Karen the whole of her first week back at work to become reacquainted with her daily life, he had made his mind up to impose his company on Karen, if only to provide a preventative measure against her following in her son's footsteps. 

John hadn't been all that surprised when Karen didn't answer the door. He knew by now that her way of dealing with things was to hide away while she fell apart, and to come back to the land of the living when she thought it was all over. But this was one time in her life when she was going to let him witness her undoing. He couldn't let her go through this alone. He knew that most of it wouldn't be about George, because Karen's grief for her son hadn't yet made much of an appearance. But the break up with George would almost certainly have been the last straw. Still getting no reply, and knowing she was definitely in by the presence of her car in the drive, he walked round to the back of the building where her flat was situated. It was as he'd thought, Karen was sitting out on her balcony. The mid evening sun was casting a soft glow on her blonde hair, and glinting off the silver Zippo on the balcony wall. Karen had heard the approach of footsteps along the street that her balcony looked out on to, and had immediately recognised them as John's. This presented her with something of a dilemma. Any of her other friends would have been far harder to stomach this evening, but John would be the most determined about staying. When he called up to her, she smiled slightly at his tenacity. "Are you going to let me in?" He asked, as he stood in the quiet back street. "No," She replied unperturbed. "Well, I'm not leaving till you do," He said, unwilling to be deterred. Knowing she wasn't going to win, Karen reached round and removed her bunch of keys from the lock in the sliding door. "If you're so determined, you can let yourself in," She said, throwing the keys down to him. "Because I'm not moving for anyone." 

John caught the keys before they landed at his feet, and walked back round to the front door. When he let himself in, he immediately took in the small pile of CD's on the table, and the fact that Karen was listening to the kind of music Charlie often did. "There's a bottle of wine in the fridge if you want some," Karen called, having heard his entrance. When he joined her on the balcony, carrying the offered glass of wine, he took in the bottle of scotch at her side, and the dark eyes with hidden depths, that were struggling to hide her pain. "Are you planning to drink all that?" He asked quietly, gesturing to the whisky bottle. "I don't know," Karen replied, slightly belligerently. "Why, would it matter?" "I'd really rather you didn't," John said, immediately seeing that this was the wrong thing to have said. "John, I didn't ask you to come here and insist to be let in, and in truth I really don't want the company of anyone. So, if you don't like what I'm doing, you know where the door is." Suitably mollified, John tried to change the subject. "What are you listening to? It sounds like what Charlie was listening too last time I saw her." "I'm steadily working my way through the few CD's Ross either didn't consider worth selling, or that he just couldn't part with. There's far too much I obviously didn't know about my son, and though it's clearly too late for me to start finding out about him now, it's something I need to do." "Charlie seems to be into something different every time I see her," John said ruefully. "Some of it's not bad, but I can't help detesting the majority of it." "All except Black Sabbath," Karen said with a slight smile, having once seen the CD in John's car. "It seemed to appeal to the rebel in me." "Do you know what's really odd about all this? It seems Ritchie and Ross liked some of the same music." "And why does that strike you as odd?" "I don't know. It shouldn't really, because Ritchie was only eight years older than Ross. Jesus," She said in disgust. "That sounds terrible, doesn't it." "It's no different from my once sleeping with a waitress friend of Charlie's." "It's just a little too surreal, that's all." "Apart from the obvious, why did you sleep with Ritchie?" "Now you're asking," Karen replied with a mirthless laugh. She refilled her glass and lit another cigarette. "How much have I told you about Mark?" "Only that you were involved with him." "After Fenner," She stopped, changing what she'd been going to say. "After that night, I didn't want to be anywhere near Mark, never mind sleep with him." "That's understandable," Said John, also having some sympathy for Mark, who most likely wouldn't have known the first thing about how to act with Karen. He certainly wouldn't have done if he'd been in Mark's position. "The poor sod didn't know how to deal with it," She continued. "Half of him couldn't decide whether or not it was my fault, and the rest of him felt guilty for not initially believing me." "He didn't believe you?" John asked in momentary outrage. "No," Karen said bitterly. "He looked at me as though I was the most aptly named slag he'd ever met." John winced. "Do you have to talk like one of your inmates?" "I'm at the end of a working week, having spent a considerable amount of time with my inmates, as you put it. The vocabulary rubs off after a while." "So I noticed," John said dryly. "Mark assumed that I'd got drunk, though he didn't put it so politely, got randy, and regretted it in the morning. He said that I couldn't ask him to believe it, when I didn't believe it myself. So, once I'd reported it to the police, and then retracted my statement, there wasn't much left of our relationship. We were supposed to be going on holiday together, and before we went, I thought I'd better sleep with him just to see if I still could. But, I loathed every minute of it, and unfortunately he knew I had. I thought that the only way was to make a clean break. It wouldn't have worked, no matter how hard either of us may have tried, and I think at the time I really couldn't be bothered." "It sounds as though you had enough to deal with in your own head, never mind anyone else's." "Probably. But then Ritchie turned up at visiting time to see Yvonne, and I was ripe for the picking where he was concerned," She said bitterly. "Suddenly, this man, who had to be at least ten years younger than me, was giving me some of the old lines I hadn't heard since leaving nursing. Some of the registrars I knew in those days were just as good at talking women into bed. I needed to know if it was just Mark, or if men were going to be out of the picture for me for good. I needed to sleep with a total stranger, so that if it became necessary to fake it, they wouldn't know." "And was it?" John asked gently, seeing how uncomfortable she felt. "No," Karen replied which surprised him. "I felt like I was a different person, as though the real me was in some way detached from what I was doing. It gave me such a high to know that even if I didn't enjoy it, he did, and because he didn't know about Fenner, he wasn't remotely cautious with me. That was the problem with Mark. He was so worried about me not wanting whatever he did, that I was constantly reminded of why he was being so cautious. Once Ritchie realised I was deadly serious about wanting him to be rough with me, it was the best I'd had in a long time. He might have used me for his own ends, but in a way, I did exactly the same to him. I wanted to prove to myself that I could still enjoy being with a man. But then he went and screwed it up." Her face suddenly became darker. "It feels like all the men in my life are jinxed. My son and my one time lover killed themselves, and Fenner ended up at the wrong end of a pistol. I'm surprised you even want to talk to me." "I'm not going anywhere," John said firmly but quietly. "Did you know that you were the first man I'd slept with since Ritchie Atkins?" "I did wonder," He replied with a soft smile as he remembered that night. "What on earth do I do to them?" Karen asked in a slightly strangled voice. "That bloody prosecutor at Lauren's trial got it absolutely right. What is it about me that makes someone supposedly love me and then hurt me as much as possible? You seem to be about the only odd one in the pack. But then you've never loved me so maybe that's why. Though if keeping quiet about my son being in drugs rehab isn't a pretty sure-fire way of hurting me, then I don't know what is. Why did you have to do that, John? Why?" "You know why," He said regretfully. "Helen came to me, because she needed some advice on her legal position. She couldn't tell you that your son was in her care, because he was over the age of eighteen and therefore a legal adult. If I'd simply told you, it would have been just as catastrophic as if she'd told you herself." Karen could feel her anger steadily rising, coming inexorably closer to boiling point. "You just don't get it, do you," She said, the volcano finally becoming active. "If I'd known he was in drugs rehab, I might have been able to help him." "Karen," John said slowly, trying to calm her down. "There wasn't anything you could have done. Ross got himself into that situation, and even if you'd been there for him every step of the way, that's no guarantee that you could have prevented him from doing what he did." "And if this was Charlie we were talking about, would you still be saying all this?" "My daughter is far too intelligent to become involved with hard drugs," John said without thinking, his immediate reaction being to defend Charlie's reputation. "Oh, really," Karen said icily. "Well, you know something? That's exactly what I used to think about Ross. I was so proud of him when he went off to university, because I thought that in spite of everything, in spite of his not having anyone around who resembled a father, in spite of my having to work all the hours God sent when he was a child, he had become the son I'd always wanted him to be. Don't assume, that just because you couldn't have been a better father to Charlie, that she will automatically behave in the way you'd like her too." "I didn't mean it like that," He said placatingly. "I just meant that..." He stopped, not entirely sure how to say what he wanted to say, and also debating whether or not he should say it. "Oh, I know," Karen said, not giving him chance to finish. "You like to assume that Charlie will follow in your footsteps, because you think that you couldn't possibly have done any more for her than you have. You're not perfect, John, neither as a father, nor as a man. So don't presume that Charlie will be too. I did that to a point, I trusted that Ross knew better than to start injecting himself with whatever he could lay his hands on, but I was wrong. I couldn't have been more wrong about what I expected from Ross. If he'd just once told me what he was getting into. But he was so bloody stubborn, and so much like his stupid, reckless mother, that he just had to prove he could do it all by himself." "Even if you had been aware of what was happening, you don't know how much you could have helped him," John insisted, feeling scorched by her anger, but knowing that she had to get it all out somehow. "And thanks to you and Helen between you, I won't ever know that now, will I." 

There was a stunned, awful pause after these words had been uttered. The colour drained from Karen's face as she realised what she'd said. "Oh, God, I'm sorry," She said quietly, the anger having dissipated, and tears rising to her eyes in its place. "I should never have said that." John made a move to rise from his chair and go to her, but she lifted a hand to stop him. Turning her face away from him, she fought to stop her tears from spilling over. How could she? How could she have said something so unforgivable to him? This was John sitting a few feet away from her, John. She had sat here, and without taking a moment to consider what she was saying, she'd accused him, no blamed him, for her not having been aware of her son's drug problem, and therefore for her not having been able to stop him from killing himself. "Karen, you need to cry," He said gently but firmly, hating it when she insisted on closing herself off like this, refusing to let him see the depth of her pain, and therefore making it impossible for him to help her. "Somehow, you need to let it out. Taking out your anger on me is absolutely fine, but it'll only help you so far." "Oh and you always let out your feelings in an adequate fashion, don't you," She said scornfully, finding it all too easy to be angry with him, instead of letting him see her cry. "We're not talking about me," He said mildly. "No, we never bloody are, are we. On the day that you feel perfectly happy with someone else witnessing your version of disintegration, by all means feel free to tell me what I should and shouldn't do. Until then, I will deal with this in my own way, and if that means struggling to keep it together and somehow not giving in to the pull of letting go completely, then that is exactly what I'll do." 

To give them some breathing space, John went into the kitchen to refill his glass. "As you're here," Karen said when he returned. "I'm assuming you know about me and George, though I suppose now it would be more accurate to say Jo and George." "Yes," John replied, seeing that the couple of minutes down time had allowed her emotions to temporarily regroup. "I came because I thought it might have been the last straw." "Yes, it probably was what gave me the reason to get drunk and do a little reminiscing, but it was only an excuse. What I've done tonight has been creeping up on me for a while. How do you feel about it?" "I'm not sure," John admitted. "I discovered a while ago that Jo has a certain curiosity about being with a woman, something which I think was prodded out into the open by you and George." "So, it didn't surprise you to discover that Jo ended up feeling far more than a passing curiosity?" "One thing I've learnt over the last few months is that anything's possible." "I'd have thought that Jo and George feeling that way about each other would be your idea of heaven," Karen suggested, seeing that all was not well from John's perspective. "On the surface, yes, I suppose it may be," John replied. "But I think part of me wonders if, after any initial stage of awkwardness, they will in fact need me at all." "Oh, John, of course they will," Karen said without a moment's hesitation, at once seeing just how insecure this had made him feel. "If there's one thing I know for certain in all this, it's that both Jo and George love you. You might occasionally exasperate them to distraction, but that won't ever stop either of them from loving you the way they do. What happened with George and me, that was just waiting to happen. She might have been happy with what she had with me, but I think I knew from the beginning that it wouldn't be for long. George was spreading her wings with me, finding out about that side of her character. I don't blame her for that, it's only natural in some ways. With this three-way thing you've had going with her and Jo, it was almost a foregone conclusion that George would one day discover she felt more for Jo than perhaps she thought she should." "You really do love her, don't you," John said in sudden realisation. "I didn't intend to at the start," Karen replied. "Because she was dividing her time between both of us, and I didn't want anything heavy. But yes, I do. There's something about George that I just couldn't help loving," She said in wonderment. "No matter how fiercely we might have argued, which we really only did very occasionally, and no matter how much I might worry about her when she periodically stops eating, I suspect a part of me will always love George." "She does have that effect on people," John said fondly. "Their growing feelings for each other might not have been forced out into the open as soon as they were, but after Ross died, I began emotionally pushing everyone away, including George, and I think in one way, that made it easier for her. I didn't mean too, but I didn't want anyone to see what I was going through. It hurts like hell that I won't ever wake up with her in my arms again, but it had to happen some time." 

A couple of hours later, Karen had consumed a good deal more scotch, and John had finished the bottle of wine. "I'm assuming you're staying," Karen said, raising an eyebrow at the empty bottle. "Do you mind?" "No. Much as I was insane with irritation at your interruption of my fairly miserable evening, it's probably a good thing you came, even if your motive was utterly transparent." "You mean too much to me to simply allow you to go through this on your own, and if I'm honest, part of me didn't entirely trust you." "So I noticed," Karen said dryly. "I might be lower than I've been in a long time tonight, but I'm not about to follow in my son's footsteps." "I'm glad to hear it," He said firmly. "I'd have no-one to knock sense into me once in a while for a start." 

A while later, they were lying in Karen's large bed. They had been friends long enough to know that sharing the same bed signified nothing more than sleep, even in spite of their unplanned kiss before Karen went on holiday. They had their arms round each other, because John could see in her face that tonight, she needed to be close to someone. All that prevented skin to skin contact was her cotton nightie and his boxer shorts. But after the evening's tortuous discussions, neither of them, not even John, would have had the energy for anything more than sleep. He could feel her tense, taut body nestling against his, the tension still singing along her nerves. He ran a hand gently up and down her back, occasionally running his fingers through her hair in an attempt to make her relax. "Does it make me seem feeble?" She asked in to his chest. "What?" He murmured into her hair. "Needing a cuddle." "Of course not," He said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Why do you think I used to sleep with so many women? Apart from the obvious," He added when she didn't immediately answer. "It was because just for an hour, or a night, I could be close to someone without having to make my need for it obvious. Feeling loved, or at least the momentary pretence of being loved that sleeping with someone can provide, is something we all need from time to time. Some more than most." They lay quiet for a time, with Karen still unable to relax. The burning force that had been building in her all week, from the catalyst of her break up with George, had partially gone by way of her earlier anger. But John had been right, damn him. He'd said that being angry wasn't enough, and that she must cry in order to let the rest of it out. But she didn't want too. She didn't want him to see how weak and vulnerable she was. But she wasn't sure how much longer she could hold it in. The constriction in her throat was becoming agonising. Whether because of the alcohol she'd consumed, or the conversation she'd had with John, she did want to cry, to cling to something or someone, and to let out the grief for Ross that was steadily eating away at her insides. 

When he felt the first sensation of a tear on his skin, he held her if possible closer to him. John had waited for this, staying awake and holding her long enough for her to do it. He'd known that at some point she must. If not, she would internally combust. "I'm sorry," She said, feeling the last vestiges of control ebbing away from her. "I didn't want to do this." He just lay there, trying to soothe her. "I'm so sorry I said what I did to you," She said after a while. "I know," He said gently. "And I'm sorry too." "I don't know how I'm supposed to get through this," She said, the shuddering in her body only getting worse. "The only way you can get through it, is to let people in, and to let all of this out, just like you're doing now. I know it's not your preferred medium for emotional cleansing, but keep it all locked away inside, and you'll go slowly mad, and I am not letting you do that," He finished fervently. "I don't know what I'd do without you," She said between sobs. "Oh, you'd soon find someone else to tell home truths too," He said fondly. She clung to him as she wept, needing something to stop her from slipping beneath the tidal wave of her grief. Now she'd started, it felt like she couldn't stop. But he held her through all of it, not for a second letting her think she was alone. When she finally began to calm down, he helped her sit up, and reached over for the box of tissues on the bedside table. "I'm sorry," She said as she wiped her eyes and blew her nose. "Why, do you and George always apologise for crying?" He asked. "Because crying means showing someone how weak and vulnerable you feel." "You know," He said, changing the subject. "Jo did this once, got herself pretty drunk, took her anger and grief out on me, and ended up spending the night with me. She got caught leaving the digs, which led to her hearing with the Professional Conduct Committee." "Well, at least that isn't going to happen with me," Karen said as she lay back down. As he once again enclosed her in his arms, Karen knew that this was what she would miss most about her break up with George, the feeling of simply being close to someone, of having a pair of arms round her. As if hearing her thought, John said, "Don't ever be afraid to need someone, will you." She wasn't entirely sure what to make of his words, so saying nothing, she laid her head back on his chest, allowing the comfort of his arms and her emotional exhaustion to gradually pull her towards sleep. 


	200. Part Two Hundred

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part Two Hundred

On the Sunday morning, when she finally plucked up the courage to go and see Karen, Jo wondered just how Karen would be towards her. They hadn't seen each other for a few weeks, not since the day after Karen had gone to scatter Ross's ashes. Jo had fully understood Karen's need to keep her distance from people, because she'd done exactly the same after her husband had died, but Jo didn't want to lose Karen's friendship, and she couldn't help but think this might now be an unavoidable possibility. She didn't want Karen to cut herself off from any of them, because she needed as much support as she could get, now more than ever. 

"Jo," Karen said in surprise, when she answered Jo's ring at the doorbell. "Can I come in?" Jo asked quietly, thinking that Karen looked tired and pale. "Yes, of course," Karen replied, leading the way back up the stairs. Ever since she'd woken yesterday morning to find that John had left, Karen had felt unutterably guilty. She knew she'd apologised for what she'd said to John, but that didn't make her feel any better. She'd shouted at him, accused him of being the reason why she hadn't been able to save her son's life, and all he'd done was to listen to her, to comfort her, and to eventually hold her through the duration of Friday night. There had been nothing remotely sexual in his gesture, just the giving of simple comfort from one friend to another. He'd left a note for her on the table in the lounge, saying that he'd wanted to let her sleep, and for her to come and see him when she was ready. Why did he always have to be so understanding? Karen simply didn't know. But Jo was here now, presumably to clear the air about George, though that really wasn't necessary. 

"Would you like a coffee?" Karen asked when they reached the lounge. Agreeing that this would go down a treat, Jo wondered how to broach the subject of why she was here. "You look tired," She said, as an opening for the conversation. "I got extremely drunk on Friday night," Karen told her. "And am only just recovering from the hang over. John's probably regretting his insistence on talking to me." "He did say that he was worried about you," Jo said gently, thinking that John ought to have realised that he might be about to bear the brunt of whatever had been eating Karen. "Why do I always do it, Jo?" Karen asked in utter self-disgust. "Why do I always say the most unforgivable things when I'm plastered?" "I think it's part of the process," Jo said with a half smile. "You won't be the first, and probably not the last, to say an awful lot to John when you were drunk, that you wouldn't have dreamt of saying if you were sober. I've certainly done it, George definitely has, and now you have. He won't take it to heart, I promise you." "Well, I wouldn't blame him if he did," Karen said dejectedly. "I did apologise to him, but I haven't said something quite so despicable ever since I split up with Yvonne." Lighting a cigarette with a slightly trembling hand, Karen took a long drag, and finally approached the subject of why Jo was here. "How's George?" She asked, not having seen or spoken to George since their return from Spain the previous Sunday. Putting her mug of coffee down on the table, Jo took a good look at Karen, seeing nothing but gentle concern. No anger, no reproach, just sincere enquiry. "She's all right," Jo told her. "I think she's missing you." "I'm hardly that far away," Karen said with a soft smile, thinking George a little silly for staying away if she didn't want to. "I think it might be fair to say," Jo said tentatively. "That you've been far away from everyone for quite some time now." "I know," Karen said regretfully, knowing that Jo meant in spirit if not in body. "I think I needed to do that, to have some time away from everyone." "It might not feel like it," Jo said gently. "But we do all still care a great deal, and nothing will ever change that." "I know you do," Karen replied, feeling Jo's desperate need to assuage her own guilt for taking George away from Karen, when she perhaps most needed her. "And Jo, you don't need to feel quite so guilty, you know," She added with a little smile, telling Jo that her efforts at concealing it were failing miserably. "Who says I do?" Jo asked, seeing a slight hint of the old twinkle in Karen's eye. "Jo, it's coming off you in waves," Karen told her, not wanting Jo to feel anything akin to guilt for what she had done, because their friendship was far too important for that. "She didn't want to hurt you, and neither did I," Jo said, the words she had come here to say, now finally leaving her mouth. "And believe me when I say, that I wholeheartedly wish this could have come out into the open at any other time." "Jo, please don't do this," Karen pleaded with her. "Yes, I was hurt by the fact that the two of you had kept it from me for quite so long, but that's all. Anything else I feel isn't something that is anybody's fault, and is only something that I will get over in time. If George is happy with you and John, I wouldn't ever want to stand in the way of that. She is far too important to me to want to do that. John has been a very good friend to me, and so have you, and I wouldn't want to lose either of you. George will always be incredibly special to me, and nothing will ever change that. I don't want you, or George, or anyone to feel guilty because of this, okay?" "All right," Jo agreed quietly, seeing that Karen really did mean what she was saying, and that they weren't merely words to make her feel better. "Just do one thing for me," Karen asked her, feeling a little silly but knowing she had to do it. "Look after her for me. George is an incredibly complicated woman, but then you know that already. I suppose I just want someone to keep as close an eye on her as I used to." "Karen, that sounds worryingly as though you're not planning on sticking around," Jo said suspiciously, thinking that it sounded as though Karen was the one who needed keeping an eye on, not George. "No, it's not, believe me," Karen told her, realising precisely how her words must have sounded. "I just want to know she's being taken care of, that's all." When she left after a good deal more talking, Jo couldn't help but hope that Karen's affirmation was true. 


	201. Part Two Hundred And One

Part Two Hundred and One

Grayling had to smile with satisfaction at the end of the day. He always said that he could make a living selling ice cream to Eskimos but this time, he had pulled off a real coup.

"And exactly who do you have in mind to attend the Howard League for Penal Reform?" Came Alison Warner's searching question. "You have someone in mind, I assume. I know you far too well to think otherwise." "As if I would," came his honeyed tones, broad grin and outstretched arms. "That makes me sound as if I have already crudely fixed matters behind the scenes." Alison Warner's spectacles slid down her nose letting her glare over them straight into his eyes. He knew all her little mannerisms which were intended to intimidate, recognised them for what they were and remained cool and calm.  
"And have you?" "That would be improper as you know." "Hmmm. You have spent quite a bit of your valuable time going backwards and forwards to that perpetual source of disruption and controversy, Larkhall prison. It's easy enough for me to put two and two together and make four." "So, if you were in my place, rather than giving support and practical backup to a hard working, highly talented governing governor who has suffered from a bereavement, you would divert precious time for concerns for private schemes of your own? Is that what you are telling me?" "That is absolutely not what I mean. You are being unusually difficult even by your standards." Alison Warner was ready to bristle with annoyance at the best of times but she was becoming especially threatening and Grayling felt he had to make a lightning tactical shift from his barely repressed cheek.  
"I'm so sorry. I wouldn't ever want to be disrespectful but I wanted to share my pleasure with you that, except for one incident of a solitary prisoner on the rooftop, Larkhall has changed for the better. Karen Betts has been governing governor since March, that's nearly five months and the prison has been running remarkably smoothly, no riots, no escapes, no explosions, no suicides, no complaining letters to the Guardian from inmates, the sort of thing that must have given you no end of sleepless nights over the years …….." Grayling ladled on the smooth talk in liberal proportions, his silky voice touching on the events, which had made her, cringe so many times in embarrassment. She had imagined every time the bad news broke that the Home Secretary to be on the phone at any second if not down in reception. Each smoothly recounted incident made her twitch nervously to Grayling's intense amusement.  
"………and since Nikki Wade, the new G wing governor was appointed, I hear that she had been a tower of strength. Again, aside from the incident I mentioned, she has slotted in effortlessly and has even taken a leading role in covering for Karen Betts when she has been away……." "Enough of the sales pitch, Neil. You are being rather carried away. I suppose that you have these two in mind in attending this conference….." "It is entirely up to them but since you raise their names, I would be very keen to see them as the embodiment of a radical caring spirit who would carry themselves admirably and would be a credit to the Home Office…" "They would not be able to express wildly unbalanced personal opinions in an attempt to ingratiate themselves with some 'trendy leftie' lawyers." Grayling grinned to himself. He had been immersed in the very pleasant company of the cream of the legal profession and knew far more than this woman with her blinkered views and lifestyle.  
"They will be very much in demand, Nikki Wade would be especially welcome. Her court case years ago was a 'cause celebre' in the legal profession as far as I am aware." "Well, I am deciding that you are going because I am holding you personally responsible for their good conduct should they express an interest in attending as I am sure they will. You may go now." "Thank you, Mrs. Warner," Grayling said in his most restrained fashion though he was jubilant inside. He could not wait to get back to his room and then set things in motion.

Karen was working away with no great enthusiasm on the second Monday of her return to work feeling a sense of flat anticlimax to everything at work, including all the well wishers. She hears the words they said and the expressions on their faces but she could not make them real to her. She received no warm feeling of well being inside her and that only made things worse. She had dismissed the mysterious tone in Grayling's phone call when he announced his visit though chatting to him would be pleasant and would break up the monotony of the day. She smiled politely as he came striding in, a mischievous gleam in her eye like a naughty boy who wanted her assistance in an exquisitely amusing prank.  
"So, how has it been being back at Larkhall since I last saw you?" "I feel less like death warmed up as I was and everyone's been very nice to me…" "So they ought to be." Karen's shrewd gaze took in the barely suppressed grin that threatened to spread all over his face, a certain restlessness. It was all so reminiscent of John at his most 'bad boy.' "Come on, Neil. I know that you've got some news. You didn't just drop by to enquire after my health." "Well, as it happens, there was an ulterior reason……" Karen smiled slightly and nodded slightly at Grayling's sly confession. She hoped there wouldn't be a long, sustained introduction, just please cut to the main theme.  
"……..as I have received advance copy of the draft prospectus for the forthcoming annual conference for the Howard League for Penal Reform which I thought I would show you…….." The paper was placed in Karen's hands and immediately, her interest was engaged. She had most certainly heard of the organisation but it had always been one of those august bodies up on high, which had been remote from her. It was as if she had read in the news of a particular female country rock performer whose CD she owned who was appearing at Madison Square Gardens. She might hear them in concert several months later if she was lucky but she would not think that she, Karen Betts, would be sitting in aisle 24, seat C36 and buy the T-shirt afterwards. That had always been impossible.  
"It's always been Governing Governors who have gone to events like these…."she mouthed her thoughts aloud.  
"Well, you're one now." She was indeed. She had always been one to look at the practical daily drudge work of any activity she had been involved with from changing bed pans, changing babies nappies to snatching time to write up her personal officer's reports. She had never taken a starry eyed glamorous look at life. It was not her way of thinking. "I used to hog all the conferences and jealously kept away others who could have gone too, from them. I used to love the limelight……" "Still do, Neil," Karen grinned.  
"Well, yes, you're right but I've learned to share it and to give a chance to those who deserve it. Besides, my choice in conferences used to leave something to be desired. I blush when I remember presenting my paper on part privatisation of the prison system and I sincerely hope that the audience forgot every single word of my ill-considered views…." "You're going as well," It was a statement, not a question. "Naturally but if you look at the prospectus, you'll see why. I want to learn from this event." The paper was very attractive to Karen's eyes as it briefly encapsulated all her ideas of prison reform, which she had slaved away at all these years. The ideas had always been at the back of her head but had been subordinated to the daily grind. It might do her good to step back and immerse herself in the very spring source of all the ideas. She could do with something different in her life.  
"OK, Neil. I might at that…I'm really interested." Grayling was gratified to see that light ignite slowly in Karen's eyes, which had been so distressingly dull and downcast. He would have to edge his way very slowly to the more delicate proposition he had to make.  
"That's excellent news. The danger of any conference is that far too many people are attracted to the shallow pleasures, conference has to offer, being away from home and the normal restrictions of daily life. An environment with plenty to drink is the least of the problems as too many come and the words go in one ear and out the other. The standards to the speeches can become pedestrian even with the most well motivated conference. I have the vision in my head that what this conference needs is someone fresh, someone dynamic, who has vivid recall to a wealth of life's experiences which can be shared with the most radical, most caring audience there could possibly be contained in one conference hall." By the way he was talking, Grayling was totally revved up and passionate about the faraway vision that he could see so clearly. Karen was carried away by the generalities until a light was switched on in her mind as she could see the direction the conversation was heading.

"Oh, no, no, no, Neil. It's one thing for me to go to a high-powered conference but I was thinking in terms of what I might learn from others, not the other way round. I had it in mind to sit back and taking note of what others had to say, not that they have anything to learn of what I might know. You want me to be one of the speakers." "You are right first time but you are being too modest about yourself, Karen." "You are outrageous, Neil." "Aren't I just as I'm going to ask Nikki as well"  
At that point, Karen was reduced to utter speechlessness, Grayling very kindly reached over and passed her a tumbler full of water, which she eagerly drank from to loosen her throat muscles, which had become rigidly locked in total shock.  
"I repeat myself, you really underestimate what you have to offer…….".  
"You bastard, Neil." "Think back to the rehearsals we had for the 'Creation,'" Grayling continued, spieling away at top speed, unruffled by Karen's interjection. "We were amongst the highest echelons of the legal profession but how many of them, even the best of them, know what you and I know about the realities about what life in prison really means. It's not that there weren't some very bright, very perceptive human beings. I can think of John and George and others who, regrettably, I did not find time to talk to, as much as I would have liked. Your speciality is a lifetime in the prison service from the bottom up. Their speciality is as judges, barristers and solicitors in arguing over the merits of the case from whose deliberations, those in the dock are set free or are received by us, yes even by the Sylvia Hollambys of the world. You know so much about the prison system that you find, in this closed in life we lead that others know so little apart from what they read in the papers." Karen was moved for the first time in ages by the sheer passion in Grayling's voice. He meant every word that he said and, yes, she could recall odd snatches of conversation, unregarded at the time. In a weird kind of way, he made sense.  
"But why me, Neil? There are other governors on hand who must have done that job before." "Nobody as fresh and dynamic as you, Karen," Grayling finished earnestly.  
There was something hypnotic about his ways, Karen reflected as she wearily started that slide in thought to the inevitable. She had more than a slight suspicion that she would be an emblem of his success but if it reinforced his position at area, was that such an ignoble ulterior motive? He must have faith in her dynamism though she frankly thought that she had never felt less dynamic in her life. Ah well, she could not even begin to think of how she would get on if Grayling's very indirect but caring presence wasn't around. She had no pressing purpose in her life right now so she might as well go with the flow.

"Only you could bamboozle me outrageously into such a mad idea but I suppose you have made your case. I might as well live dangerously. Chances like this don't come up often but I'll never forgive you if it turns out a complete disaster." "So won't Alison Warner but hey, we'll prove her wrong." I like the 'we' all of a sudden, snorted Karen inwardly. He is definitely as bad as John.  
A silence reigned over the room as Karen's dull dreams of boring nonentity were banished forever by this reckless man. Her secretary appeared with a welcome cup of coffee for them both. She would have loved a cigarette but she was conscious of Grayling's solitary instance of Puritanism, which stuck up like a lonely milestone.

At that point, Nikki entered the room, totally unsuspecting.  
"Ah Nikki, you came at the right time. We have an interesting proposition for you." Count me out, Neil, from your mad enterprise, Karen thought through gritted teeth.  
"Can't think what that might be. You told me the other day just to stick to the one job." Nikki's mind was full of all kind of duties around Larkhall that were totally confined to the grey stone walls of Larkhall.  
"As I was just saying to Karen, there's the upcoming conference of the Howard League for Penal Reform which I've had advance notice of. Karen has very kindly agreed to give a speech …….." Nikki's face lit up in pleasure for her. She knew that Karen had a wealth of experience of the prison service and would be a splendid representative, not only for Larkhall but the whole prison service. "…….and, guess what, Nikki, you're going to be our other speaker."

"If it wasn't you, Neil, I would tell you to piss off," Nikki said without thinking before she blushed in embarrassment while Karen grinned all over her face. Only Nikki could come out with something like that. "I'm ever so sorry. I didn't mean it to come out like that. That was very rude of me." Grayling burst out in hearty laughter. Despite the unpromising reception of his idea, he couldn't help but give way to the humour of the situation.  
"Do you know, I've been questioned , lectured at, stared at and glared at for months by Alison Warner and she has never had the fundamental honesty to tell me that one." That broke the tension and the three of them laughed along with Nikki at her refreshing bluntness.  
" 'Howard League for Penal Reform.' That rings a bell." Nikki said reflectively. "Helen's been there before and she was only talking about it the other day." "Is she likely to be going?" Grayling enquired discreetly while Karen sat back and wondered just how Grayling would manoeuvre Nikki into acceptance. She stood back, taking no part in this which meant that he would be the fall guy if his plan misfired.  
"She'll go, I'm sure," Nikki said thoughtfully. She had first heard from Helen about the conference when she was stuck with working in the club at all sort of unsocial hours, having perennial problems in negotiating any absence from the club.  
"It would be obviously convenient if both of you went." Grayling pressed his case very discreetly and softly.  
"Attending the conference, fine but not as speaker. I've never been to a conference like that before much less speak at it for the very first time. It's one thing for me to stick my hand up if I were fired up on the spur of the moment by something someone said but not to prepare something in advance. I wouldn't know if I were ex prisoner or wing governor or both." "How many ex prisoners do you get speaking at conferences like this? Especially someone of your calibre?" Karen could see the wheels revolving round in Nikki's mind as she turned over the matter in her mind. I can't believe it, she shook her head slightly in sheer wonder. How does he do it? "You've got a point, Neil. But you haven't answered my question. Who do you see me as?" "As Nikki Wade, first and foremost and in both roles. Don't forget, it is certain that your case will be one that any members of the legal profession will be keenly interested and sympathetic. By definition, they will be among the more enlightened members of the profession or they wouldn't be there." Nikki found this point convincing. A shadow in the back of her mind had taken shape of the very first judge who had sent her to Larkhall in the first place. Her bitter memory of the 'pricks in wigs' had been softened over the years and especially by her experience of John. Now that would be an idea, she wondered.  
"Are you going as well, Neil?" she pursued as she sought further facts to hang her ideas on.  
"I am indeed. If you want it and you might not, I will keep you company and offer any help I can possibly give you in the preparation work for public speaking. If you do that properly, you're well away," Grayling urged in soothing tones.  
"Does Alison Warner know about your little plan to infiltrate us into the Conference?" probed Nikki with a slight smile on her face.  
"Her words in so many words were that she was detailing me to keep the pair of you on the straight and narrow." Smirked Grayling. "That is, if you were interested in going." "In that case," laughed Nikki, "You're on, both for me going and also giving a speech as well. I owe it to the women on G wing, past and present." "We ought to drink in celebration to this," enthused Grayling before hesitatingly added, "except that the drinks aren't mine." "Typical," Karen scoffed in mock annoyance, intercepting his glance at her drinks cabinet. "He cons us into speaking at a conference and then he steals his drink off me."

A little while later, Nikki and Karen compared notes after Grayling had made his way back to area. Somehow, he had livened up the atmosphere.  
"So how did you agree so easily to speaking at the conference? I mean, I'm sure you'll do fine but it was your agreement that helped sway me into agreeing as well." "Don't you know Neil better than that?" Karen retorted crossly to Nikki. "That cunning man blagged his way into me doing it. I'm nervous at the thought of speaking to a huge hall full of people and he knew it. I've never done that sort of thing before." The light dawned upon Nikki. She might have known better.  
"Too late to back out now……..well, there's a first time for everything or so they say." 


	202. Part Two Hundred And Two

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part Two Hundred And Two

On the Tuesday afternoon, when she knew that court would have finished for the day, Karen drove over to call on John in chambers. She hadn't been here in far too long, not since before Ross had died. It had always been a comfortable part of hers and John's friendship, ford up leaves scattering the car park of the Old Bailey, the plain trees that surrounded it beginning to shed their load. God, she thought as she got out of the car, was it really autumn already? Had the summer passed her by completely? That was how it felt sometimes, even though she had taken in a good deal of its sun whenever possible. As she walked in through the heavy familiar doors, it struck her that this was where so much of her life had begun. Here was where she'd first met John, here was where she'd first met George, andt out of the car, was it really autumn already? Had the summer passed her by completely? That was how it felt sometimes, even though she had taken in a good deal of its sun whenever possible. As she walked in through the heavy familiar doors, it struck her that this was where so much of her life had begun. Here was where she'd first met John, here was where she'd first met George, and here was where she'd been catapulted so spectacularly into their lives. The cool, slightly austere inner confines of the court building greeted her, smelling faintly of the numerous ancient tomes that inhabited every courtroom, combined with the aroma of the fairly cheap coffee from the court canteen. Her heels sounded almost too loud as she cross the marble tiled floor and began walking up the stairs, and she found herself wondering if the steps of all the resident ghosts made half as much noise. 

John was only a little surprised to hear the knock on his door, as he'd thought he could recognise her approaching footsteps. He'd wondered if she might come at the end of the working day, seeking him out in the place where he'd first had actual personal contact with her. It was over two years since that fateful day now, and he couldn't help but marvel at how much he now knew about her. They'd become sincere and firm friends after that one night they'd spent together, never letting that encounter get in the way of their blossoming friendship. They'd talked, laughed, even argued from time to time, but they'd come through it all still friends. He'd hurt her terribly by not letting her know what was happening to her son, he knew that, but he thought that now they might just be able to move on from that. No matter how guilty she might feel about what she'd said whilst under the influence on Friday night, it had needed to be said, not just for Karen, but for him as well. He'd held her until she'd fallen asleep, cradling her beautiful body against him, to try and take away some of the pain that was slowly eating away at her insides. There hadn't been any sexual motive attached to that whatsoever, it was just something he'd done because he knew he could. He was forced to admit that their familiarity with each other perhaps did go a little further than ordinary friends might, because of the one night they'd spent together nearly two years ago, but so what. He also knew that it might have been playing with fire to do that with her on Friday night, especially since that highly sensual kiss he'd shared with her before she'd gone on holiday, but even that hadn't stopped him from comforting her in the only way he knew how. 

So, when her knock roused him from his thoughts, he called to her to come in. When she appeared, Mimi leapt out of her basket, and began running in circles round Karen's feet. "I think someone's certainly missed me," She said with a smile, walking towards him, and trying not to trip over the still circling Mimi. "She hasn't seen you for quite a while," He said, putting his arms round her and kissing her cheek. "I haven't been here in far too long, have I," Karen observed, sitting down on the sofa. "The old place doesn't change," He said dryly, thinking that it was certainly very nice to see her back here again, perhaps a sign that their lives were beginning to get back to normal. "Tea, or scotch?" He offered, raising a slightly comical eyebrow at her. "Tea, definitely," She said with a self-deprecating smile. "I'm not touching scotch again for at least a fortnight." "How did you feel, when you eventually woke up on Saturday?" He asked, pouring them both a cup of tea from the pot on the sideboard. "No worse than I deserved," She said, wishing she could light up in here but knowing she couldn't. "John, thank you for being there," She added, taking the cup from him and briefly touching his hand. "Oh, any time," He said, sitting down beside her. "I mean it," Karen continued. "I was a complete wreck on Friday, and it's probably a good job you were there." "Then I'm glad I was," He said, taking a sip from his cup and putting it down on the table. "What I said to you," She continued a little hesitantly. "It was possibly the most unforgivable thing I've ever said to anyone, and I am really, truly sorry for saying it." "I know," He said gently, realising that this was why she'd come to see him. "And as stupid as this may sound, I think it needed to be said." "That doesn't mean it should have been said," Karen replied, not wanting him to try to excuse her action in the slightest. "It's something you've thought, ever since he died," John said matter-of-factly. "Perhaps not constantly, but certainly enough for me to see it, nearly every time I've clapped eyes on you, and if getting it out of your system can allow you to move past it, and to begin putting that need to blame behind you, then that's all that matters." God, he was so good to her, Karen thought to herself. What on earth had she done to deserve a friend such as him?

They sat there talking for a good while longer, John with his arm casually around her shoulders. It was intensely comforting for both of them to return to the way they'd been before Ross had died, the simple pleasure of each other's company providing a sense of normality that neither had experienced in far too long. "I had a visit from Neil yesterday," She told him at one point. "He wants me to speak at the annual conference that the Howard League of Penal Reform are having at the beginning of October. As the most recent female Governing Governor, I think he wants to show off the product of his success. He's asked Nikki to speak too, so the press will probably be there in droves." As she'd been speaking, a delighted smile had begun spreading across John's face. "Ah, well, it seems then that you will have the pleasure of my company," He said with a completely straight face. "They've asked you too?" She asked, thinking that this certainly would be fun if he were going as well. "Yes. That particular charity has a liking for maverick judges who insist on pushing at the boundaries." "I don't know," Karen said in mock concern. "You and me away together for three days in Manchester, that sounds positively sinful." "The thoughts behind it might be," He admitted with a smirk. "But I should imagine we can both behave ourselves." "You might have to," She said, clearly flirting with him. "But I don't." "Oh, well, if you are determined to seduce someone new," He said in resigned acceptance. "At least I'll have someone intelligent to talk to." "Helen will probably be going as well. Her part in starting up the home office project for women lifers, always guarantees her invites to things like this, so no, I don't think you'll get bored somehow." "As long as I can trust to your discretion, if I should choose to avail myself of the numerous attractive women who may be there." "Jesus, how many do you need?" Asked Karen with a laugh. "Hey, I'm getting to like the idea of more than one," He said, clearly playing along with her. "Yeah, well, if you do, I don't want to know about it," She told him firmly. "It might not be my business any more, but it doesn't mean I still don't have divided loyalties. Though what I would say is try and choose your conquest, or conquests, with a little more care this time." "Do you have any idea just how like a fourteen-year-old you made me feel that night?" He asked in remembered humiliation, still unable to forget the lecture she'd given him over the Chlamydia. "It was for your own good," She told him with a smile. "Besides, the blush might help you not to do the same thing again." "I wouldn't bet on it," He replied, thinking that just for once, he didn't really have the urge to play away at this conference, when in the past, it would have provided him with the perfect opportunity. Perfect strangers simply didn't appeal to him at the moment. Were George and Jo beginning to have an effect on him after all? 


	203. Part Two Hundred And Three

A/N: Betaed by Jen. 

Part Two Hundred And Three

Ten days later, on the last day of September, Karen was due to drive up to the annual conference that the Howard League of Penal Reform was holding in Manchester. Helen and Nikki were driving up in one car, and she and John would be going up in another. They had planned to drive up in John's car, but he had phoned Karen that morning, and asked if they could take hers instead. "I'd forgotten mine was due for its MOT today," He told her. "Fine," She replied. "As long as you let me do the driving. I hate anyone else being behind the wheel of my car, and there's to be absolutely no criticism of my driving." "I will attempt not to do one of the things that drives George insane," He promised, though she didn't entirely believe him. This was John after all, and if he couldn't have direct control of a process such as driving, he would no doubt exert every ounce of stealth to obtain it in some other way. 

Accordingly, Karen picked him up outside the judges' digs at around five o'clock, meaning that they would be driving to Manchester through the interminable rush hour traffic. "I suppose I must put up with your taste in music for the entire journey," He said, after putting his belongings in the boot and sinking into the passenger seat. "Of course," She told him with a smile. "Though I might allow you some Vivaldi if I get bored." "I've got to write my speech for tomorrow," John said, digging a pad and a pen out of his briefcase that he'd put on the backseat so that he could reach it. "I thought you'd just adlib," Karen said, pulling into the stream of traffic, and heading out of the city centre. "That would be dreadfully discourteous," He said with a completely straight face. "Besides, I doubt you'll be telling me that you are anywhere near as unprepared." "No, but then I'm not used to the limelight like you are." "It's just like giving a lecture to a group of students," He said contemplatively. "It doesn't matter how important some of them might think they are, because they're all just human beings, and they all have just as many quirks and hang ups as the rest of us." "And I used to think it was prison that was the great social leveler," Karen said with a laugh. "Yet now I find out that it's really all down to just one Judge." 

As Karen negotiated her way onto the motorway, she set her Carolyn Johnson CD in motion, and watched as John began making some notes on his forthcoming speech. Having only ever seen John speak to a tightly packed courtroom, Karen was looking forward to seeing what he would come up with during his slot on the following day. John might have put up a mild protest at having to listen to Karen's music, but he was forced to admit that this particular singer didn't actually bother him too much. Her voice was unintrusive, even if the words were somewhat pathetically trivial. When they came to one particular song, he asked, "Did you ever lend this to George? It sounds vaguely familiar." "It was the first CD I ever lent her," Karen said fondly. "So yes, you probably have heard it from time to time. How is she? I haven't seen or heard from her since we got back from Spain." "Oh, she's all right," John said carefully, thinking that George really ought to have maintained better contact with Karen than this. "She was a little wound up for a while, but nothing out of the ordinary." "John, knowing George as well as I do," Karen said with a fond smile. "I suspect that's something of an understatement." "Perhaps," He admitted eventually. "She's just finding it a bit difficult to adjust, that's all. Don't misunderstand me, she couldn't be happier with things the way they are now, but I think she's finding it harder to get over you than she thought she would." "I'm not sure whether to be pleased or worried about her," Karen said dryly, and secretly feeling a little bit of both. "She'll sort herself out eventually," John told her, not in the least concerned by George's phase of uncertainty. 

The car seemed to cruise under Karen's firm but gentle hands, the wheel requiring just as much sensitivity as she might bestow on a lover. She usually kept just below the speed limit, the needle hovering just under seventy, though it felt to John as if they were barely moving at all. One hand rested lightly on the wheel, and the other on the gear stick, with her long, very attractive legs stretched forward to the pedals. John tried to work on his speech, and he did manage to note down a few ideas for things he must mention without fail. But the graceful movement of the car, combined with the mental exhaustion at the end of a hard week's work, eventually lulled him to sleep. He was vaguely aware of the music changing at the edge of his conscience, and found himself puzzling over how Karen could change CD's whilst driving. He was only just aware of her gently removing the notepad and pen from his hand, which rested atop them on his knee, before his brain gave into the lure of sleep. Karen had become aware that his eyes were gradually closing, and had removed the writing implements from his hand before he could drop them, placing them on the dashboard. She had changed the CD, having learnt to do this with one hand some time ago. John looked so innocent as he slept, his face losing all the carefully controlled restraint of his profession, and assuming the softer countenance of the man who simply wanted to be loved. It made her smile that he could be so relaxed in her presence, to hand over the responsibility for his continuing existence so freely. His legs were stretched out in front of him, and his head leant back on the headrest, showing that just for once, he didn't have a care in the world. It was a Faith Hill CD that Karen had put on and, after casting a glance at John to make sure he was still asleep, she began to sing. She wasn't stupid enough to think she was very good, and she knew she could entirely blame the cigarettes for this, but as her deep, slightly husky voice gathered confidence, she found it easier and easier to continue. She often found herself dropping an octave to keep the melody in tune with her contralto voice, sincerely hoping that John would stay asleep until she gave up this pointless pastime. 

John had slept soundly for almost an hour, but then he gradually began to emerge, slowly becoming aware of her voice. He'd never heard Karen sing before, and it softened his heart to hear her. When she came to the end of a song, he broke the silence. "I didn't know you could sing," He said, finally opening his eyes. "And I thought you, were asleep," She said sternly, wishing he hadn't heard her. "Mmm, I was," He said, lifting a hand to cover a yawn. They drove in silence for a while, listening to the music, and both submerged in their thoughts. "Jo told me she came to see you," John said eventually, slightly surprising Karen at the turn of the conversation. "Yes, she did. I don't want either Jo or George, to feel in any way guilty for this, but they both seem determined to do so." "They both care about you," He said by way of explanation. "I know, but these things happen." Then, far more earnestly, she added, "I don't want to lose either of them as a friend, John." "You won't," He tried to reassure her. "They both just need some time, to get used to the situation." "And what about you?" "Erm..." He stopped, not entirely sure how to express what he was feeling. "I suppose I'm a little afraid of becoming surplus to requirements." "In bed, or just generally?" She asked, not remotely thrown by the direction their conversation was taking. "There as much as anywhere else," He was forced to admit, relieved that her eyes were firmly fixed on the road instead of on him. "John," Karen said with a kind smile. "For some, like me and George, sleeping with a woman, could never completely replace the feeling of sleeping with a man, no matter how good the woman in question might be, but that doesn't mean that it doesn't occasionally get given equal importance. For others, like Yvonne and possibly Jo, altering their preferences could only really happen with one woman. I would be incredibly happy for Yvonne if she could find herself another woman, but I'm pretty sure it will never happen. I think Jo might be the same, in that her attraction for women will only go as far as George. You know how it is, when you first start sleeping with someone new, you can't seem to get enough of it, but that won't stop either of them from needing their time with you." 

When they eventually arrived at the hotel where the conference was being held, it was just after nine o'clock. Helen and Nikki were already there, and had left a message for Karen at the desk, to let them know they would meet them in the bar. Karen's room was on the eighth floor, John's on the tenth, and when they'd dropped their bags off in their rooms, they went in search of Helen and Nikki. "Hey, you're looking better," Helen said as they arrived at their table, getting up to give Karen a hug, not having seen her since the day she'd gone up on the roof. "I'm missing Yvonne's villa already," Karen told her, glancing at the miserable rainy evening outside the windows of the bar. "Seen anyone else we know?" "Grayling's here somewhere," Nikki said as they sat down, and Helen went to get them some drinks. "And we've seen Clare in passing." "Clare who played the flute in The Creation?'" He asked, the smile of anticipation touching his lips. "The very same," Nikki said knowingly, as Helen put a glass of red wine down in front of John, and a large scotch in front of Karen. "So much for your pledge of not wanting to touch scotch for a fortnight," John said, clearly amused. "Howard League conferences clearly providing the one exception," She replied without missing a beat. "Have you told them about Clare being here too?" Helen asked, trying to catch up with the conversation. "Yeah," Nikki said, seeing that John's interest was immediately renewed. "Is she attached?" He asked, causing Nikki to break into a quiet little laugh. "Not as far as I know," Helen told him, taking sincere amusement at his expression of excitement. "Jesus," Karen said in mild disgust. "You look like a Labrador that's been let off the leash for the weekend." "Well, I have," He said without a flicker. "You're outrageous," Karen told him, and Nikki couldn't quite escape the feeling that she was observing an old married couple. "I don't suppose I can smoke in here?" Karen said, clearly not expecting such a luxury. "No, the whole place is non-smoking, apart from the balconies and the car park," Nikki said with a grimace. "Bloody clean air brigade," Karen said reproachfully, purposefully trying to wind up John, whilst giving Helen and Nikki a sly wink. "Well, some of us might appreciate the lack of carcinogens," John replied, playing along with her for the moment. "And I thought you liked taking risks," Helen said, flashing a smirk across the table at him. "Now, whatever gave you that impression?" John wanted to know, clearly enjoying the company of three delightfully attractive and intelligent women. "Well now," Nikki said grinning wickedly at him. "The things George has told us about you, really shouldn't be mentioned in polite society." After a moment's silence, both Helen and Karen burst into laughter. "You should see the look on your face," Karen said, wishing Jo and George could have seen it too. "I knew that introducing George to the idea of having female friends, was a particularly stupid thing to do," He said in resigned acceptance. 

Much later that night, when Helen and Nikki were lying in bed, and on the verge of going to sleep, Helen said, "Did they look like an old married couple to you?" "Yeah," Nikki replied, turning over to face her. "Why?" "Because I don't think he'd be any good for her," Helen surprised Nikki by saying. "I haven't thought that closely about it," Nikki was forced to admit. "But yeah, it's not as if Karen would do herself much good, falling for someone who's shacked up with two other women, one being as good as her ex." "She's bored, you can see it a mile off." "Bored's a bit too simplistic," Nikki clarified. "More like miserable, and lonely, and in need of a bit of temporary, uncomplicated comfort." "What would you think, if I were to suggest that we give her some?" Helen asked into the darkness, feeling her cheeks flame with embarrassment. "Actually, no, please just forget I said that." But Nikki was smiling. "You've been working up to that all evening, haven't you," Nikki said, giving Helen a gentle kiss. "Is that completely outrageous?" Helen asked, hoping Nikki wasn't about to tell her she was weird for suggesting such a thing. "Oh yeah," Nikki replied huskily. "It's incredibly outrageous, quite sexy too though." After a few moments' silence, punctuated by some fairly languorous kissing, Helen tentatively asked, "What do you reckon though?" "Erm, interesting," Nikki said thoughtfully. "If I didn't work with her, then yeah, I'd say definitely, as a one off, because I think you and me could probably teach her a thing or two. But I do work with her, which is why she might say no, and which is why it might not be such a good idea. Let me sleep on it, and who knows." 


	204. Part Two Hundred And Four

A/N: Credits to the Howard League for Penal Reform website for the kind loan of part of a real conference prospectus.  
Mark Honigsbaum Wednesday March 30 2005 The Guardian.

Part Two Hundred and Four

A crick in her neck woke Nikki up ridiculously early in their bedroom, which looked weird. It must have secretly mutated in the night. It had all their possessions strewn around the room but the walls were painted an impersonal white and the room had shrunk and she could only see a couple of her books. At least she could see that the sleeping shape that was under the quilt was Helen, or at least that straight lock of hair looked like hers. What in hell was wrong? Then she remembered. She was in a hotel where she had agreed in a fit of madness to spout on at a hall full of perfect strangers. Her head hit the pillow. Oh brilliant. She glanced at the time and it was ridiculously early. She needed to get some more shuteye as she had a long day ahead.

"Nikki, Nikki, it's time for breakfast." That urgent Scottish brogue broke in on her dreams.  
"Whatsamatter?" Nikki mumbled, half in a dream. "You get the breakfast today and I'll do it tomorrow." "I mean the hotel breakfast. Come on, we'll be late." Nikki groaned. She had not had to get up according to anyone's routine for nearly four years since someone else held the keys to her room. In that case, what in hell had Helen been doing, lying in bed next to her? It was then that the penny not so much dropped but meandered its erratic fluttering path down to earth. She rubbed her eyes and stuck a reluctant leg out from the side of her bed. Why in hell was Helen such an early morning bird?

Finally, she tottered her way downstairs, desperate for a cup of strong black coffee amongst the 'continental breakfast' on offer. She was infinitely grateful for waiter service as she felt far too uncoordinated to select the toast, jam, and butter, decide what cereal to choose from and serve herself coffee. She wasn't in a talking mood and fortunately, her sole participation was to smile periodically at passing strangers in that very British way. Before Helen whisked her away to the lounge, she managed to scrounge a second cup of coffee. She felt she was going to need it.

Once she could collapse into an easy chair, she fished out the crumpled conference prospectus and wearily willed her eyes to focus on it. The bottom part of the form swam into view.

"From the Bench to the Bars - A Dual Approach" …………… Karen Betts, The Governor, HMP Larkhall. His Honour Judge John Deed QC, High Court Judge. Nikki Wade, Wing Governor and former inmate, HMP Larkhall. Course structure: Plenary sessions with keynote speakers, questions and debate; breakout sessions to discuss and identify objectives as targets for change, agree actions and create networks for further communications and support.  
Who should attend? Prison and probation practitioners, sentencers, Youth Offending Teams, lawyers, voluntary sector organisations, academics and anyone working in the criminal justice system and concerned about reform. Email network Even if you cannot attend the event, fill in your contact details and send the form back to the Howard League for Penal Reform and we will include you in an email network for further actions and exchange of ideas. Accreditation: The conference is accredited for the purposes of the Law Society and the Bar Council CPD. Registration and refreshments: Registration with tea/coffee at 10am. All participants will receive a comprehensive conference pack, guide for the conference and a valuable reference resource. Buffet lunch will be provided."

"Jesus, that's me, isn't it?" "That sure is," Beamed Helen with pride. "Guess I've got time to get into the swing of things before I have to spout." "Not necessarily," Helen contradicted her to her total horror. "We must register and check out the timetable. That will tell you when you're on. Come on."

Meekly, Nikki let herself be led by Helen who followed the notices to a side area in the foyer where, thanks for Helen's 'early bird' syndrome, they were at the front of the queue and they shuffled their way to pick up clip on IDs, conference packs and printed materials and, most vital of all, the timetable.  
"Your slot is second thing tomorrow morning. You're before Karen. That's good news. That will give everyone time to wake up from their hangovers and that they'll be listening properly. You'll also have time to see everyone else first and maybe pick up one or two things to refer to. The judge is on today." "He'll be dead confident," Nikki muttered mournfully. She wasn't sure that focused attention to her words of wisdom was an unmixed blessing especially as an impeccably dressed, utterly composed John came into view. "He's used to this sort of thing. He'll have them eating out of his hands." "Hi, judge," Helen broke off, her carrying voice grabbing his attention. "Can you help settle a few of Nikki's pre conference nerves? She's worried about her speech." "You may have a lot of advice given to you but my tip is never to try and be like anyone else but to ultimately be yourself," John urged in his most soothing tones. He had seen what was going on and had already turned to approach them. His heart was touched by this woman's very evident nerves."Do it in the way that comes natural to you. By all means, pick up any quotes from any speakers that go before you go on but don't let them ever take over your style, least of all mine."

Nikki nodded gratefully. The words made sense to her. A sneaking feeling at the back of her mind was that she had to be like someone else. She was still unsure how she was going to set about her speech but this was a start.  
"One very powerful reason for me coming to this conference was for me to sit down in the audience and hear what you have to say," John said with great solemnity and conviction. That confused Nikki even more as she struggled to make that real in her mind.  
"And me as well, John, I trust?" broke in Karen's amused tones as she walked in alongside Grayling. "Neil's the reason why I came here in the first place," Nikki added darkly. "He's got to be the most persuasive man I've ever come across in my life.  
"He must have been taking a few lessons from John. You have got to hear how he got George to play Eve in 'the Creation'," Came Karen's friendly reply in a barbed fashion while John pretended to studiously recheck the position of his tie for perfection.  
"Ladies, ladies. You ought to suspend judgment till the conference has finished. I freely admit to the very slight flanker in persuading you both to attend this conference but I am positive that you'll thank me afterwards. You will both get so much out of this conference. I acted for all for the best reasons." "I quite agree, Neil. I have the utmost faith in both of you. You should not be too hasty. Now if you excuse me, I must give my speech a last minute polish as I rather fancy that the conference will be starting shortly." "Hmmm. Grayling's girls, we aren't. You might think they've cooked this one up between the two of them. However, like John says, we're due to start shortly. Seeing that this place is bound to be non-smoking, why don't you join me in a quick drag outside? It's going to be a long long time before we get another chance."

As the autumn wind whipped past them as they stood outside the door, all the worldly philosophizing from John and Neil, though well meant, was as nothing compared to the nicotine fix. The fact that they might have looked like two naughty schoolgirls smoking behind the bike sheds mattered far less than their peace of mind. When they had stubbed their cigarettes out, they stared through Grayling's mild disapproval, grabbed their papers and headed for the swing doors. Immediately, Nikki was overwhelmed by the sight of a huge room, the size of a function suite, set out with two blocks of rows of chairs and a walkway down the middle. On a raised area were podiums, left and right with a microphone each and a table in the middle where the chairman sat. This was on a vaster scale than her old club and much more luxurious than the prison she worked in. This was another world altogether.

"Let's find a seat and get settled down." A Scottish voice whispered in her ear.

Nikki became conscious that she had stood still and was holding up the crowd of people who were funneling into the hall from behind her. Automatically, Karen, Grayling and John had caught up with her and they led an uncertain way to row four on the extreme left hand side where they occupied part of the block. There was an expectant air and eventually, the chairman tested the microphone briefly and opened the meeting.

"……Just a few domestics. According to the fire instructions, a continuous ringing sound will require the evacuation of the building by the doors at the back and that we should all assemble in the car park to the right of the building as you go out, fifty yards down the road and that you take all your personal belongings with you……."

Karen shuddered. That flat bland description off a standardized instruction bore no resemblance to the panic and confusion, the smell of smoke and the feeling of desperation of missing persons, of waiting for the fire brigade. She had never been the same that way since that experience over three years ago. To Grayling, that day included a hole in his experience where he was oblivious to everything.

The conference finally got into gear where a journalist from the 'Guardian' opened the proceedings and gripped attention straightaway.

"Chair, conference, it's fallen to me to draw the short straw to open the proceedings. Whether that is a positive advantage or a cross to bear, you and I will shortly find out. I must start off, as a member of the press in pointing out my awareness of the insidious process of narrowing the public consciousness in the name of law and order and the consequent attack on the liberal culture I have grown up in as a young man. I confess with some embarrassment and shame the way that some of my colleagues from some of the more disreputable, newspapers fan the flames of prejudice by writing what they think as easy to write, populist safe topics. At heart, I sense that there is a genuine public bewilderment at a society that increasingly feels that government fails to deliver the primary requirements of government in terms of public safety and turn to blind retribution. It is an attitude that in an odd kind of way I can understand. What they don't see is that they help skew the political debate into reaching out for instant headline solutions which governments adopt and the professionals in the field are then left holding the baby. I speak of the range of punishments such as on the spot fines, anti-social behaviour orders, more and longer prison sentences, tagging, testing, "alcohol-free zones." But my perception, for what it is worth is that these are no real answers. But what is this 'public opinion' of which we so glibly speak and of what I spoke of just a second ago?" he asked in searching tones. "How many times have we all uttered those words….?"

……John on the end of the row gave a start and immediately scribbled a few notes in the margin of his neatly typewritten notes that he had just finished on his laptop computer. This very penetrating analysis from the journalist who was a cut above other members of his profession, jolted his sense of certainty that he had had, up till now. The situation was not as clear-cut as he had supposed and he might have to improvise his way through, after all…….  
"……how many times do we think we know what is going on in society and how utterly dependent are we on opinion polls, the like which my colleagues in the press and on TV quote so readily? In reality, it is not public opinion leading the policy shapers but in reality, at best, policy makers act out what they project from their own ideas and attempt to drag the public along with them. At worst, they cynically manipulate the public for their own ends. There had to be proper alternatives to the increasingly untenable position of 'lock 'em up.' At this point, I wish to wind up and hand over to the professionals in the field and I can sit back and hope to learn from others what those answers might be."

"I remember when the Guardian printed that letter from Crystal," Muttered the still dormant wing governor in Helen as the speaker concluded. "Nice idea but a bit out of focus." "They meant well," Nikki whispered back, her hurt at the knife in the back delivered by Shell against Helen having been healed by the passage of time. Gradually, they were drawn into a discourse from many fields, the next at a rarefied level of academia, which stretched the empathetic skills from the diverse members in the audience and eased them into the conference proper. John was due to be on next and Karen, Nikki, Helen and Grayling had that slight feeling of being a fan watching the local legend appear on stage. He was theirs and they were all batting for him in their minds even if it was going to be their turn later on. The room fell quiet for the chairman's introduction and John firmly held his notes and strode purposefully down the room.  
Grayling watched him with intense interest as a fellow professional now under the same roof. He adjusted the position of his notes on the sloping surface and began to speak.

"It is with some humility that I outline what I see as the judiciary's role in the eloquently reasoned dilemma of public opinion. Before I continue, I ought to emphasise that the views expressed may, or may not be representative of how the Lord Chancellor's Department would have me speak. Judges are individual, after all, and jealous of their independent powers. The first speaker very eloquently explored, if not attacked, the mythology of public opinion and, in my profession, how often have I mistakenly reasoned that the fitting sentence should be such that it maintains public confidence in the judiciary system. I have erred in also seeing the prison system as an abstract receptacle into which the convicted prisoner is placed for a varying period of sentence, the details of which I have been signally unaware of and the work of the prison officers I have been ignorant of. I have seen my remit at the point of passing sentence without having thought to the consequences. There has been an age old formula of separation of powers, that the police aided by the criminal prosecution service investigate alleged crimes, juries selected from the citizenship at large pass judgment as to guilt or otherwise, the judge passes the appropriate sentence and the prison service rehabilitates the prisoner. In recent years had been bolted on, a whole host of agencies in the community, psychiatrists…….." You mean, Lauren Atkins, thought Nikki fondly of him. "…………….probation officers and the like, all designed to cut down on reoffending so that I am not faced with the unhappy spectacle of the same person appearing before me on a fresh charge. Such specialization of function is all very well but the danger is that the left hand does not know what the right hand is doing……"

As John spoke so eloquently, he felt constrained by the microphone in being unable to casually pace around and the physical movement to call forth the ideas, which sprang to mind. This time, he was forcibly required to angle his comments to a much wider community and as he went along, he could see that his set speech was all very fine for a judge's seminar but was too inward looking. He conjured up the words as if he were playing an improvisation on his beloved Strad. Karen's mind was taken back to the three occasions when John had visited Larkhall, when he first dipped his toe into foreign waters to be amused at the connection between Monty Everard and the Two Trudies and touched by their innocence, hardly hardened criminals. The second occasion was more traumatic than that as he had come to abjectly apologise for his harsh words to Karen. Truly, he now realized that his own conception of justice left something to be desired. He had changed somewhat since then, or so he would like to think as other words floated into his mind even as he held forth. "What would you know?" Denny had stormed at him furiously. "You're just a bloke who thinks he knows best, because he's one of the pricks in wigs who gets to say yes or no, to someone like my Shaz ending up in a shit hole like this!" On the third occasion, yet again Denny Blood had crossed his path as she was on top of the hospital roof. He closed his eyes briefly. He did not care to think of that traumatic day more than he could help but the combined imagery and memories made the mental crossover so easy to accomplish with words from felt experience as he rounded into the verbal coda of his speech.

"…….each profession has its set of misconceptions from observers from the outside. In mine, there is the perception that the system of law is monolithic, set in rock, tension free. Nothing could be further from the truth. I have long considered my role as doing my level best to resist the steady encroachment of the executive upon the judiciary. The British establishment has grown greedy for power, highly sensitive if not paranoid to level minded criticism. It behoves the judiciary to gauge the real felt needs in society, to set both lead and example, in how justice is maintained but to be mindful of the traditions of ancient freedoms as well as inventing modern ones. It is a battle that is well fought for those who are bold and of firm will."

At the finale, Nikki was fractionally ahead of the others in leading a round of applause. He was not the judge adorned with a wig and red robes but an ordinary man, who had reached towards that common conundrum that the other professionals recognized from their individual perspectives. Karen felt proud of him and was deeply fascinated by the body language of the man, active in his own profession and transmitting it with sensitivity and insight in crystal clear words. Helen reflected that while Thomas was the most gorgeous man she had known, John was good competition for that abstract prize.

It was coffee break time before an open forum for questions and answers and they all filed out on an emotional high. After they had all queued up for liquid refreshments, Nikki and Karen made a dive for the exit to light up a much-needed cigarette. As they returned, Grayling intercepted them.  
"I meant what I said about giving you a hand with your speeches. I would not dream of censoring in the least what you are intending to say but if you want me to play the role of 'audience', I will gladly help you sharpen them up so that you will feel as confident as you can for the next day." "You're not all bad," joked Karen. "What are you smiling about? I can see that Cheshire Cat look on your face." "Oh, nothing much," Grayling lied as he felt the copy of the Guardian article in his inside jacket pocket. It was patently clear to her that Grayling had been behaving in a mysterious furtive fashion as if he had something hidden up his sleeve.

All was revealed as the chair threw the meeting open to questions of the speakers or comments from the floor and Grayling confidently put his arm up and, typically, grabbed attention sufficiently to be called for first question.

"I'm Neil Grayling of the Home Office with the responsibility for women's prisons. At the risk of stealing the thunder from what I am sure will be positive and inspiring speeches from the prison service…….." You bastard, thought Nikki and Karen in unison.  
"…………..I thought I would illustrate a point that, from the point of view of an insider even press reporting from as reputable a paper as the Guardian can lead to mixed messages where it is not entirely clear what causes in the reported deficiencies in a particular prison. Like John earlier on, I speak neither as propogandist nor apologist for the system but to simply set out the truth, wherever it points. I refer to the Guardian article of Wednesday March 30 2005 about the recent staff inspection of Holloway prison. In the middle of the article it gets to the heart of the issue where, and I quote. "Designed in the 19th century as a mixed prison, Holloway has been plagued with problems ever since the 1970s when it began admitting increasing numbers of women. On the positive side, it quotes the chief inspector of prisons, Anne Owers as saying that she praised the prison's management team for making significant improvements since her last inspection, to Holloway's healthcare system and the amount of time inmates were spending out of their cells. Welcoming the chief inspector's findings, Phil Wheatley, the director of prisons, pointed out that Holloway had just opened a new mother and baby unit and a refurbished healthcare centre was due to be completed in April. On the negative side, are that girls continue to be kept at Holloway, of "unacceptable" standards of cleanliness, that minority ethnic and foreign national prisoners were particularly vulnerable and of an extremely unsafe practice" of locking young women in bathrooms while showering and that staff are having to manage a "very high level of distress". It concluded that Holloway has undoubtedly progressed since the last inspection but not to the extent that managers had hoped and we had expected and that the previous management team have tackled some of the acute problems with enthusiasm but aspects of the underlying culture remained unaddressed. In addition to this, it quotes from various prison reformers in the field that Holloway officers were cutting down as many as five women a day from nooses and of concerns about levels of drug abuse, self-harm and suicide. Although Ms Owers recognised that pressures on staff and management should ease following the opening last year of HMP Bronzefield, a new women's prison in Ashford, Middlesex, she recommended that Holloway should rework its anti-bullying strategy, comprehensively review its procedures for managing women at risk of self-harm and suicide and ensure that under-18s were no longer held." My point is that, while the article makes a serious attempt to analyse a very complex situation, it remains hard even for the intelligent outsider to establish from this article whether the faults are with an individual prison officer, a group of them, the local organisation or simply that, with the best will in the world the prison system as a whole is simply overstretched." All of his past experience of Larkhall flashed before his eyes as he concluded his address.

"Well, I did promise Alison Warner that I would keep you two on the straight and narrow," Grayling said with a sheepish smile after the controversy had died down and the conference had broken off late for the buffet lunch. His first warning of the repercussions to follow was his sight of three women converging on him with determined expressions on their faces while John sauntered along behind them.  
"Yes, Neil, but you did not say exactly what you would be doing at this conference and that you had sneakily kept quiet from us your plans to steal the thunder of the next set of questions, the afternoon speaker and probably me and Nikki tomorrow," Chided Karen while Nikki and Helen visibly ganged up around him. For once John was not in the firing line and was mightily relieved that Neil would take the heat, not him. 


	205. Part Two Hundred And Five

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part Two Hundred And Five

On the Saturday evening, Nikki eventually arrived at her decision. She hadn't just slept on it, but had given herself the entire day to mull it over on and off, to make sure she was honestly happy with Helen propositioning Karen on their behalf. She wasn't so sure that Karen would say yes, but she finally figured that if she did take up their offer for a little light company, it might just be fun. She and Helen had never before considered inviting anyone to join them, but this was different. Karen was a friend, a friend who was still desperately trying to find a way to cope, to get through every single day of her existence. If they could make her feel a little happier, for even just a couple of hours, then it was worth it. 

When she and Helen went upstairs to get changed before dinner, the clothes they'd been wearing being unbearably creased from hours of sitting and listening to speeches, Nikki told her. "If you wanted to put your suggestion into action," She said, as Helen stood at the mirror applying her make up. "I'd be happy to be part of it." Turning round, with her mascara wand in hand, Helen said, "Are you sure?" Nikki smiled at her. "Yeah, of course I'm sure. I wouldn't say it if I wasn't." "Shall I ask her tonight?" Helen said, making Nikki grin at the eagerness in her voice. "Yeah, why not, though she mightn't say yes, you know." "No, I know, but it's worth a try, because Karen ending up in bed with the Judge would be a disaster." 

Later that evening after they'd eaten dinner and were sitting drinking in the bar, Helen thought it might be time to raise the subject. John was submerged with a group of people they didn't know on the other side of the room, and Nikki had tracked down Clare for a catch up. Knowing that she had to take the bull by the horns, whilst they were temporarily alone in their little corner, Helen cursed yet again the no-smoking policy of the hotel. "You're looking very pensive," Karen said, taking a sip of her wine, not a bad vintage for a hotel chain. "I've got something to ask, well, to suggest to you," Helen said carefully, already thinking this a particularly bad idea. "And that sounds ridiculously formal." "I'm intrigued," Karen told her, seeing that Helen was having a certain amount of difficulty. "This is going to sound incredibly stupid," Helen continued, her Scottish accent becoming a little more pronounced with the rise of her tension. "But I'll kick myself for ever if I don't say it. You're looking quite tense this weekend, as if you're trying to pick someone up for a good night or two." "That's very perceptive of you," Karen observed with a smile, wondering what on earth Helen was leading up to. "And is that a bad thing?" "No, of course it isn't," Helen said with a laugh. "But, I suppose what I'm trying to say, is that you don't need to look so hard. After a moment's astonished silence, Karen said, "Helen, are you saying what I think you're saying?" Thinking that she must be dreaming for even entertaining such an idea. "That depends on what you think I'm saying," Helen replied flirtatiously. "Are you propositioning me?" Karen asked her plainly, her face now completely serious. "Yeah, I am," Helen said with a soft smile. "Is this just coming from you, or is it on behalf of Nikki as well?" Karen asked, still not quite able to believe what she was hearing. "Both of us," Helen said without hesitation. "I wouldn't do this without her." "Erm, why, if it's not a stupid question?" "Where do you want me to start?" Helen asked with a light laugh, now that the really hard part was over. "You're incredibly attractive, it might be fun, and because, we both think you need it." Karen just stared at her, completely stunned. Here she was, being offered a night or two of deliciously hedonistic pleasure, with two extremely attractive women, because they thought she needed it. They must be the two most caring, wonderful, incredible friends she had in the world, to offer her something like this, which wouldn't normally have been within the sphere of their relationship. Helen was right, she did need it, but that didn't mean she should accept it. She could feel the faint prickling behind her eyelids, the brief constriction in her throat that heralded tears. "Sweetheart, don't cry," Helen urged her gently, laying one of her hands over Karen's. "I... I think that's one of the nicest things anyone's ever said to me," Karen told her quietly, trying to rein in her emotions. "And if I was looking for female company, I would take you up on your offer like a shot, but I think I need a break from women. At the moment, I need to have as few reminders of what it was like to be with George as possible. So please, don't take any offence when I say no." "Okay," Helen said gently. "Just remember that the offer's always there." 

Excusing herself by saying that she needed some air, Karen escaped upstairs to her room, knowing that she needed to be alone, completely away from the threat of being disturbed. When she stepped out onto her balcony, the tears were already cascading down her cheeks, and her hands slightly trembled as she lit a cigarette. God, she really was fragile if such a usually tempting offer could knock her for six like this. The truth was that she simply felt empty, hollow, as if all the positive feelings had been thoroughly drained from her. When she'd finished her cigarette, she flicked the end over the side of the balcony, and went back indoors, immediately shedding her clothes and snuggling under the thick hotel duvet. Her body shook as she cried into her pillow, the longing for a pair of arms uncommonly strong. But they weren't female arms she wanted, but strong, warm, masculine arms, to hold her down, to take the only thing she had left to give, to treat her body as the empty shell it was. This was what she needed, she realised in the dark, the sort of treatment she'd received that first time with Ritchie Atkins. He had given her back some of the feeling after Fenner, and now she needed someone else to do the same. In having her body forcefully, yet permissibly taken, she might be able to tear herself out of the grasp of her depression, to re-emerge into the land of the living, to once again be a fully functioning human being. 


	206. Part Two Hundred And Six

Part Two Hundred and Six

" 'I'm speaking in a capacity'…scratch that…'I'm speaking in a dual capacity, both as ex-prisoner and as current wing governor," Nikki rabbited away to a half asleep Helen at an insanely ungodly hour. "That's a load of shit. The Julies would fall about laughing if they heard me talking this pile of bollocks. I'm supposed to be speaking up for them, not sound like the suit I would have once taken the piss out of." "You did, Nikki," Mumbled Helen as the thick fog of sleep swirled around her brain, coaxing her to surrender to the nice cosy feel of the bed. The staccato sounds emanating from some other dimension kept her from totally drifting off.  
"Eh….I did? I'm sorry, Helen. I've apologised a million times since our second night together. It's just that this speech sounded great when I looked at this last night and now in the cold light of morning, I really don't like it or myself as I sound." Helen groaned and her sense of realism prompted her to open a sleepy eye. She dare not think what the time might be but it felt very early. The spirit was willing to be the caring partner but the spirit felt very weak. "Yes, Nikki, but we'd had more than a few to drink at the bar last night by the time we finally looked over your speech." "So what in hell do I do now?" "Could you just ad lib it, Nikki?" "Yeah, that's what I normally do for everything. I work it out in my mind and rely on all the right words to fall out of my brain." "So what's wrong this time?" "I'm really nervous about speaking and I'm scared that my mind will just freeze over." By then, Helen's mind had cleared and she was just able to slide out of bed and collapse into a chair.  
"OK Nikki, imagine I'm the audience and you're doing the speech. I've got a copy of it You do your speech and when you come to a bit that doesn't sound right, shout out the alterations of what comes first to your mind and we'll rewrite the bloody thing." A dawn's awakening look stole across Nikki's expressive features. This was mingbogglingly simple. This was pure genius and her stress levels started to drop dramatically. She could see that narrow pathway opening out before her clear of disaster on either side. All she had to do was to hold to nerve and trust to fate…..and Helen. That look was succeeded by one of wonder as she shook her head incredulously and her words framed her thoughts.  
"Why in hell didn't I think of that before?" Helen's smile was utterly smug but she refrained from comment.

As the second day of the conference started, there was a criss crossing of people converging on the double doors and Helen could not help noticing the physical proximity of John and Karen and, as she had said and thought to Nikki, there was a distinct resemblance to a married couple about them. John looked relaxed and wide-awake while Karen looked tense but she put that down to nerves before her speech. However, she could not let her attention stray as she had her hands full in being supportive of Nikki. A faint memory came back to her of doing the like for Thomas many years ago but he had that sort of earnest self confidence and experience whereas this was all new to Nikki. She sat at the end of the row, clutching and rustling a sheaf of papers and wondering if she was best off being early on or having to wait till later on as Karen would have to do. Looking backwards on the day, Nikki's memory was utterly blank in the period up till the chairman called on her next to speak.  
'Who? Me? He must mean someone else,' Nikki thought for a confused second before her legs took her stiffly up the central aisle, crossing over to the podium. To her intense relief, the wooden structure was a solid affair that she could cling tightly onto. The time before she launched into her speech was an infinity and the first words that came out of her mind came out of her mouth.

"Well, I suppose I'm just the new kid on the block," she confessed frankly. "I'm used to saying my piece as some have found out to their cost but this one really scares me." A slight murmur of sympathy ran through the hall at Nikki's hesitant start and triggered her sheer nerves to veer into keyed up excitement, which unfroze her mind so that her delivery gradually gained both talk rapidity and fluency.

"I shouldn't suppose that everyone's heard of me round here, I'm not that famous. I'm Nikki Wade and I've done every kind of job you care to name in pubs, clubs until I got to set my own with my then partner. I hadn't the faintest experience of what it was to end up on the wrong side of the law till I went through the front door of my club and ended up taking out the policeman who was threatening to rape Trish, that's her name. I don't want to go into the gory details and I freely admit that there were plenty of them. I finally got to see what really happened at the time of my appeal, after three years inside and after I was first tried. An 'old boys' organisation' in the police force stuck together to cover up the man's previous form in raping a female police officer who was another one of his victims…..Sally Anne Howe, her name was. The CPS deliberately withheld this material evidence and, on top of that, I have to conclude that the original trial judge was prejudiced in his handling of the trial. For proof of that are the two court hearings, one which freed me and the other which wiped my record clean not just because the truth came out but the way the case was conducted. Before all that, I was blisteringly and permanently angry, at what I saw as an injustice and being imprisoned in an institution, infected as it was from top to bottom by cronyism in its worst forms was just the final straw. Whether a prison officer favoured you or not meant the difference between being locked up in a solitary cell in my case or whether another prisoner who worked the system was covered up for. In the same way, a particular prison officer who remains nameless was protected by the then governing governor who turned a deaf ear despite his long record of abusing vulnerable prisoners. I must pay tribute to the wing governor who first tried to make prisons a better and fairer place was continually stabbed in the back and victimized by those who worked for her and also by her boss for 'stepping out of line.' I got out because of her, that she believed in me when all the other prison officers painted me as a troublemaker. She got me access to some real education without which I wouldn't be speaking to you now." Nikki's voice had been carried by the forceful rhythmic intensity of her feelings, which contrasted with the rather detached academic tone of the conference. As her emotions flowed freely into her words ,she came very close to say to the audience that 'as it happens, she's in the audience right now ' but she somehow noticed Helen sitting in the fourth row and slightly shaking her head. This was Nikki's day, not Helen's she was saying and she somehow stopped herself in time. In her turn, Helen felt the tears in her eyes as she heard words that she had last heard years ago, coming out of a TV screen in some nameless pub.

Nikki's vision went into wide focus as she looked out into the audience. Even the audience, who didn't know her, was gripped by the immediacy of her experience, some of whom had heard of her case. John sat up rigid in his seat as his sensitivities were opened up by the intensity of her words that occasionally borrowed from his vocabulary. She recalled injustices that tapped directly into her memories that would never really die. Yes, thought John, she was another woman who would make a first class barrister who he would be proud to see appear before him. This time, he was in the visitor's gallery and she was speaking from on high from the podium. Karen was torn between her own nervousness and general tension and unselfish admiration and consequently her perception of the speech was if seen through a dense fog. Eventually, Nikki looked around, a bit dazed and realised that she had strayed a little way from her script. Thank heaven for Helen's last minute inspiration or she would have been really struggling between the conventional demands of formal exposition and how her heart spoke for her. She paused, focussed her eyes for the place and poised herself to resume her speech.

"What I was coming on to say is that it mainly comes down to legitimacy. You might ask me why I am personalising everything, as my experience was untypical of most prisoners' experience in so many ways, including the trial that got me free and a retrial, which wiped out my conviction. The point is, that I am speaking as a one time prisoner who went through the mill and I need that before I can understand myself as a wing governor , let alone explain what I've come to believe and why." For the first time, Nikki noticed the tumbler of water by the side of the podium, Her mouth was dry and she duly helped herself to it. "Legitimacy, that's a good word. If you're in charge, anywhere, and whoever you're in charge of, accept what you do and why, you're half way there. Without it, you're nowhere. I listened with great interest to the very good question posed by Neil Grayling yesterday and, even from my patch, I wouldn't be able to answer for sure the series of questions asked. When I stood up for someone's rights and started off a demonstration as a black prisoner called Femi was beaten up, I was really fighting for the rights without knowing it that would be eventually be mine for the granting when I went into my present job. I could get to really have the clout to try and change things so that there is one rule for all."

The expression on Grayling's face was one of immense satisfaction. She had backed to the hilt, every reason in his mind why he had backed her as wing governor in the first place. He had sat through more turgid conference speeches than he cared to think of but this was so fresh, so riveting. Thank God Nikki took it into her head to join the prison service. His gain was someone else's loss.

"Even if the prison is properly run, then a prisoner will be subject to constraints in their lives or they wouldn't remain there. At best, mothers will be separated from their children and will see them if they're lucky every so often. Your whole way of life, going out when you want, seeing a film if you want, getting up in the morning and going to bed are someone else's decision. That is what prison is about and I have been interested in what the probation officer, I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name, had to say yesterday and that's where I learned that there's only so much I can do while prisoners are in my charge. I am firmly of the opinion that we must improve on one in two prison inmates in this country who cannot read or write properly and end up drifting back into crime, such as shoplifting, prostitution, all types of theft and drug dealing. This isn't an academic treatise as they are the women I knew when I was a prisoner and another whom I can think of who I took on to work in my club for her mother's sake. So we all need each other and at this point, I think I'll stop spouting and finish."

A round of applause broke out, John, Helen and Karen at their most fervent. This was pure Nikki. Karen temporarily banished from her mind the fact that she would have to scribble out odd chunks from her own speech as Nikki had said it first. She would have to banish herself elsewhere in the lunch break.

"I'm sorry," Nikki apologized to the secretary at the table below the podium. "I think I went a bit away from my speech." In her nervousness, she hadn't realized that these would be needed for the conference report. "If I can remember what I said different, I'll tell you."

They went out to where the buffet lunch was set and Nikki felt as if she were floating down from on high and had finished some immense journey. All these feelings flowed through her body, making her more talkative than normal. "How did it go? Did it make any sense?" jabbered Nikki, anxious for somebody to say that she had said it right. The only regret at the back of her mind was that the Julies, Denny who were still inside weren't there to hear her and others whom she knew who were on the outside. She wanted to do right by them as well as her friends who were with her.  
Helen was overflowing with emotions and wrapped her arms round her in a huge hug. Nikki limply clung on to her, a huge feeling of satisfaction welling through her.  
"You'll be fine, Karen. You've spoken at conferences before…." Started Nikki, awash with adrenaline, thinking that nothing was impossible "Correction, Nikki," Karen retorted. "I've been to many conferences but I've been in the audience listening to someone else. I've never spoken before. The thought of it really worries me. I'm not exactly feeling at my best and I need help with my speech." A handsome lecturer with dark curly wavy hair overheard the conversation and inserted himself into the conversation. "Can I help you? Your first time can be rather nerve wracking." "Thank you for your kind offer but I think I can help, Karen," John cut in protectively. Nikki had Helen to help her so the least he could do was to look after Karen. In John's eyes, she was definitely giving off very indefinable vibrations.  
"Perhaps it would be a good idea if you two find a room where you can work. Nikki and I will bring you over a range of sandwiches." Karen nodded gratefully and slid off with John while Nikki went to queue up at the bar. She needed that drink.

In the afternoon session, Karen took the bit between her teeth and went for it. With short, rapid strides, she headed for the podium. She dare not even look at the audience. She had her notes to hand and launched straight into her speech. "I'm in a predicament in matching the excellent speeches of everyone who has gone before so I will pick up on what seems to be left in the neck of the woods that I know. I am lucky in my position as a governing governor as the battles that have taken place for a progressive humane view of running prisons appear to be largely won, at least where I work. Other prisons may not be so fortunate. At Larkhall, the pioneering credit lies with Helen Stewart, my one time boss, the same wing governor who gave Nikki her chance and whose example I have tried to follow. Though she no longer works for the prison service and her career paths have gone separate ways, we're good friends still and would like to think that she has influenced me even today in my ideas as to how to run a prison." Karen's curiously conversational style nevertheless made her tribute as words of high praise and Helen blinked her eyes. Spoken that way and in public, she couldn't really have done what she did all those years ago. She could remember the nervous strain, the private tears and that stubborn battle of wills. She couldn't be superwoman, surely, in her private psychologist's office and her London flat. Karen casually held forth on her experiences of different points in her career ladder to show where different degrees of power lay over the prisoners in her charge. As she did so, John was able to relax his concentration and his mind was able to run free and reflect on how attractive Karen was. There was something about a conference, which enabled him to slip free from the harness of his responsibilities, such as they were. He really ought to consider that Jo and George were approximately in the area of his life that was home but he was practically free, single, without responsibilities, at least for these few days. The world did not exist outside the goldfish bowl of conference and only Karen of any fancyable women was within it. Besides, Karen needed looking after or so he reasoned. The temptations were irresistible especially to hear her melodious voice from her throne. Roles were reversed for a change.

"I must make a personal mention in the discussion yesterday afternoon about the impact of drug addiction, I don't want to use this for any dramatic effect but this is something that can come home to any professional working in the field but, tragically, my son Ross died at his own hand after being hopelessly addicted to drugs. There is a real danger in supposing that human tragedies never happen to professionals in the field but that isn't so. The person sitting next to you might be more of an authority on a particular issue than you suppose. It happens this way in life…." A pang of instinctive sympathy went through John as he saw her try and objectify what he knew was a traumatic incident in her life and to bravely carry on regardless. There was a distinct hush of instinctive human sympathy before that not quite perfectly suppressed edge faded out of Karen's voice and she approached the finishing post of her speech.  
"I can't really add any more as to what Nikki and I have said so what I really want to talk about is the way my life has changed. I've appeared in court as a witness in the stand many a time, giving evidence as to character but somehow, I never got round to thinking of barristers and judges as real people, strange though it might seem. I have been fortunate in appearing in court on a couple of occasions when the machinery of justice has impinged on me in connection with my job and it has given me a real insight into the whole theatre of justice. On a practical level, it has given me an insight to see that how that operates will make a very real difference as to whether someone brought before a court of law will be set free or found guilty and if so, what form of sentence he or she will receive. On a more personal level, I have had a relationship with a member of the legal profession and I would like to claim that John Deed who spoke so admirably to us the other day is a personal friend of mine. To finish, I would be more than happy to be part of a contact list for any similar events of this kind. We cannot leave these matters behind at the end of conference but to carry on the good work afterwards."

At that, Karen neatly ducked down to floor level with a breath of relief at the applause. She really hadn't done that badly, had she? The conference dispersed at the end of the day and Nikki, Helen, Grayling, Karen and John were fired up by the way the conference had gone and formed a huddle round a round table. The round of drinks were bought in though, regrettably, the bar was no smoking. For a while, that was not noticed by the smokers in the group. John and Grayling naturally took the 'smoke free' zone as their right.  
"So you won't be grassed on to Alison Warner for letting us off the leash and open our gobs," Grinned Nikki.  
"What the ear doesn't hear, the heart won't grieve over," Grayling retorted. Word would go round on the grapevine but the way Nikki and Karen had made their name would be a sure shield against any criticism. He was happy and let the evening flow.  
"Want another drink, Karen?" Grayling jovially asked but Karen politely declined.  
"I've hardly had a smoke all day and I know it is a terrible habit but I must find the one permitted place that I can indulge. I'll join you later, Neil." The sidelong glance at John was not lost on him but Nikki was still on an adrenaline high and totally forgot her nicotine craving. Meanwhile the party carried on with loud voices, the crowd round the bar and the emotional release of the ideas unleashed by intellectual discourse. 


	207. Part Two Hundred And Seven

A/N: Betaed by Jen. This one is not for the faint hearted. 

Part Two Hundred And Seven

At around half past eight on the Sunday evening, Karen was standing out on the balcony that led from the lounge come bar, that had been set aside for the conference delegates. Balconies were the only places in this extremely expensive hotel in the centre of Manchester, where an addict like herself could partake of their vice. She had her back to the closed sliding doors, and was leaning on the rail that surrounded the balcony. She was quite alone out here, blowing elegant smoke rings up at the early October sky. Her whole body resonated with tension, every single one of her nerve endings being on red alert, for the merest signal from anyone, who might be interested in helping her relieve some of this outbreak of lust and frustration, that appeared to have taken over her this weekend. She wasn't quite sure why she was in so much need of some sexual release, except that she knew that intense physical feelings, might just go some way to temporarily stop her from dwelling on everything that had happened over the last couple of months. But wasn't that what she'd done with Ritchie, using the almost violent fucking he'd given her to blot out all the hurt she couldn't seem to exorcise after what Fenner had done to her, and what she'd in turn done to Mark? Yes, Karen was perfectly well aware that this was what she wanted, what she was intent on doing, but that didn't stop her from needing the type of explosive screw Ritchie had given her. 

John had been watching Karen all weekend. He'd seen the gradual rise in tension, her entire body giving off a heightened lust that couldn't fail to attract him. She hadn't gone out of her way to broadcast the fact, because Karen wasn't one to make a fool of herself in public, if she could help it. But if any man had looked like he was about to approach her, John had only needed to give them one of his warning looks, for them to back off. He couldn't help it. Karen might want to sleep with some nameless stranger, possibly to let out some of the pain of the last couple of months, but he wasn't going to let her. Anything might happen to her if she entrusted that kind of emotional release to a stranger's hands. If anyone was going to aid her in this quest for emotional release, it was him. She needed looking after, if she really wanted to do this, not to be taken advantage of by some young, rutting stud who thought she was fair game. 

He'd seen her walk out onto the balcony, and so as not to make it obvious to the surrounding company, he gave her a little while before following her. She was still alone when he joined her, standing with her back to him, clearly smoking. He closed the sliding door behind him, not wanting or inviting anyone to join them. His long, measured stride told her exactly who it was who had come to disturb her peace. She didn't say anything as he walked up behind her, knowing that he had far more to lose than she did, by initiating a conversation that could only lead to one, inevitable conclusion. She remained with her back to him, not giving him the slightest sign that she was aware of his presence. When he slid his arms round her waist from behind, and rested his chin on her shoulder, she took one last drag of her cigarette and discarded its still glowing end over the side of the balcony. He could smell a combination of her cigarette smoke, the perfume she always wore, and the shampoo she'd used on her hair that morning. "What are you doing here?" She asked with a soft smile, thinking she already knew. "Well, someone had to ensure that you didn't end up in bed with any one of those men who've been after you all weekend. I don't know whether or not you're aware of it, but you're exuding sexual arousal and frustration, with enough force to call even the Pope out of celibacy." Karen laughed softly. "And just why would you have a problem with my taking my frustration out on some random stranger?" "Because I think you need looking after." "Oh, that's a first," Karen said with a hint of sarcasm. "For you to think a woman needs looking after. I thought it was your usual practice, when playing away from home so to speak, to thoroughly enjoy the chase, sleep with them, and then be gone before they wake up in the morning." "And that, isn't fair," John said slowly, seeing her sniping as just another sign of how much she needed some kind of release. "So, Mr. Wise Guy," Karen said challengingly. "Precisely what do you intend to do about it?" "What would you like me to do about it?" He said into her ear, in that deep, incredibly erotic tone that had her senses reeling. "You're the one with a choice to make here," She said, laying her hands over his, which were still resting at her waist. "I've got absolutely nothing to lose, but you have." "The first rule of adultery," He said almost matter-of-factly. "Is that the woman one is attempting to seduce, should never, ever, remind one of their responsibilities. It just isn't done." "Oh, a little piece of seduction etiquette known the world over, I suppose," She said dryly. "Of course. So, I reiterate, how would you like me to relieve your little case of, frustration?" He hesitated over the word, his lips grazing her neck, and then her ear lobe. She had to fight down the urge to turn round then and there and to take what he had to offer, right here and now, right on this very balcony. Taking his hands in hers, she led them up to her magnificent breasts. He hadn't expected such a forward approach from her, but he had to admit that it made things an awful lot simpler. As he gently caressed these two finest of her assets, she breathed in slowly through her nose, so as to prevent herself from groaning at the pleasure of his touch. But when two fingertips simultaneously grazed over both her nipples, he could feel the shiver that ran the length of her entire body. When she turned to face him, his left arm slid back around her waist, and his right hand remained with its former pursuit. He could see the burning fire of passionate need in her eyes, the smouldering touch paper of his hands, having set her inner cauldron of pure lust well and truly alight. When their lips met, it briefly felt to both of them as if they were coming home. It had been almost two years since their first and last encounter, but that didn't stop either of them from remembering what it had been like that time. They couldn't possibly forget that occasion, it having been so explosively satisfying. They'd exchanged a kiss in all that time, just before Karen had gone on holiday, but that was almost insignificant in the grand scheme of things. They moved somewhat haphazardly over to a wrought iron bench to one side of the balcony, dropping onto it in a tangle of pliable lips and wandering hands. "We shouldn't be doing this, John," Karen said a little breathlessly. "Do you want to stop?" He asked between kisses. "No," She answered almost desperately, thinking that she might just internally combust, if John were to pull out now. 

"Well, then, leave any regret, if there really needs to be any, until tomorrow." "But you've so much to lose by doing this." "And you haven't?" He challenged her. "Well, yes, but…" "Then don't think about it," He said, undoing the top two buttons of her blouse. "Jo and George, and your self-respect, will all still be here tomorrow." "I suppose so," She acquiesced, taking his hand in hers, to prevent it from undoing more of her buttons. "But before this goes any further, there's something I need to ask you." "Ask away," He said, putting his arms round her, because he could see that this was something serious that definitely required his full attention. But once prompted, Karen didn't know what to say. She just couldn't find the right words to tell him what she wanted. "It can't be that bad," He said with a fond smile, but this didn't make Karen feel any better. "What I would very much like you to do for me, and which would do me all the good in the world, is for you to be rough with me." John drew slightly back from her, so that he could look her in the eye. "Precisely why," He said very slowly and deliberately. "Do you want me to treat you, in the same way that Ritchie Atkins did?" Karen's eyes widened with the realisation that she'd been found out. "Alcohol certainly doesn't dull your brain," She said dryly, to cover up her nervousness. "Did you really expect me not to make the connection?" "I hoped you wouldn't," Karen said quietly. "Well, I did. So, tell me why, and I might just think about it." Karen tried to turn her gaze away from him, but laying a hand on her cheek served to keep her still looking at him. "In spite of the endless stream of horrific events that my sleeping with Ritchie initiated, I badly needed what he gave me. Just for a brief amount of time, it allowed me to forget about the feelings I didn't know how to deal with. The sheer physical intensity of it made me able to temporarily forget about Fenner, and about Mark and about the hell I was putting Mark through at the time. In his own way, Ritchie gave me some emotional respite, simply by giving me the most intense, most violent, and at the same time optional, screw I'd ever had in my life. Does that make sense?" "Yes, but that doesn't tell me why you want that from me." "I need a break from everything that's going on in here," She said, gesturing to her forehead. "And I think, that if my body is engaged in something as physically intense as some fairly rough sex, it might take me away from everything for a while." It pained John immeasurably to hear her say this, to admit that the only way she could find release, was through being treated, let's face it, as one of the whores who graced King's Cross. But here she was, asking him to treat her roughly, to hold her down, and to take what she was offering, as vigorously as possible. He refused to accord the words forcefully or violently to what she wanted, because if he did, he wouldn't even be able to consider it. After mulling the concept over for a few minutes, he gently tilted her face up to his, and kissed her. "What was that for?" She asked softly. "It's not a yes, at least not so far it's not, but it means I'm considering it." "I will understand if it's not something you want to contemplate." "If an explosive orgasm is what you're after, then that can be achieved just as easily by gentler means." "I know, but being gentle takes time, and time isn't something I want to have any of. I don't want to not enjoy this, just because I end up drifting away to far darker recesses, just when you're trying to get me going. If this is going to be successful, I need it to be as fast and as furious as possible." He wanted to help her, he really did, but John couldn't be certain that he could go through with this. He thought far too much of Karen, to risk their entire friendship on one night's success or failure. Detaching himself from her, he walked to the other end of the balcony. He knew that Karen would never hold it against him if he couldn't go through with this, but his pride was putting in an appearance. He had never, ever refused to sleep with a woman, on the grounds of something she wanted him to do for her. There wasn't much he hadn't tried in all his years of philandering, most of his new experiences having been with George, though not all of them. He could remember the time George had confessed to wanting to be tied up. He hadn't entirely understood it, but he'd known that if she wanted to be freed, she would either tell him immediately, or undo the bonds herself, as he never fastened them very tightly. But this was different. Karen hadn't spelt it out like this, but she was asking him to treat her body as an object, not as the outer shell of a woman whom he cared deeply for. Walking slowly back towards her, John knew that he had to do it. This was Karen, his dearest, closest friend, and she was crying out to him, to help her blot out her grief and her pain, for just a little while. Yes, he could say no, if he really wanted to, but he didn't. If this was her way of obtaining a few moment's respite from her inner torture, then who was he to deny her that. Stopping in front of her, he reached down, took her hand, and gently pulled her up towards him. When his arms went about her and his lips descended on hers, she could tell immediately what his decision was. But her feeling was confirmed, when he said between kisses, "Your place or mine?" Her lips curving up into a smile, she took his hand, and led him back inside, and up to her room on the eighth floor. 

He kissed her as they rode up in the lift, wholly unable to keep his hands off her now that the permission had been given. As soon as the door of her room closed behind them, they were almost tearing at each other's clothes, desperate to be skin to skin as quickly as possible. "Are you sure this is what you want?" She asked, as the duvet was cast aside with a practised flick and they fell onto the bed. "Shouldn't it be me asking you that?" He said with a laugh, touching her nipples which were already painfully hard. "I've done this before," She said succinctly, reaching down to wrap a skilful hand around him. "If it's still what you want, then yes, I'm sure," He told her, his voice a little unsteady from her ministrations. When he slipped his hand between her legs, he could feel how wet and responsive she already was. "You're just about ready to explode," He said with a smile. "I could say the same for you," Karen replied, running her thumb over the drop of moisture that welled up from him. "Are you sure you don't want me to give you some particularly good oral to start with?" He asked, not sure how long he would last at this rate. "No," She said, her breathing noticeably quickening as he manipulated her clitoris. "I need you, inside me, now," She pleaded. Taking her at her word, he moved between her eagerly spread legs, and with one last questioning glance at her, he launched himself inside her. It having been two years since she'd had John inside her, Karen felt his entry far more than she normally would have done. It didn't exactly hurt, but she could feel the slight protesting of her delicate female flesh, telling her that if he really was rough with her, she was going to feel it in the morning. Immediately he was sheathed within her, John clung to her shoulders, driving himself into her as forcefully as he could. Karen couldn't believe it, he was incredible! Of course, she'd known that from the last time she'd had sex with this man, but she'd never thought he would be quite so good at giving her exactly what she needed. She could feel every thrust, every stab of his manhood deep inside her, branding her internal walls with the fire that existed between them. John could feel it just as much as she could, her insides gripping him every time he slammed into her. At one point, he found himself gripping her upper arms, actually holding her down to the bed, though she didn't seem to mind. He didn't entirely know what had taken over him, except that his body was acting of its own accord. He couldn't have stopped now if he'd tried. It was the registering of this thought in his brain that caused a feeling of total horror to well up inside him. But even this couldn't make him stop what he was doing. As her arms were held down, she wrapped her legs around him, urging him on to further endeavour, and as his thrusts sped up, he unconsciously squeezed her arms even tighter, digging his fingers into her flesh, holding her still to take what he had to give her. As their mutual orgasm approached, Karen looked up into his face, seeing there a pain so acute, that she almost cried out from the force of it. Her body squeezed around him as she came, her abused flesh screaming at the contraction of her muscles. 

As John gently eased himself out of her, Karen realised that he'd definitely bruised if not slightly torn her down there. He slumped to one side of her, his arms going round her to comfort himself more than her, she could sense immediately. He laid his cheek on her breast, and they were silent. Karen could feel a heavy weight begin to settle on her, as if there hadn't been one there already, but this was different. She really shouldn't have done that with John, because he clearly hadn't known what he was getting into. She'd seen the pain and the shock, and yes, even the horror in his face as he'd climaxed, all his feelings having been laid bare for her to see. When their breathing quietened, they lay still, neither of them knowing what to say. But when she felt the trickle of a tear on her skin, she tilted his face up to hers. It brought tears to her own eyes to see them in his, not a sight she'd previously witnessed. "Don't cry," She told him hoarsely, wiping away a tear with her finger. "I can't believe I just did that to you," He said brokenly. "Do you have any idea what that makes me?" "John, it doesn't make you anything," She tried to persuade him, hearing the utter self-loathing in his voice. "Just look at you," he said almost in anger, sitting up so that he could survey the wreckage of her body. "Never, not in my entire life, have I ever given a woman a bruise. Your arms are covered in them! And god knows what else I've done to you," He added, gesturing at the lower half of her body. "Nothing that won't heal," She said quietly. "John, listen to me," She cajoled, pulling him back down to lie beside her. "You haven't done anything wrong, I promise you." "Karen, I virtually raped you," He said, stunning himself into silence at his own accusation. "No, you didn't, John," She told him firmly but gently. "I know what being raped feels like, and believe me, this isn't it. If anything, it's the other way round. I shouldn't have asked you to do this, and I certainly shouldn't have accepted your assurances that you knew what you were doing. If there is any guilt to be felt with this, it is mine and mine alone. I am so sorry for putting you in this situation," She added, the tears now running down her own cheeks. They simply held each other, both feeling an immense surge of regret that they'd done this to each other. "Come on," Karen said a little while later. "We've got a lot of talking to do, and we may as well do it in that enormous tub next door," She said, referring to the decadently furnished en suite of her hotel room. But as they made to get up, Karen gasped from the soreness that the movement accorded her. As she filled the huge, marble bathtub, and critically examined herself in the full-length mirror, John poured them both a glass of chilled Chablis from the minibar. He was outraged with himself for doing something so despicable to one of his closest friends, but he had to agree that talking it out now, rather than leaving it to fester, would possibly be better for both of them. 

When they were lying in the warm water, two glasses of wine within easy reach, neither of them knew where to begin. Karen was reclining in the crook of his right arm, and he was playing with a lock of her hair. "Did this achieve what you wanted it to achieve?" He asked eventually, feeling that this was as good a place as any to start. "Yes," She said quietly. "It did. It stopped me thinking, because all I could focus on was the feeling..." She couldn't quite put a name to it. "...The feeling of being hurt?" He supplied. "That isn't how I'd really describe it, but yes, if you like. You could say that the physical sensation took over everything else." "It's only a short term solution though, isn't it." "Yes, but I thought it would be a bloody good one. I knew that if you took your time about it, did your usual thing of actually making me feel sexy, it wouldn't work." "Why so sure?" He asked, assuming that given the opportunity, he could have made Karen forget in a far more gentle and satisfying way. "John, for a woman to really enjoy sex, they have to be mentally aroused as well as physically, which I'm not sure I'm capable of being at the moment. I needed you then and there, because just for a short while, I did feel aroused and I didn't want to lose it." "Did you orgasm through that?" "Yes, though from what I could see in your face at the time, I wish I hadn't." "It might sound ridiculous," He said carefully. "But I felt as though my body had taken over. I wasn't in control any more, and I couldn't have stopped, even if you'd begged me to stop. It made me feel, well, feel a bit like Fenner." "John, listen to me," Karen said firmly. "I don't ever want you to feel like that. Fenner was an evil, sadistic bastard who took whatever he wanted from whoever he wanted. I couldn't ever say any of those things about you, not ever." "But I hurt you," He protested. "John, I asked you to do this to me. That means that no, you certainly didn't take it by force. Tell me, when I asked you to do this for me, what did you think you were getting into?" He took a moment to mull this over, taking a sip from his glass of wine. "I knew what you wanted," He said slowly. "You wanted some very hard, straight sex, to stop you from dwelling on everything that's happened over the last few months. If you'd asked me to be violent with you, I never would have agreed to it, because being remotely violent towards a woman just isn't in my nature. You remember that pretty bad row I had with George, back in April? Well, during that, I almost slapped her. But I didn't, I managed to restrain myself. The point is, when I was doing that to you tonight, I couldn't stop, I didn't have any control over what my body was doing to yours. That's what frightened me, that I didn't have any control over my own actions." "I'm sorry," She said quietly. "I'm sorry that I asked you to do that. I didn't ever want to hurt you, that's the last thing I'd want to do. I asked you on the spur of the moment, because I suppose I thought that at least you wouldn't think any less of me for suggesting it. I thought that if you really weren't sure about it, you'd say no, and that would be the end of it. I really wouldn't have blamed you for saying no, because I know it's something you have to be absolutely certain about." "I don't think I was expecting my body to take over in the way it did," He told her, thinking that they both should have discussed it some more before actually embarking on it. 

They lapsed into silence for a while, occasionally sipping from their wine, and both away with their thoughts. When Karen slipped her arms round him, his gaze focussed back on her. "The fact that you think you hurt me, isn't all that's bothering you, is it?" She asked, thinking that she might have worked out what his real problem was with what they'd done, but knowing that he had to say it. "No," He said, not entirely meeting her eyes. "You need to be honest with me, John," She gently coaxed. "Oh, do I," He said bitterly. "Yes," She said simply, placing a feather-light kiss on his slightly parted lips. "I shouldn't have enjoyed it," He said eventually, now looking completely away from her. Turning his face back to hers, Karen said, "John, just because you realised that you loathed what you were doing, yet you couldn't prevent yourself from reaching orgasm, is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of." "Oh, don't be ridiculous," He said acidly. "If I disliked it that much, that should have been prohibitive enough in itself." "The human body doesn't always work like that, John," Karen said fondly. "Especially the male one. It's not all that uncommon for someone to climax, even when they're being raped." "Did you?" He asked her, fairly sure of the answer he would get. "No," She replied. "John, if a tiny part of you did enjoy it, you shouldn't feel guilty about it." "George asked me to be rough with her once," He said, not knowing just where this had come from. "Did she?" "Yes, and I refused, because I couldn't do that to her." "So why did you say yes to doing it for me?" "Because you had possibly the most valid of all reasons for wanting such a thing." His answer was clear, unequivocal, and so John, that it made Karen smile. "That sounds like the John I know," She said softly, leaning forward to kiss him again. He kissed her back for a while, needing to feel a little like his old self once more. 

It seemed perfectly natural for them to gently soap each other's bodies, their hands trying to soothe away some of the hurt they both felt they'd caused. As his hands smoothed the shower gel into the soft swell of her breasts, she bit her lip in an attempt to withhold her reaction from him. "You're so beautiful," He said between their gentle kisses. "Which makes my marking you all the more reprehensible." "What would make you feel better?" She asked, though thinking she might just know the answer. "What would stop you from feeling so out of control?" "I'd like to make love to you," He said, his thumb and forefinger coaxing her nipple to full hardness. "I think it might make me feel like myself again." "Is that why you slept with your therapist?" She asked wryly. "Possibly," He said evasively, sliding a softly seeking hand between her slightly parted legs. But as his finger delicately probed her entrance, possibly to assess the damage he'd done, she winced. "My god," He said in shock. "I really did hurt you, didn't I." "Shh," She said reassuringly. "It doesn't matter. It just means that ordinary, average sex really isn't on the cards, that's all." Moving his finger up to begin teasing her clitoris, he asked, "Would you like me to kiss it better?" Karen couldn't help but laugh. "That's one way of putting it," She said, gently removing his hand from where it still moved between her legs. "And whilst it would be incredibly soothing, I wouldn't want you to be offended if it didn't work. I can't promise that I'll get aroused by it, at least not as quickly as I did last time." He knew she was referring to the time they'd slept together after Fenner was killed, both of them able to remember how responsive she'd been. "I can last as long as you need," He told her softly, the sincere, fond expression in his eyes, putting her at her ease. 

They kept touching as they got out of the bath, hands sliding familiarly over previously explored skin, reacquainting them with the textures and feelings they'd both done their damnedest to forget for the last two years. When they returned to the bed, they simply lay there holding each other for a while, allowing their deepening kisses to make them both relax. But when John detached his lips from hers, Karen briefly wondered if she should let him continue in his quest. She could already feel her thoughts drifting away to other, darker recesses, where sexual arousal certainly wasn't welcome. John seemed to sense something of this in her, as he kissed his way down to suckle on one of her nipples. He resolved to be as gentle as he knew how, to gradually allow her lust to build, or not as the case may be. He lingered over her nipples, sucking and soothing them until they could have cut diamond. He kissed his way down over her stomach, over her left hip, and slipped his tongue into the place he'd so ruthlessly abused an hour or so earlier. The subtle probings and swipings of his tongue, didn't at first make any impression on Karen, her body feeling almost detached from the thoughts steadily circling in her brain, as if they were determined to keep her from the release she so badly needed. He reached his hands up to continue stroking her breasts, and she took one of them in hers. She almost needed the reassurance that if she couldn't enjoy what he was doing for her, it wouldn't matter. He ran his thumb over her knuckles from time to time, as if to tell her that whatever she wanted, was perfectly all right with him. When his tongue probed her entrance, she found that yes, it was a little soothing to her slightly battered flesh, to be caressed by such delicate softness. It may have been the way he swept his tongue relentlessly over her clitoris, it may have been how he continuously thumbed her nipple, she didn't know, but something was gradually having an effect on her. When John heard her low groan of pleasure, he smiled. He knew that he could have gone on doing this to her for as long as she wanted it, her sweet, musky flavour being delightful to him, but it was nice to know he was doing something right. Her breathing quickened as those soft, full lips of his gently nibbled on her clitoris, the spark of pleasure lancing through her, like the electric shock she used to use to restart a patient's heart. When he quietly hummed around the flesh in his mouth, she half laughed, half cried out at the sensation. He kept alternating between nibbling and gently soothing her bud with his tongue, taking her higher and higher, until eventually, her release crashed over her, leaving her trembling from the aftershock, and with sobs of sheer emotional outpouring racking her body. 

Moving back to lie beside her, he cradled her against his chest, letting her cry away some of the hurt that had been building up in her for far too long. He occasionally ran his fingers through her hair, trying to gradually calm her down. What they'd done earlier in the evening had rocked them both, knocked them temporarily off their previously chosen rails, off which she had been straying for quite some time. He kissed away some of her tears, wishing he had the freedom to cry as she was doing now. Shed a few tears he might, but never for him would come the torrent of grief that she was displaying now. Reaching for the duvet, he pulled it up over them, wrapping his body round hers, in an effort to keep them both safe until morning, to try to keep away the nightmares that could so easily haunt them both in the late night hours. 


	208. Part Two Hundred And Eight

A/N: Betaed by Jen.

Part Two Hundred And Eight

When Karen woke on the Monday morning, John was still sleeping soundly beside her. As it was still quite early, she got out of bed without waking him, wrapped herself in a thin dressing gown, and went out onto the balcony. The third of October was a little cold for being outside and wearing so little, but she didn't notice it. She lit a cigarette, gradually accounting for all the bruises she could feel this morning. Her spirit felt unbearably heavy today, even heavier than it had done recently. She should never have done that with John last night, because it had hurt him immeasurably to know that he was capable of doing something like that to her. The fact that she'd enabled him to cheat yet again on Jo and George barely registered with her, as it bore far less significance than what she'd put him through. 

When John emerged into consciousness, he realised that it was the aroma of Karen's cigarette smoke that had woken him. The door to the balcony wasn't entirely shut, and he could hear the occasional passing car, down in the otherwise deserted street. Getting out of bed, he pulled on his clothes from the day before, and went to join her. "You're up early," He said quietly, bringing her slightly startled gaze on him. "I didn't mean to wake you," She said, taking a last drag from her cigarette and ditching the glowing end over the side of the balcony. They were silent for a while, neither quite knowing what to say. "John, I..." She said eventually, but he lifted a hand to stop her. "Don't try and apologise for something, that was both our responsibility," He said gently, brushing a tousled strand of hair back from her face. "I don't think any less of you, so don't think any less of yourself." She stared at him, feeling a rush of combined affection and regret that made her speechless. Leaving her with her thoughts, John went back to his own room to take a shower, knowing deep inside himself that this hadn't been dealt with, not by a long way. 

They got through the last morning of the conference, with both John and Karen studiously avoiding each other, though this wasn't remotely difficult. After eating a lunch that Karen really didn't feel in the mood for, they began on the long drive back to London, both of them managing to maintain a thoughtful silence for the first part of the journey. Karen had put on Tori Amos this time, the mournful, haunting melodies fitting her mood entirely. John badly wanted to reach out to her in some way, to try to assuage the guilt he could feel coming off her in waves. But this would have meant breeching her personal space, either by actions or by words, neither of which he had any desire to do. Every single one of her barriers was up, as firmly in place as the walls and battlements that surrounded a castle, and it would have taken an army to break through them, not one solitary general without a hope in hell of succeeding. But as they were driving through Manchester city centre, Karen spied a chemist, and remembered something she ought to take care of before it escaped her memory. Pulling into the curb, she told John she would only be a minute, quickly returning and dropping a small packet on the dashboard. As she moved back into the stream of traffic, John picked up the packet, and read the label, which told him it contained the morning after pill. Catching sight of some of the thoughts that were spinning behind his eyes, Karen took the packet from him and put it in the glove compartment, removing it from their immediate vicinity. John felt a myriad of conflicting feelings, from an urge to persuade her not to take it, to an overwhelming relief that she would. "Don't look like that," She told him gently. "It won't be the first time I've taken it." "And was the last time also because of me?" He felt it necessary to ask, receiving a slight nod from her in return. "John, I thought about that last night just as much as you did, in other words, not in the slightest." "I guess that doesn't make me all bad then," He said, trying to lighten the mood a little, and finally getting a small smile of agreement from her. 

In the other car, Helen and Nikki were also fairly quiet. "She slept with him, didn't she," Helen said after a while, as she watched Nikki navigate her way through the traffic. "Yeah, I think so," Nikki agreed. "Why does she always do this?" Helen said in resigned disgust. "Karen always gets involved with men who give her nothing but complications." "From the looks of it," Nikki replied as they approached the motorway, "They both regret whatever happened, so as long as they can stay friends, it shouldn't be too much of a problem." "Let's hope so," Helen said thoughtfully, though privately thinking that there was more to it than that. 

Karen and John had lapsed into an almost contented silence, the music the only thing to break the quiet. He could see that she was submerged in her thoughts, her eyes remaining rigidly on the road ahead of her, almost as if she was staring into space. When her mobile rang at about half past three, she came out of her reverie long enough to answer it, leaving it on hands free because she was driving. "Karen Betts," She said tonelessly, with barely any emotion in her voice. "Karen, it's Yvonne," Came the voice they both knew so well. "Have you got me on hands free?" "Yvonne, I'm driving with a high court judge in the car, so no, I'm not about to break the law if at all possible," Karen replied, a lot more sharply than she'd really intended, Yvonne's question seeming pretty stupid. "Don't talk to me like I'm still one of your bloody inmates," Yvonne responded hotly, in no mood for one of Karen's displays of distain. "Sorry," Karen said, feeling completely mollified. "What's happened?" "I don't really think you should be behind the wheel for this," Yvonne said carefully. "And that's precisely what Helen said to me, the night Ross died," Karen said bleakly. "So please, just get on with it." "Did you know that Henry was ill?" Yvonne asked, feeling a mental kick at what Karen had said. "Yes, I did," Karen told her, getting a horribly familiar feeling that she knew what was coming. "He died, yesterday." There was a long, awful silence in the car, as both John and Karen took in the news. John watched as Karen's hands reflexively gripped the wheel even tighter, and as her face contorted itself into a whole host of expressions, eventually settling on sadness. "How's Barbara?" Karen finally asked, her voice a little unsteady with the effort it was taking her to stay in control. "Not good," Yvonne replied, hearing just how difficult Karen was finding this. "The thing is, that's not the only problem. The bastards in uniform, in their oh so infinite wisdom, think she did what she did with her previous husband." "Oh, for god's sake!" Karen said in rising anger. "Do they have even so much as a shred of evidence?" "Evidence or not," Yvonne said bitterly. "They arrested her this afternoon. She's due up in court tomorrow morning, and because of her previous conviction, will probably be exiled to Larkhall, until they get their heads out of their arses long enough to realise she's innocent." "This really shouldn't be happening," Karen said disgustedly. "Tell me about it," Yvonne said, and they could hear her lighting a cigarette. "But you know the law, they'd sooner bang someone up before their feet hit the ground, rather than admit they might just be wrong. Far better to let the CPS make a complete tit of itself." Karen couldn't prevent her lips from twitching into the faintest of smiles at Yvonne's blunt assessment of the situation, thinking that it wouldn't do John any harm whatsoever to hear it. "Do you think she did it?" Karen asked after a moment's silence. "I doubt it," Yvonne said glibly. "But you never know, do you." "That's it," John's voice broke in on their conversation. "Drop this pointless speculation right now, the pair of you." "Why?" Yvonne asked him without taking any heed of his tone. "The topic under discussion just a little bit too unsavory for you, is it?" "Yvonne," Karen warned, not wanting them to get into an argument, and use her as an umpire. "Because if this goes as far as a trial," John tried to explain, as if they both should have realised this. "I may have to be on the bench." There was another short pause, where they all tried to calm down. "Have you told Helen and Nikki?" Karen asked, wanting to prevent Yvonne from making matters worse. "Yeah, and I think you're going to have a hard time trying to persuade Nikki to stay on the screws' side of the wire." 

Not long after she'd finished talking to Yvonne, Karen pulled off the motorway into the car park of a conveniently placed service station. "Sorry," She said by way of explanation. "But I need a cigarette." "Are you all right?" He asked as she lit up, Yvonne's news having somehow put them back onto their former friendly footing. "I'm singing with nervous tension," She admitted ruefully. "And I need to talk to Nikki, because if Barbara gets transferred to Larkhall, we need to sort out what we're going to do. As for whether she did or didn't do what they've accused her of, that's not something I can think about at the moment." "If it wouldn't be unduly inquisitive," John asked carefully. "What was Barbara convicted of last time?" "I forget that you, and Jo and George, don't automatically know everything there is to know about most of us. Barbara did three years for manslaughter, because she helped her terminally ill husband to die. On the day we performed 'The Creation', she told me that Henry had lung cancer. So, you can almost see the police's point." "Do you really think she would do that again?" He asked, seeing the problem clearly enough. "I don't know her well enough to say yes or no," Karen said matter-of-factly. "But for her sake, I hope not." When she'd finished her cigarette, she asked, "Can you drive, while I talk to Nikki?" "Sure," He replied, feeling the heady relief at finding at least one thing he could do to help her. 

Once back on the motorway, Karen called Nikki in the car somewhere on the road ahead of her, still leaving it on hands free. "Helen Stewart," Came the authoritative Scottish burgh. "Are you still saying that instead of Wade?" Karen asked in lieu of a greeting. "Yeah," Came Nikki's voice. "It's amazing how often she forgets." "Force of habit," Helen said by way of apology, though knowing that Nikki wasn't in the least offended. "Can you talk, Nikki, or are you driving?" Karen asked, getting back to the issue in hand. "No, I'm all yours," Nikki replied. "I take it you've heard about Barbara." "Nikki, I know you know her better than I do, and I also know that you'll want to do everything you can for her, but we must try to stay vaguely professional about this." "Fine," Nikki said a little belligerently. "But I am not going to let her go to any other prison, where I can't keep an eye on her. I owe Barbara better than that. It's not everyone who could put up with me banging on about me and Helen night after night." "Jesus," Karen said with a wry smile. "She must have written an entire book about it. Fenner didn't call her Barbara Cartland for nothing." "She did," Helen put in with a smile. "That's partly what got Di and Fenner on our case before I left." "The point is," Nikki put in. "She didn't cope very well with prison last time, so if it's going to happen again, she needs looking after." "Well, having Sylvia mistake you for Tessa Spall, isn't exactly a good start for anyone," Karen said ruefully. "Can you pull any strings," Nikki asked carefully. "To at least make sure she ends up at Larkhall? Because I'm assuming that with her record, they'll definitely put her on remand." "It's not a certainty," John added into the conversation. "Though it is the most likely outcome." "I do know Holloway's Governor," Karen said thoughtfully. "So yes, if necessary, I probably could, but we have to be careful, Nikki. Pulling the odd string here or there is fine, but it needs to be accomplished with at least a modicum of finesse." "I do hope," John said firmly. "That I'm not about to witness, another Sir Ian Rochester in the making. Doing things without being seen to do them, is precisely his style." "I'll forget I heard that," Karen told him seriously, not appreciating his words one bit. "That's hardly fair, Judge," Helen told him without hesitation. "Karen's just trying to do her job, and help to take care of a friend, two things that aren't usually simultaneously possible. I bet even you've pulled the odd string in your time, and not always for someone else's benefit." "Perhaps," John admitted quietly, thinking of the time he'd been caught on camera, screwing the life out of Francesca, on his desk in chambers for all the security staff to see. "Hey, do you mind not speeding while you're driving my car," Karen suddenly said, catching a glimpse of the speedometer, and vowing to make him pay the fine if she was caught. "There aren't any cameras along this stretch," He said, trying to mollify her, and looking far too innocent about it. "Tut, tut," Helen said disapprovingly. "And I thought Judges were supposed to stick to the rules." "George would no doubt tell you, that I was declared irredeemable years ago," John replied dryly. 

"The best thing we can do," Karen said, trying to get the conversation back onto slightly safer ground. "Is to wait and see what happens tomorrow. If Barbara is remanded in custody, then I'll try to make sure she ends up at Larkhall. I don't want her going anywhere else any more than you do, Nikki. However, if she does end up with us, and if she does end up on G wing, you must, must, must, remain professional. There will be a pretty major conflict of interest, but we dealt with it with Lauren, so we can do it again. You've managed to keep the required distance so far, so I fully expect that you can keep on doing it. Sylvia and Di etc might be a different matter." "Jesus, Sylvia's going to love this," Nikki said bitterly. "Yeah, well, just keep reminding her of her year's probation, and that ought to keep her in line," Karen said firmly, entirely ready to rap Sylvia over the knuckles if she gave Barbara any more hell than usual. 

When at last they drew up outside the Judge's digs, they both sat there in silence, both knowing that there was still an awful lot that had been left unsaid, yet neither knowing how to rectify this. Undoing his seat belt, John turned his body towards her. "I don't want what happened last night to come between us," He said, taking her hands in his. "Neither do I," She said regretfully. "But I'm not entirely sure how it can't." "Are you cross with me?" He asked, though thinking he would have known about it if she really was. "With myself, John, not you," She said quietly. "I shouldn't have asked you to do that, and I shouldn't have accepted your assurances that you knew what you were doing. I loathe myself for making you feel the way you did, but I don't know how to put it right. All I can do is to tell you how sorry I am, something that I don't seem to be able to find the right words to do." He didn't want her to be sorry, but he could see in her eyes just how sorry she was, the pain of what she thought she'd done to him cutting her soul. Tentatively putting his arms out, he drew her unresisting body against him, feeling the tension in every muscle as she strove to maintain control. "Just promise me one thing," He said into her hair as she returned his embrace. "Don't stay away from me, not because of this. I do not want to lose you, just because of something we will both in time get over. What we did last night took the two of us, which means that the blame, if there really needs to be any, is equally shared." "What would I do without you?" She said, brief tears of mental and emotional exhaustion rising to her eyes. "Probably have a very quiet and a very boring life," He said with a smile, dropping a quick kiss on her cheek. But as he got out of the car, retrieved his belongings and walked towards the door of the digs, Karen watched him through her tears, wondering just how much guilt one person could hold. She'd thought her guilt had somewhat diminished with Lauren's release, but here was another type just waiting to take its place. As she walked round to the driver's seat, and put the car in gear and slowly drove away, she couldn't help but wonder whose guilt or innocence would be called into question next. Would it be Barbara's, or would it be hers. 


End file.
